The Grand Wood Cutter

Under the watchful eye of his grandfather, Gabe makes
practice cuts in a log with a chainsaw last fall. Notice the
matching flannel shirts, suspenders and ball caps.

When I am driving down the road toward my family farm, it is hard to tell my teenage son and my father apart until I pull into the driveway.

Gabe has idolized his grandfather from the very beginning. 

"No shorts, Mommy," he would say as soon as he had some say in his wardrobe choice. "Grandpa wears jeans."

"I need more button-down shirts, please. Like Grandpa's."

"Wow! Grandpa got me a pair of suspenders! Just like his!"

He soon transitioned from just looking like him to doing chores like him. He dislikes green peppers but thinks fried mush is a delicacy. He will watch hours of "American Pickers," "Ice Road Truckers," "Dumbest Stuff on Wheels" -- whatever keeps him and Grandpa in their recliners the longest on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Gabe is just as close to my mother, but not so much into emulating her wardrobe or her hobbies and chores.

Being in relationship with grandparents can be one of the most rewarding aspects of childhood. I was lucky enough to grow up right next door to my father's parents, and my mother's parents were close enough to visit often. I know they are cornerstones of my foundation.

There's something special going on between my son and my dad, though. History is repeating itself.

My father grew up right next door to his grandparents too, his mother's parents who lived on the very same farm. He spent far more time plowing fields, feeding animals, chopping wood and whatever else farmers do with his Grandpa Benson than he did anywhere else, including his own home.

It was more than hanging out with a beloved relative. He was learning valuable skills, not just in operating a farm but in general self-sufficiency. My husband always says that if the apocalypse comes, we're heading to the farm where Big Jim will keep us warm, fed and safe.

My dad is intentional about imparting these same skills to his grandchildren, with Gabe getting the most instruction as he practically lives at the farm. Their current project is putting a new metal roof on the garage. Sure he could pay a professional roofer to do the job, he said, but then how would Gabe learn to do it?

Gabe also has learned how to shoot a rifle and operate a chainsaw, dangerous things I never would have been likely to teach him. From mowing to snow-blowing, he can do it all.

Which is good news for my dad. Growing up, there were five of us kids to pick up sticks, pull weeds, plant flowers, feed calves, haul wood, wash trucks, pick vegetables, roll hay, collect eggs, muck barns -- not to mention wash dishes, dust shelves and hang laundry. Frankly, I think we all could survive the apocalypse.

But now Dad is down to just one regular extra set of hands, and he's tending all three family properties on the farm. It's a major endeavor.

Good thing Gabe grew big and strong. Just like his Grandpa.