FarmDad has taken the journey that calls to all of us sooner or later. 

I met him, as I have met a lot of people, on-line. First through comments here, and then I started noticing him during the infrequent times I would try irc, usually he’d be offering laconic thoughts on Things In General. 

He was one of the folks that ferreted out my email address, and I noticed a sharp mind behind those one-liners.

When Herself and I received an invitation, along with some other folks, to come out to his place for a weekend, we accepted. 

The first morning I walked into the restaurant where everyone was supposed to meet, I was on edge and twitchy. A rangy man in a worn Carhartt jacket stood up, gave me a firm handshake, looked me in the eye, drawled, “I’m Bob. This is my wife, Jeannie. Coffee in the white jugs. Welcome.” He clapped me on the shoulder, and moved off to talk to someone else. And that began a friendship that I have always treasured.

Bob was a product of the rural American West, and when they were polishing him they left some of the bark on.

He was courteous, generous, stubborn, opinionated, and the salt of the earth. If he had a biscuit, and you were hungry, you had a biscuit. If you called Bob because things went rodeo at two in the morning, Bob and Jean would show up in his pickup with tools, and hugs, and a Plan To Put Things Right.

When my heart went squiffy some years back we were in the middle of fixing the porch. I woke up from a doze in the recliner to find Bob looking at me, I blinked, because — quite frankly — he was the last thing I expected to see, and he drawled, “Well, you look like [deleted], but not as bad I as expected. You got bottle jacks and outside power?”

Porch got fixed. And the back deck.

If you were wrong, Bob would tell you so; and if you did right, Bob would let you know.

I miss him already. Terribly.

Vaya con Dios, buddy. We’ll see you on down the road.

LawDog