When my mother and I first moved to Denton, we lived on my grandfathers farm. We had cows, pigs, horses, chickens, silos, large fields of corn and wheat, tractors and trucks and everything. Since my grandfather had no sons, and I was his only grandson, I was the next in line to inherit the farm. He started showing me the ropes right away, and I can remember helping to milk cows, plucking string beans, planting seeds, and riding on the tractors with him.
My grandfather was working on a tractor engine one day, when the jack slipped, he was underneath, and the tractor fell and crushed him to death. I was 8 years old. We had a huge auction to sell everything. The only thing we kept was the farm house. I was too young to grasp the emotional heaviness of the situation, in fact I can remember having a great time at the auction because so many people were at our house. They even had a concession stand I was allowed free hotdogs and ice cones.
If my grandfather were alive today there is no doubt in my mind that I would be wearing a pair of overalls, milking cows every morning.
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