I liked working with Grandpa Hancock. I loved his stories, advice, and the funny
things he would say to me while we were working together. Work wasn’t something he did because he had
to; it was something he did because he loved it. I helped him with his chickens, bees, garden,
and cows and now I have each of these in my own yard today. I’ve even been talking to a friend about
growing sorghum so we can make our own molasses. Working with my own children
with these activities have helped me not miss him so much. Plus, it has given
me the opportunity to teach them about this amazing man and the lessons he
taught me.
I always felt like I was on some kind of adventure whenever
I worked with Grandpa. Several times he asked us to go with him to gather cows.
Sometimes we would have to hike for miles before we found the cattle. Since I have always loved hiking I looked forward
to going along. Usually, the cows would
peacefully let themselves be herded, but not always. One time we went to get a cow he had out on
someone’s property. I have no idea how
long the cow had been out there or what he was planning on doing with her but I
do know she was mean. She was in the corral when we got there so we just had to
get her into the truck. There was the
adventure. She had fire in her eyes and
she wasn’t afraid to show how she felt about us. She would balk and tug at the rope one minute
but then would rush at us and try to stomp us into the ground the next. I admired the way Grandpa held his ground but
was certainly not ready to do so myself.
I’m sure she smelled my fear even though I desperately tried to appear
cool and calm on the outside. We, and
when I say “we” I mean Grandpa because I was keeping my distance from this
ferocious monster, drove her up the ramp into the truck and he tied her up to
the front. Then we started home with
Grandpa driving and me sitting at the front of my seat keeping one eye behind
me. The cow didn’t stop fighting the ropes the whole way home and the way she
was stomping and carrying on I was sure she was still trying to get at us. I
tried to be discreet with my spying because I didn’t want Grandpa to know how
afraid I was of her coming through the back window to finish me off but he
could tell and talked to me about it. On
the one hand, I knew that I’d be safe with Grandpa but on the other hand, if
that cow got any closer to me I would have willingly spent the rest of the trip
hugging the front bumper. That day I
learned that it’s ok to be afraid as long as you still finish the job.
One time my dad dropped me off to help Grandpa unload hay
from the back of his truck (I’m still amazed at how he was able to load so much
hay into the back of that old, green, dilapidated beast of a truck). When I got
there, Grandma directed me to watch out for Grandpa and make sure he didn’t
work too hard. I always took Grandma
very seriously and since she didn’t go into details I figured maybe Grandpa was
having a hard time or something so I did everything I could to make sure he
didn’t have to lift a single bail. I
tried to be strong and fast but it wasn’t easy keeping ahead of him and before
long I was ready to give out myself.
About that time he said to me, “I know your grandma told you to watch
out for me but I’m still able to do a little work.” I was really glad he said that because trying
to save him was killing me. He then took
his hook and grabbed one end of the next bail and I did the same on my end and
we worked the rest of the time together without either one of us perishing.
That day I learned that by working together the job gets done without anybody
getting hurt or dying.
I think the most grueling work I did with Grandpa was
extracting honey. First of all, I’m not
a fan of pain. Since bee stings are
painful, I whole-heartily try to avoid them.
In those days, the veils we wore were tied on with these tiny
thread-like strings that wove around us like fragile spider webs. If you didn’t tie your strings correctly, you
got stung. Period. I much prefer today’s veils with their
zippers and Velcro. Luckily, Grandpa was always willing to help me tie my veil
and, if I could find it, I’d add a little duct tape to the mix. I remember helping him butcher chickens one
time when one of the headless chickens ran into a beehive and knocked it
over. He just walked over and lifted the
hive back upright then came back and we continued with the chickens. I wondered how in the world he was able to do
that without getting stung. I remained
perplexed until later, as we waited for Grandma to fix lunch; he sat in his
chair, took out his pocket knife, and proceeded to dig the stingers out of his
hands. I couldn’t believe it! When I got stung, even once, I thought for
sure I was going to die and acted the part. But not Grandpa. He just kept on going as if he had never been
stung. That day I learned that it’s ok
to work through pain, especially when you know it’s temporary.
As I grow older, I am more and more grateful for the fond
memories I have of working with Grandpa, for his stories and the lessons he
taught me. I still miss him but am
indebted and thankful to our loving Heavenly Father and our Savior for making it
possible for us to be together again. No
doubt I will beg him to repeat his stories plus others he didn’t have the time
to tell.
Coy Hancock
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