It hurried through the weeds, leaving a wake of uprooted plants. Last week I saw it scurrying through Dad’s old tools. In the spring, it briefly appeared as I planted the beans, but today it couldn’t escape. I lifted it out of the pumpkins and examined it in the sun.

It was dirty; its hide well tanned, covered with scrapes. Dark patches and the blue-green tracks of veins showed through the dirt. Turning it over, I paused at the paler underside.

I think I’ve seen it before, I thought. Closing my eyes, I rummaged through my memory; yes, it had appeared before- last winter driving my truck, years earlier making a presentation to a client. Each time as furtive as a ghost. The sightings were occurring more frequently and lasting longer.

My eyes shot open; I knew what it was. One last look, and then I let it drop, content that I would see it again.

There in the bright sun of the garden, I had seen Dad’s hand.

David L Dahl

——–

In honor of Father’s Day I’ve reposted a piece from July of 2016. I do hope you enjoy it.

The Patoka Project continues to occupy all my time. Through last week, I have interviewed twenty-one folks. That’s twenty-one unique stories and recollections. Before the summer is over, I hope to speak with at least 10 more.

The editing of these transcripts is a daunting task, but I’ve finished thirteen of them, each a fascinating journey into the past.

If all goes well, I’ll complete my research in August, and begin to draft the History of the Patoka Lake Regional Water and Sewer District.