Remembering Dad: An Inspirational Story

This farmer in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley is doing the kind of work the author’s dad always loved best. Photography by Pat and Chuck Blackley.

Story by Dale Bentz
Wellsville, Pennsylvania

Editor’s note: Have you ever noticed how eloquent country folks can be delivering a eulogy? No highfalutin language. Just plain-spoken words that come from the heart as they share their sentiments at the funeral of a loved one. Dale Bentz wrote such a memorial after the passing of his dad, Laverne, a couple years ago. Laverne had been a dairy and beef farmer for over 50 years, and here’s how his son chose to eulogize him:
Well, Dad, it rained Monday afternoon. It was a nice rain—a little windy—but it didn’t put the wheat down. On Tuesday morning, Mother checked the rain gauge and said it measured 1-1/2 inches.
Did you put water in her rain gauge again to fool her? I only had 1/2 inch at my house—I know how you like to play tricks on her.
I mowed the lawn yesterday afternoon. I think we finally got the bugs worked out of the Cub. It ran great.
Had Time to Think
While I was mowing, I had time to think about all of the great times we’ve shared over the past 50 years. You taught me the value of hard work, and how to enjoy it. You never told me how to do anything, but you showed me how to do everything…like the first time you started me disking on Smith’s Hill. I think I was only 9 years old, and boy, did you make me feel special.
I can remember standing on the tractor drawbar day after day, watching your every move as you masterfully plowed acre after acre. Then came the moment when you said it was my turn to get on the seat. What a day that was. Or the first time I mowed hay with the haybine.
I remember very well that spring when you told me it was time for me to start planting corn. I said I didn’t think I would ever be able to plant straight rows like you. You assured me that you had confidence in me, and then showed me the tricks to your trademark straight rows. I was proud to carry on that Bentz tradition. You were the best teacher a son could ask for.
I didn’t know it then, but you were also teaching me lessons about life—like being honest and fair, and “Your word means everything.” Oh, and, “Don’t ask anyone else to do something that you wouldn’t do yourself,” and “Get along with others by treating them the way you would like to be treated by them.”
We had a lot of fun, too. Dad, do you remember that day on my first hunting trip? Wow—what a day! You got a four-point buck, Dick Diller bagged a six pointer, and I—a little 13-year-old boy—got an eight-point buck. We got back from Elk County by suppertime that same day, and Mother was scared when she saw us back so soon. She thought someone was hurt or sick. Was she surprised!
Dad, I am so glad I was able to be part of your life. I always respected the way you were willing to try new ideas, or to modernize the buildings and equipment. But you taught me to never forget what got us there—good hard work.
Home to the Farm
I never told you this, but when you were very sick and in the nursing home, you asked me when I was going to plant soybeans. I told you I was waiting for you to get home to get the ground ready. You said you didn’t know if you’d ever get home, and even if you did, you
didn’t believe you would ever be able to run a tractor again.
When I got home that day, I went out to the shop and asked God to make you well enough to get home, and strong enough to run the tractor and help me get those beans planted. About a week later, we brought you home…and a week or so after that, my prayer request was granted when you asked me to get the tractor and disk ready for you.
For the next 4 days, you disked and I planted. You also started mowing the lawn again, your favorite job, and running errands for me with Mother.
I’ll never forget the 2005 planting season—the year God let my dad, my hero and best friend, make one more round.