Memories of Dad #1
Father’s Day is fast approaching and I am recalling my own
dad this week. Both sorrow and joy;
happiness and sadness fill my every moment.
It causes me to be slightly moody, extra sensitive, and weepy as
memories escape from my eyes.
Dad passed from this life to eternity just three years ago
this November. His life was filled with
both hurt and happiness. Born at the end
of the Great Depression, he knew what it meant to grow up hard. He was raised on a farm which was the way the
family of five survived. Hard work,
manual labor and scraping by were constant companions. After graduating from Lawrence County High
School he worked various jobs-one of which was Hayes Aircraft-but
conservationism became his calling. He
worked for the Soil Conservation Service for 30+ years. He served as a technician in Cullman County,
Marshall County, Talladega County and DeKalb County. I do not believe he would have left that job
if they had not pretty much made him retire.
His life was made complete by the people and places he was
able to meet and make a difference in relation to conserving the land. Farmers and business people alike respected
his opinion. He was well thought of and
known. He is sorely missed.
This Father’s Day would have been his 51st year
as a father, a daddy. They say that any
man can be a father, but few can be a daddy.
That is true of John Fuller. He
was my father, born to him in 1964; but he was my daddy because he was there
for me. I still find myself, even after
almost three years picking up the phone to dial his number and ask him some
stupid question because I cannot for the life of me figure something out.
He would be a might disgusted with me about my progress with
the little patio I am trying to build; the fact that I let the AC on the car go
so long before getting it fixed; and the truck needing a paint job. Then he would be so proud of the other things
which far outweigh the smaller things.
Sometimes I just want to hear him talk to me.
I miss him a great deal.
He was my hero.
Memories of Dad #2
I read this morning a fitting thought for me today:
“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, but love leaves a
memory that no one can steal.”
Memories have flooded back over the past few weeks,
particularly last week while at youth camp at Camp Toknowhim in Pisgah,
Alabama. These memories were good and
healthy, but choked me up as well.
Pisgah is just across the Jackson County line from DeKalb County
on Sand Mountain and a few miles from Henagar, Alabama. Of course, DeKalb County is where I spent the
greatest past of my “growing up years” in the home of a conservationist, my dad
John Fuller.
From Rockford, to get to Pisgah, you must enter DeKalb County
from the south on Interstate 59 and go up the mountain at various places. On this trip we came in from Gadsden and
stopped in Fort Payne, then traveled toward Henagar from Terrapin Hills. On both sides of the interstate, along the
county roads and through the small communities the land is dotted by farms,
both large and small.
As I led the little convoy, my eyes caught the chicken
houses, the barns, the cattle grazing in the pastures, and ponds and
lakes. Such beautiful sites which caused
me to reflect on life in DeKalb County and the work my dad performed all over
the county and later in adjoining counties.
He sat with farmers under large oak trees (some of those trees are no
longer three since the tornadoes of 2011) sipping ice tea and talking about
cattle and the right way to care for them.
Or the ponds and lakes scattered all over the area which he designed and
helped build, filling them with a variety of fish for recreation. Or the houses he helped farmers build to
break down chicken litter in order to use it for fertilizer; or the reclaiming
of strip mines after they had caused a great deal of problems on the mountain;
or the work he performed on the watershed committee among
Marshal/DeKalb/Jackson County.
I remembers the stories.
One was the day he came back to the office after getting a contract
signed by Randy Owen for a wildlife refuge they were working on and his
secretary was trying to figure a legal way to get a copy of the autograph. Another was a confrontation in the big woods
with a couple of rough necks who though he was a revenuer. Then the time he was walking a field to build
terraces and found a ripe, ready patch of marijuana.
The one that still to this day causes me to laugh out loud
is about a bull that attacked his truck.
He and one of the part-timers-a helper-were at a farm and had gone
through a gate, which he had the keys to and closed it and locked it behind
them. After taking care of the job they
had come to do, which was to stake out a place for a pond, they were observing
the cattle as they got to the gate. The
heifers seemed to be rather restless and slowly moving in their direction. He and the part-timer got out to unlock the
gate. As dad was searching for the key a
big bull starting charging toward the truck.
He quickly got the lock undone, left the part-timer with the gate and
began to move the truck, but not fast enough.
The bull made contact with the rear of the truck and pushed him through
the gate, as his helper was closing it as fast as possible without getting
caught in the crossfire. Needless to say
Mr. Bull was on the path of aggression and beating the gate with his head as
dad was locking it and backing away.
Both men took a deep breath as they stood looking at the
bull with a locked gate between them.
Dad inspected the damage done to his fender, bumper and tailgate. He shook his head in disgust and then
laughed, out loud; a deep, rumbling laugh.
The reason: he knew that no one would believe that Teddy Gentry’s prize bull
had attacked his truck and nearly took him out.
Yet, off to the office he went to fill out the needed paperwork.
Yes, lately these are the memories I seem to continue to
think about and which can never be taken away.
DeKalb County was good to me dad and our family. I learned a lot about life by watching him.
I remember a time when farmers were having a difficult time
and some were even having to sell out or going bankrupt because of the tough
economy. Some men cornered dad one day,
asking about inside information on some land which they were interested
in. They were actually attempting to get
the land for a price which was neither fair nor ethical. They were seeking dad’s help in persuading
the farmers to take the price being offered.
Dad quickly and very matter-of-fact put them men in their place.
He worked hard and long hours, sometimes without
compensation, to protect the farmers. He
helped them get through the rough times by sharing new and innovative ways to
make the most of their land and work.
Constantly taking the side of the farmer and their interest. Dad was very well respected in that
area. His advice and thoughts were
something farmers took seriously.
He allowed himself to be spent helping others.
Memories of Dad #3
As a young boy, probably five or six, I would tag along with
dad on some of his weekend jobs. To make
a little extra money he would do surveying for a local company. We were in Talladega then and he would leave
out early on Saturday morning with a lunch pail for both of us. We would climb into whatever was the choice
automobile for him at the time. (We may
get back to that later)
One job he did was the survey for the new high school in
Talladega. I believe it was the summer
of 1971 or ’72 (the school was completed in 1973 so it may have been earlier)
and we were cutting through the underbrush as he was carrying the survey
equipment. I learned that I was to
follow his path, watch him and everything would be alright. He taught me to step on a log before crossing
it, what it meant not to move the boundary lines, and how to enjoy God’s great
outdoors.
We would eat our lunch under a tree beside the truck. The best thing was to stop at the old country
store and get a moon pie and RC Cola.
One Saturday he wanted to drive out to a site where he was
overseeing a huge lake being built off of Highway 77. It was a ways off of the highway on the Talladega
side of where Speedway Boulevard begins outside of Lincoln. We rode out an old logging road which had
been recently been run over by a grader, through a forest of pines, to an
expansive opening. It was huge to a
little boys eyes. More than that there,
slowly moving along below is were some of the largest earth movers I had ever
seen.
The contractor in charge came up to speak to dad; the
conversation meant nothing to me because I was watching the activity of dump
trucks, front end loaders, tractors as each slowly, methodically were moving
dirt and digging dirt and creating a huge crater in the ground. This was so much different from the small
sand box I had at home with all the little toy equipment and not at all like
the tractors on the various farms visited as I was growing up.
Then the contractor asked if I would like to drive one of
the tractors. I was beyond happy
now! He led me along the edge of the
soon to be lake, hoisted me up on a machine with tires that seemed larger than
life, and seated me in the driver’s seat.
He took time to show me the variety of levers, paddles, gauges, and
other devices. Then he came into the cab
and we started moved around the lip of the hole. Slowly, the huge machine rumbled and groaned
as he let me lift and lower the bucket, dig a little dirt, and “drive” this
larger than life. It was a day I still
recall and the smell and sounds still assault me from time to time; the mixture
of fresh soil, diesel and the rumbles, groaning, loud talking.
More later...
