On Tuesday November 4th at about 12:30 my last Grandpa died. I had some people ask me if we were close and if I am sad. The answer to both of those questions is both yes and no.
Grandpa owned Werkhoven dairy and ran it with two of my uncles. When I was about twelve I started spending time up there in the summers. By the time I was about fourteen we (my cousins Steve and Jerry and I, and later on my little brother Sam) were working there most of the summer. We lived in Grandpa and Grandma’s basement. I guess we really only slept in the basement, most of our time was spend on and around the farm. So was I close to Grandpa? He was a second father to me. So yes we were close.
For those years of my life I probably spent more time we gramps than with dad. We would get up at about 4:30 (if I remember correctly). Gramps would usually wake us up with his gravelly voice singing an overly cheerful version of “You are my sunshine” or the woeful melody of “Old Black Joe”. He also left us a granola dip, which I haven’t seen in years. We would get up and do the morning milking and feeding calves and then come into breakfast around 8:00. We would usually sit around for a little while and listen to the news till breakfast was ready then we would eat (scrambled eggs, oatmeal and toast) and have the morning devotions around the breakfast table. After that we would generally take a really short nap. We got pretty good a being able to sleep for about 10 minutes on the living room floor. Then we would go out and push up feed and by about 10:00 or 10:30 we were ready so start whatever job we had for the day. Moving cows, laying pipe, vaccinating animals, fixing fence, cleaning fence line, hauling manure, dismantling something, building barns, or whatever were we told to do. We would work at that until about noon and then have lunch and head out to milk cows again. I don’t remember when they hired out the noon milking, but we did a lot of them. If you weren’t on milking duty then you would continue working on whatever projects were on the agenda for the day. Then at about 3:00 we would go in for coffee time and have some snacks. Then we would head back out to feed calves again and take care of the other daily chores. I don’t remember specifically when we would go in for dinner, but I think it was usually between 5:30 and 6:00. Whenever we got done with the chores. Then we would eat and have the evening Bible reading and have a little time to mess around. In the latter year I remember that we would also drop hay that we would feed or would be fed by the night milkers so the cows would still have food in the morning. The goal was to get it so there was some feed in the morning so they had something all night, but not so much it would go to waste when you cleaned it up the next morning.
All that to say - we spend a lot of hours working with gramps. I remember spending many mornings with him down in the milking parlor. Whenever we came back for a weekend he would always quiz us on our girlfriends (which we didn’t have). He would also try and convince us that we should all become preachers. None of his grandsons to date have taken up preaching though. He also used to argue with Jerry and me that the cows preferred classical music to the top 40 stuff we wanted to listen to when milking. He was probably right, but we sure couldn’t admit it.
Grandpa was a “good” man. Yes he was a sinner, but he truly loved God. Unfortunately I learned how to swear quite well on the farm, but I didn’t learn it from him. There are some words however that on the farm aren’t swear words but refer to an actual substance that has to be dealt with all day every day. Although he would occasionally get frustrated, he was probably slower to loose his temper than the rest of us. He liked to tease us and we enjoyed teasing him back. I remember one summer that they bought a new car and Grandma and Grandpa were used as a testimonial in an add for the dealer. All I can remember about it is that somewhere in the add it said “says Sam”. Jerry and I found some markers and wrote our parody testimonial on the back of his jacket. Of course we used permanent markers and it was still faded but visible after numerous washings.
Another fun joke we played on him involved his nightly TV habit. This was before universal remote controls were popular, but Andy had the same brand of TV as Grandpa and Grandma. We got their remote control and proceeded to torture Grandpa and Grandma by changing channels, volume and sometimes just turning it off through the window. Then when grandpa would get up and play with the buttons we would turn it back on and start messing with it again. This happens to be one of my favorites. We couldn’t do it all the time, but if you waited long enough you could use it again later.
We also enjoyed throwing pop-its at the window in the evening to try and scare them. I don’t know if it ever really worked, but we were teenagers and thought it was great.
As teenagers we generally had pretty free rein. We learned about Roman Candles and how to shoot them in the field (and at some large black and white animals, shhh). We learned about how to make a “bomb” that was really a big boom and fireball with little destructive force using a blow torch, some plastic gloves and a toilet paper wick. We learned the birds and the bees by watching it happen, by seeing the bull jump the cow (and artificial insemination) and by watching and sometimes assisting calves being born. We learned how crazy testosterone can make you and how bad jealousy can be while running away from bulls or conversely how crazy women might be after birth when you try and take the calf away from a maternally protective cow (I’ve broken some fairly healthy boards over the crown of a bulls head to keep him away, but I don’t remember ever being taken down by one. I can remember two times where I was taken out by a cow, although one wasn’t fair, I wasn’t even awake yet and there was no calf in sight. I learned how to project my voice and yell loudly when trying to get a herd to move (not an especially useful skill in city life or at home with little kids, but I still have it). We learned very well what manure smells like, feels like, and sometimes tastes like.
Grandpa was the only guy I knew who could seemingly hold together an old farmall tractor together with bailing wire and duct tape. He taught us how to milk and how to give shots. He always liked to call you by wrong names when you came and pretend like he didn’t know how to read so you would read him a book (that only worked when we were younger though). Grandpa taught us how to pull his tractor out of the manure pit when he got stuck in it when he was hauling manure away before they started flushing. That is when he would get frustrated. I remember having nightmares about the manure pit. How I would be backing down into it and I couldn’t find the breaks. I would wake up to my leg searching for the break and be all scared that I was going to get the tractor stuck. I guess that means that they also taught us how to driver tractor and the old pickup. Although neither vehicle nor their surroundings escaped completely unscathed from the process. We learned how to shoot little birds with our BB guns, and every once in a while we would get to see a cow butchered and the butcher would explain all the parts of the body to us. [They were killed quickly and not tortured Kristina, but dairy cows don’t make that good of eating because they don’t have much fat.] We learned how to build thing and how to work saws, drills, blow torches, and even the old trusty hammer and nails.
All that to say that we spent a lot of time with Gramps, and in that respect we were close. Over the last several years though we have only been up to see him a couple times a year. I’m not very good a keeping up old friendships and there are times when I certainly neglected to visit him, but I do fondly remember the times when I did. Especially when I would come up by myself and stay the night again back in the basement and we would talk about the world and a little theology before bedtime. Now in heaven, I know his theology is straight even if mine misses the mark still. So we were close, but not close recently. I miss him, but he wasn’t a part of my daily life, so my life will continue without major adjustments. The farm will certainly be different without him there.
Grandpa was fighting esophageal cancer and was in a lot of pain. He really missed Grandma, and was ready to meet his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He will be missed on this side. The last time I talked to Grandpa, in the hospital after celebrating Canadian Thanksgiving (Aunt Sue married the great Canadian Eric so now we get two Thanksgivings every year), I was able to have two memorable conversations with him. First and my favorite, I asked him if he missed getting up to work every morning and he said “No, not really”. Then I asked him what he did miss. I was thinking he would talk about Grandma, but he still had his humor about him and got that little smile on his face and said “the shit”. When we were leaving we looked in each other’s eyes and held each other’s hands and said “I Love you”. I’m sure we probably said it before, but I can’t remember it. When talking with Jerry about it, he recalled that we kissed them good night so I imagine we said we loved them before, but I can’t remember it. I am glad I can remember saying it the last time and that we both knew we meant it. Now his old bones no longer pain him and he is in the presence of the almighty. In the care of the one who loved us so much he sent his Son to die for our sin. Keep praying for us Grandpa, we will see you soon.
I can’t help but think of a verse from one of my new favorite songs from the Trinity hymnal (I’m still fairly new as a Presbyterian congregant).
How Sweet and Awesome is this Place
How sweet and awesome is this place
[originally How sweet and aweful is the place]
With Christ within the doors,
While everlasting love displays
The choicest of her stores!
Here every bowel of our God
With soft compassion rolls;
Here peace and pardon bought with blood
Is food for dying souls.
While all our hearts and all our songs
Join to admire the feast,
Each of us cry, with thankful tongues,
“Lord, why was I a guest?
“Why was I made to hear Thy voice,
And enter while there’s room,
When thousands make a wretched choice,
And rather starve than come?”
’Twas the same love that spread the feast
That sweetly drew us in;
Else we had still refused to taste,
And perished in our sin.
Pity the nations, O our God!
Constrain the earth to come;
Send Thy victorious Word abroad,
And bring the strangers home.
We long to see Thy churches full,
That all the chosen race
May with one voice, and heart and soul,
Sing Thy redeeming grace.
I’m sure there is something else I could have said, or should have said, but that is it for now. I have the privilege to have been asked to sing a song with my Aunt and Uncle at the memorial and we may also sing at the graveside. We have two old time gospel favorites picked out. I’m not accustomed to singing with guitar, but it is kind of fund to me unconstrained by what is written, and Eric does a really good job.
I still haven’t gotten my Washington D.C. Post up yet. Some of the pictures from the first couple days are online though.
Granpa’s Obituary
Samuel Andrew Werkhoven
Dad, you’ve made the obituaries! After years of joking, “So, am I in the obituaries today?” you’re here.
Samuel Andrew Werkhoven was translated from this life to his heavenly home on Wednesday, November 5, 2008. He had suffered from cancer for about three months.
Sam was born in Iowa on January 11, 1921. He spent most of his early years in Minnesota. In 1942, he married Hilda DeYoung. They spent over 60 years together, until her death in 2003. They moved to Washington in 1947. He provided for his family by working on dairies, at lumber mills and then by operating his own dairy beginning in 1959.
Sam is survived by his children, Walt (Evie) Werkhoven, Thelma (Stan) Vander Pol, Jim (Dolores) Werkhoven, Andy (Gloria) Werkhoven, and Sue (Erick) Alberts. Also survived by 20 grandchildren; 20 great-grandchildren; and three sisters, Jeanette Johnson, Alice Sunderlin and Jane Johnson and her husband, Doug.
Visitation will be from 12 to 7 p.m., Monday, November 10, and from 9 to 10 a.m., Tuesday, November 11, at Purdy & Kerr w/ Dawson Funeral Home in Monroe, WA.
A Graveside service will be held at 11 a.m., Tuesday, November 11, at IOOF Cemetery, Monroe. Memorial service at 1 p.m., at New Hope Fellowship, Monroe, WA.
Memorial gifts may be given to Monroe Christian School or INCOR (care of New Hope Fellowship.)