Hallenbeck Farm

Written May 12, 2011 

It’s been a while since I spent the night at the farm.  One year, 11 months and 18 days to be exact.  The night of Gumpy’s memorial service was the last time I spent the night here.  There are a few more things in the Shrine (otherwise known as Uncle Jim’s bedroom) because Ema is sorting through things again.  The crickets and frogs are bellowing as I’m typing.  Sure I’m tired, but I don’t feel like sleep is coming.

This room seemed a lot bigger when I was a kid.  The walls seemed straighter, the floor seemed more level, the stairs seemed wider.  I guess after 148 years, the old home needed a break from active Hallenbecks, save one.  It still has Ema, and I’m grateful for that.

I guess everything seems a little surreal tonight.  Some of it is guilt, Gumpy wanted me to help take care of Ema and the best I could do the past two years is stay away from the farm.  I was tired, Mom and I practically lived here weekends the last few years of Gumpy’s life.  My life got in the way, with my new wife, grad school and a business that I didn’t see myself starting.  I’ve always looked up to Ema and the times in life that I have fallen down, she’s always been the one I’ve hated disappointing most.  And I really do feel like I've let both of my grandparents down. 

Some of it is a growing realization that I am an adult now and that I’m probably at the end of the line of family that truly loves the farm.  My earliest memories of the farm are chasing Shep, Gumpy’s Australian Shepard, around the outside of the house.  The farm has always been a place of peace and comfort for me, even in my darkest hour.  And I hope to always be able to call it home.

And frankly, some of it is because I still miss Gumpy terribly.  There have been so many things I wish I could share with him, good and bad.  I could always count on him to tell me he was happy to hear from me or that he was proud of me.  While I do mimic some of his behavior when I’m here, like patting my arms at the dinner table or clapping three times when it’s time to leave, I will always be uncomfortable sitting at his place at the dinner table. 

While I am a bit melancholy tonight, I am also reminded just how fortunate I am to still have Ema in my life.  She’s healthy, active and more mentally sharp than most people I know.  Most importantly for my sanity, I can still call and hear her voice at the other end of the phone when I’ve hit a rough patch or need a reality check.

The past two years have ushered in a completely different aspect of our relationship.  Ema’s taken to tell me more stories about her childhood and her parents.  Her parents were a bit older when she was born than Gladys and I are now, so Ema’s stories have given me a good measure of confidence that Gladys and I can raise a happy, healthy child. 

Ema doesn’t stop in mid-sentence to apologize for blathering on anymore (her words, not mine).  She always felt she needed to when she was telling me family stories, which she never did.  Maybe she’s more comfortable telling me the stories now or maybe she wants to make sure they are heard before she loses the ability to tell them anymore.  Regardless of reason, I’m glad Ema is sharing her stories.

That’s only one aspect of our changed relationship.  Ema has always felt she needed to be the disciplinarian, and I suppose she was right on some level.  After 37 years of this, I’m use to her expectations of me and her questions when I am not meeting those expectations.  The change has been when I’ve needed to cry, she lets me cry on her shoulder without question.  It was never her role before, but she does it with ease and grace.  It’s a side I didn’t expect and a side of my grandmother I am truly grateful for. 

Admittedly, I am really attached to the farm but none of it matters as much as the memories my grandparents helped create for me there.  I am among the fortunate in life for having so many years to enjoy Ema and Gumpy.  My tears tonight are a mix of sadness, guilt and gratefulness.  The tears of gratefulness are winning. 

My Early Memories of Gumpy

Memories can be fickle.   They can be vivid one day and fleeting the next.  They can cause great sorrow and happiness without rhyme or reason.  

For me, looking through photos gets me headed down a sentimental path.  Going to certain places, eating certain foods and talking with family can trigger other memories.  Memories are full of fact and imagination since our minds do not like gaps in stories.  Ema reminds me of this on occasion because she remembers the childhood of her children in a very different way than they do.

I have been struggling with some of my memories lately.  Nothing bad per se, just the fact that I have few vivid memories of Gumpy from my early childhood.  The amount and varied hours he worked have something to do with this lack.  The big factor, the one I have been reconciling lately is the fact that my Dad was an active influence for me until I was 13 years old.

My dad was a pretty good father until the lure of pot, cocaine and alcohol proved to be irresistible.  There were endless games of "Monkey in the Middle" in our hallway, countless hours of playing catch and practicing baseball fundamentals.  We would listening to Ernie Harwell and Paul Carey announce Tiger baseball, interspersed with his memories of listening to Chicago Cubs games as a kid.  We use to have boxing matches in the living room until I learned how to knock the wind out of him.  I had a happy childhood filled with great memories.

Those memories have been causing a bit of pain lately.  It has been over 12 years since I last spoke with my dad and I had given up on him being anything but a junkie long before then.  When my dad could not be a father, my grandfather stepped in.  While he could never be my dad, Gumpy allowed me to grieve the loss of my father while giving me a steadying presence.  It was his influence that allowed me to escape my teenage years with minimal scarring.

The pain of my memories comes from wishing I had experienced those things with my grandfather instead because my grandfather remained steadfast in his love for me and our family.  It has been a year and a half since Gumpy passed away and the void left in my heart is sometimes paralyzing.  It is up to me now to provide that steadying presence.    

I do have great memories of Gumpy from my early childhood.  I was pretty young when he taught me how to test an electric fence without getting poked.  I do remember hearing WITL 100 blaring on the tractor radio when he would be pulling into the barn.  I was always pretty excited when I got to go back to the woods and help him get another load of wood to keep the fireplace warm.  There was a trip to Mackinaw with my grandparents that I am sure was more fun for me and my sister.  The irrational kid in me is begging for stronger memories right now, and I am left unable to satisfy that demand.

The strongest memories, though, are from when I was 13 years old until Gumpy passed away.  It was then I learned how to treat other people.  It was then when I learned about work ethic.  It is when I learned what it meant to love and want the best for each member of your family.

Memories are little more than movies of our lives that we continue to edit and view again through out our life.  The script has last minute changes.  Characters make appearances, some longer than others.  You are always learning different ways to tell the stories.  While some of my movie might leave something to be desired in terms of storytelling, I made myself an attentive apprentice to Gumpy.  I hope he approves of my production skills.  

A Man Worthy of Adoration

When Gumpy decided I needed his help, I think his intention was to help me learn how to enjoy life again. As a toddler, I was the type of kid who would walk up to strangers at the Big Boy Resturant and tell them I was shy before asking if I could have a bite to eat. This mortified my mother because I was quick and effective with this little trick. So while I was busy becoming a sullen teenager, Gumpy was busy trying to help me remember how to enjoy life again.

He didn't have a plan. Few things were taught with specific intent. Lessons were learned mostly through my observation. Becoming a distracting backseat driver is the perfect example. So is becoming a man worthy of the adoration of his wife and family.

I recently realized just how much I learned from Gumpy in this part of my life. I was slow to realize his influence on me as a husband for a number of reasons. Part of it was my grandparent's penchant for bickering. They both loved it, regardless of their denial. We use to joke that you could make a killing sell tickets to the Dot and Elb show. What I did not realize for years is that they always made up. Always. And the plain truth is that I was not ready to become this type of husband until I met Gladys.

Ema and Gumpy also spoke with one voice with big family issues. We all knew that Gumpy was the softy, but when the chips were down my grandparents responded together. Sometimes this became annoying, like when Ema would say, "We love you." I just wanted to hear she say that she loved me but they both took the commitment to speak with one voice seriously.

My grandparents were also really affectionate toward each other. Gumpy regularly chased Ema around the house until his heart was too weak to continue. He had his pet names for her. He enjoyed teasing her and she enjoyed being teased. He enjoyed buying her gifts and surprising her. When he knew his cancer would take his life, he focused all of his strength on making sure Ema would be well cared for.

Gumpy prized loyalty and it started with my grandmother. In private conversations, there were occationally complaints although I really cannot point to one in particular. If anything, he was concerned that she was not taking care of herself and wanted his little Chickadee to be a happy, healthy person.

Was Gumpy a perfect person?  No.  He had his foibles and I picked up a few of them.  Was he perfect for me when I needed him to be?  Absolutely.  He was loving, caring, patient, truthful and trusting.  A guy could not ask for a more loyal friend.  He was one of my role models while struggling through college.  He is one of my role models as a married man.  I know he will continue to be a role model when I'm a dad too. 

Family Names

Nicknames are a staple in my family. Gumpy seemed to have one for all of us and he had several himself. I will do my best to recount them all, with the stories behind the names I remember.

Elbert. The man himself had many nicknames; including Charlie Tuna, Bird Legs, Slender Pins and Gumpy. Bird Legs and Slender Pins came from his legs. He had a healthy gut perched a top two of the skinniest legs you can imagine, which he loved to show off all summer with his golf shorts.

Dorothy. My grandmother became known as Ema because that is what I called her when I was first learning to speak. Gumpy liked to call her Shapely, which she absolutely hated.

Me. After the best buddy contract, I was Best Buddy and Number One Farm Hand. After my cousin Scott was born; I was promoted to Best Buddy, Number One Farm Hand and General Manager East. After my cousins Adam and Logan were born; I was promoted to Best Buddy, Number One Farm Hand and Vice President of Outside Affairs. Fortunately, this was always shortened to Best Buddy.

Aunt Mary. My Uncle Jim and my mother hung Mary with the nickname of Moose after watching a Listerine commercial. The nickname Moose stuck so well that I howled with laughter when I learned that Moose's name was really Mary. It sounded so plain. Gumpy also liked to call her Pootsie, which harkened back to a nickname my mother hung her with, Pootsie Wootsie Kawkawie of New Jersey Girl. He was the only one who could get away with Pootsie on a regular basis.

Mary's best friend Sarah. Sarah spent enough time with the family that she just became Aunt Sarah, but Gumpy liked to call her Twigs because her maiden name is Terwilliger. Nothing like brevity.

Rebekah. My sister is like Chuck Norris when it comes to nicknames. A nickname looks at her and runs the other way. She really despises being called anything other than Rebekah. Adam, Logan and Gumpy are the only three that have ever been given permission to hang a new moniker on her. Adam and Logan call her Bukah. Gumpy would call her Smoochie.

Vernal. Gumpy's brother was renamed Uncle Friday at some point. I am fuzzy on why we all called him Uncle Friday.

Onalie. I never met Aunt Onie but I know Gumpy use to call her Tizzy Lish. In fact, all of the women in the family were called Tizzy Lish by Gumpy at some point.

Roz. My mother was called Billy Burb occasionally. I have no idea why, but I am quite sure I will find out as soon as she gets over the embarrassment of having her nickname on my blog!

I have noticed my tendancy to assign nicknames to people. It is certainly a learned behavior!

The Christmas Baby

I arrived on the farm for the first time 36 years ago. I was just three days old when my mom dressed me in a Santa suit, wrapped me in a red blanket and put me under the tree as a gift for her dad. While I do not remember that first Christmas, there were many others with Gumpy that I remember well.

Today is a sad day for me because this is my first Christmas without Gumpy. As a kid, I remember Ema and Gumpy's house being full with family and assorted family friends. We would be munching on fruit passing the time between "rip and tear" (gift opening) and dinner. Christmas would always be one of just three meals each year we would eat in the dining room. The view from the dining room was not as impressive as the view from the kitchen, so Gumpy would sit facing the north. He would start the meal with the traditional Carpenter family grace, "For these and all other blessings, the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen."

I think those were the times Gumpy was in his glory. Most of our family was at home, sharing the season together. Even after Uncle Jim moved, he would call later in the day on Christmas which was good enough for Gumpy. His concern was always that our family stay together.

The tradition died after Gumpy, then Ema retired and started wintering in Florida. Anniversaries, weddings and birthdays served as the impetus for family gatherings instead of Christian holidays. Even pancake breakfast at the fire barn in Vermontville during the Maple Syrup Festival served as a time for us to be together.

The Santa suit no longer fits. I now only get underneath the tree to turn the lights on. New traditions are starting as we all learn how to get along without his big smile. Even now that I am forced to move on with my life without him, this is one Christmas gift that still enjoys time together with my family.