A Walk with Papa

The crunch of hay echoes in the hollow space of the barn.

I can barely hear my dad and the farmer chatting outside, something about the water rising in the heat of summer. It isn’t warm now, quite the opposite, with the frost creeping in with ease through the spaces made by moisture in the wood panels over the course of a hundred years.

Another noise above me. I look to see a feathered creature staring directly at me, its big brown eyes swooning with curiosity. I stand a bit frightened as I have never seen one in real life, but I think to myself that it is indeed a barn owl.

We stare at each other, mesmerized by the other creature’s likeness so different from our own.

The door swings open so suddenly I jump, as does the bird. I watch its wings appear as if out of its body and swiftly make its exit out an iced-out hole slightly above its original perch.

“What was that?” My dad has caught the tail end of my interaction.

“It was a barn owl, Dad.” I’m still staring out the hole the owl has made its departure. I shake a sad feeling away and get ready to be disappointed. “What did Lou say about the structures?”

My dad looks at me. By his strained smile, I know it wasn’t the news I wanted to hear, and it wasn’t the message he wanted to deliver. My eyes start to water, and before my first sob he has his strong arms holding me up.

My reason for being so upset was that the farmer had said no. He wasn’t going to sell. The reason I wanted it so bad, so bad that I was sobbing in the arms of my daddy, was because my grandfather had recently passed away. This land in small town Alberta, Canada, with the cold wind and frost, was his home. It was the place his parents raised him, his 4 brothers and their little sister.

His childhood that was filled with mischief and risky games, one year landing a goat to go skating one winter on their pond, another where they tied up their brother in the forest and forgot him until dinner. When he was a teenager, he got into his father’s moonshine and received the biggest beating for it. This was the place he brought my grandmother to after they were married, and expecting their first child, the first baby on the property since his little sister took her first steps. It was the home he lived in for many years and where his car business first took off.

I am devastated. My dad is talking to me, trying to soothe my aching heart from breaking all over again, but I can’t hear anything over the horrible word in my head.

Failure.

This was supposed to be my attempt at connecting with a man who no longer existed. I wanted to own the land and build something for his children, grandchildren, and those to come after. The last active interaction with my Papa was our walk in this field last winter, our arms linked as we helped each other brave the icy field below our feet. The original homestead had been torn down years ago, but the barn was still here. We had stood inside it just like I was now, except without the waterworks. It now stands, even a bit tilted on the earth, like we had. It meant something to me, my last memory of our relationship.

My tears are slowing, and my breathing is starting to feel regular.

“Sweetheart, Farmer Lou wants us to skedaddle. We need to make like a tree and leave.” He pulls away and I see his face, he too, is disappointed and trying to lighten my mood with a joke. It’s not his father who has passed, but I know it's hard on all of us. “Okay?”

“Okay.” I wipe my tears away. My dad smiles and says thank you to the farmer, who I can see out of the corner of my eye as we walk out the door of the barn.

The sunshine hits my face harshly, the snow never seems to be gentle anymore. In looking back towards the shadow innards of the barn, I see the owl appear again, eyeing me. I think I read somewhere that birds are an omen, of wisdom and intuition. Maybe it's my grandfather’s spirit, watching me and guiding my decision making. I don’t know exactly what I believe in this moment, but maybe there was a reason this wasn’t working out the way I wanted right now.

I slow my walk and take a deep breath, the brisk air chilling my airways. I close my eyes for a brief second and picture myself flying through the snowy clouds, my golden wings holding me steady as my flight ascends.

“Are you okay, Hun, do you need another minute?” My dad is concerned, but I smile, and he relaxes his protective stance.

“I’ll be okay, Dad. I just miss Papa.”

“Me too, kid. Let’s go tell Mama what we found out.” He offers me his arm and I take it. My dad is stronger than Papa was and helps me trudge through the snow. I look at him and promise myself I will not cry. For now, I am with my dad and in the moment I am happy to be with him, just like I was last winter, being arm in arm with you.

I recently had a dream about my grandfather meeting my son, who apparently he adores. He had been dead 4 years when my son was born, so I took it as a sign that he was watching, maybe as an Angel, over my new child.

I last saw my Papa in the place I've seen him a million times: the Family farm. I always dream about our family there, both good dreams and the nightmares. I've always wondered what it means, and maybe one day I'll find out.

For now, my son gets to explore the world I grew up around, and visit the farm before it no longer holds our family's name. He also gets to bond with my parents, his grandparents, and create special memories and bonds of his own.

Thank you Papa, for all that you gave us. This tribute is for you