On April 4, 1980 my family was gathered around our kitchen table cutting my parents' birthday cake (my dad's birthday was the 4th and my mom's the 5th) when the phone rang and we received word that my grandpa, Ora Cleve Hofheins, was in a terrible farming accident. He had been caught in a post hole digger. I was young and my memories of my grandfather to this point were sparse but meaningful. Little did I know, how that one phone call would change decades and effect generations.
My grandfather had broken most of his ribs, dislocated his shoulder, punctured his lung and broke his neck... he was lucky to be alive. Before this day, I had great memories of the farm. My older brothers worked there most Saturdays. On occasion, I was permitted to be a part of the Hofheins operation. Branding and dehorning cattle are a few of my favorite moments there. One distinct memory I cherish above all others was when Grandpa and Uncle Kent were herding the cattle into the corral when they gathered all of us... the grand kids to help. On this day, although I was small, I was invited to help still the same. He gave me specific instructions to stand "right there! And don't worry the cows are just as much afraid of you as you are of them. I remember them coming towards me with those long tongues that dropped like long pieces of red licorice." I remember my fear, but above all I remember my grandfather's voice.
My mother was raised in Beaver and this is the house I called grandma's. Although the house has been sold, I like to think of grandma there today sitting in the white wood framed house piecing a quilt together or putting her famous Baker's Secret cake in the oven. After the accident, all of my memories of my grandfather, are of a man sitting in a recliner with a cowboy hat atop his head telling stories... all of which I am not certain are true. I did not know the same grandfather that my older siblings did. The one who wore lipstick when he rode the range, the one who did backflips until his 50's, or the one who could mount a horse by jumping on it bareback from behind. I wish I did!
Today, we went to church in Beaver to hear my cousin report his mission. Mom told us stories (she is like her dad in that way) and took us to see grandpa's farming land. As young men, Grandpa and his brother Ike were determined to leave the vocation of stone mason which their father and grandfather pursued and become cattleman. They worked hard and acquired beautiful farming land with an abundance of water rights.
Grandma and Grandpa Weaver at the pasture with the Rigby and Englestead families
Bud and sons Markay and Travis (my Rigby)
My Uncle Kent and sons Kelby and Kailin
My Uncle Kent and Aunt Keri's beautiful family
After grandpa's accident, the farm fell to the responsibility of my Uncle Kent. He was 18 and had big dreams. The 80's were hard on farmers and the farm land, cattle, and water rights were lost, and so were the memories that were never to be made. Sometimes, I feel cheated... cheated that there were not more days of standing where my grandfather said while the mooing of the cows bellowed as they neared me. But we can't change the past. We can't change the fact of grandpa's accident. But we can remember and be grateful for al that we do have... we still have each other!
The Creek bed
I wish grandpa could tell these two one of his stories
My grandpa- the cowboy with his sons Kent and Bernell
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