Shepherding Outdoors

GEORGE'S LAST FALL

BY WALT MERRELL

Hannah laughs when she tells the story now … about the first time she looked across the quad at Montevallo and saw my middle-of-my-back, long hair and my cut-off shorts. “The first time I ever saw Walt, I knew right then, he’d make my momma and daddy mad,” she recalled. So, I turned to my girlfriends and declared, ‘I am gonna take that boy home to meet my parents!’” And she did.

Little did she know, though, despite her mischievous intentions, we would fall in love … and we did. And, soon enough, I met her parents, too. The first time I met her dad face-to-face, I was a nervous wreck. A big, barrel-chested man with a voice as large as his personality, George Gantt was not a man that any suitor wanted to see standing in the threshold of the door. He wrapped his massive arms around Hannah, nearly enveloping her into his fold, and stared at me over her shoulder. I promise, had I had the car keys in my hand, I would have left right then and there. That stare … a thousand-yard, cold sniper’s stare that pierced me to my soul … I knew, in that moment, he could “see” me. And I was scared to death.

“Do I have lipstick on my collar? Do I have a booger? Why are my palms so sweaty? What if he smells that I smoke cigarettes?” (I’ve since quit!) My mind raced into a frenzy … and then he stepped forward out of the doorway and shook my hand like a 100-ton hydraulic press.

“Waaalt Mer-rell, sir. Nice to meeeet you.” My voice cracked under the pressure of the moment, and the bones in my hand cracked under the pressure of his grip. I tried not to flinch. “Gruuunnhh-unnhh,” I cleared the frog from my throat. “Thank you for having me.”

“Come on in the house, son.” He then pulled me up into the doorway and patted me on the shoulder. Hannah began introducing me to everyone in the room and, that day, George began planting seeds in me.

Years later, perhaps while Hannah and I were engaged to be married, I recall sitting around the dinner table with Hannah and her parents. Brenda had made meatloaf and creamed potatoes with English peas. “My favorite,” and she knew it. I knew she had made the meal just for me.

“We’ve been praying for you since before we knew you,” George offered in between bites of cornbread. “We’ve prayed that the Lord would bring a strong, healthy, Christian man to Hannah as her husband.” He paused for a minute before cracking a smile … “and we got you instead!” He teased as he burst into laughter. I laughed, too … but I honestly felt that I couldn’t be the answer to that prayer. I loved Hannah, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, no doubt … but “a strong, healthy, Christian man”? I wasn’t sure I could measure up to that standard. But George … well, before he even knew what seeds he was going to plant … he started preparing the soil.

Years went by, and not only did Hannah and I get married, but we also had three beautiful girls along the way. As a young man, I didn’t know how to be a husband or a father. For all practical purposes, I was estranged from my dad at an early age, and I often found myself scratching my head at how to handle a problem in my marriage or as a father. But the soil George had prepared and the seeds he planted all grew along with me … and within my relationship with him. He’d give me advice along the way, encourage me to pray and remind me of what a “man” looks like in word and deed. And I followed his example … for he was a strong, healthy, Christian man.

And then came the winter of his life. This picture of George driving his old John Deere ahead of me on my Massey Fergussen … this was the last time George and I ever planted together. Fitting, isn’t it, that one of the last times he and I spent together as “men” was him planting seeds?

Frustrating at the time, I look back at his antics and laugh today. We had planted several green fields that morning in anticipation of deer season. He had not actually hunted in a few years, but he loved to work with the tractor, so I invited him to help. And, as luck would have it, about two hours in, I blew a hydraulic hose on my lift. We tried to remove the old hose with an old, rusty, adjustable wrench, but the hose would have none of it. So, George drove his tractor back to the house to get a few tools. An hour later, he still had not returned. Frustrated, but perhaps suspiciously understanding, I walked a mile back to the house. When I walked through the very same door he first shook my hand in, I found him kicked up in his recliner drinking a big glass of sweet tea! I shook my head, but I couldn’t help but smile.

“What you been doing?” his voice boomed as I came inside and shut the door. From the time he left me in the field until he got home, he forgot what he was doing and where I was at. I shook my head and said, “The tractor is broke down, and I need your help.” Without hesitation, he got up, and we got a few tools and went back out to fix it.

It’s okay that sometimes in life, we forget where we are going and what we are supposed to do … I see that every day in my profession. What I look for in people is their core … and George, at his core, never hesitated to help anyone who was in need. He may have forgotten, but that didn’t change who he was, and it certainly didn’t change the fact that he taught me most everything I know about being a father and a husband. He planted those seeds …

The fact was, George didn’t know a lick about being a mechanic—not that I knew much more than he did. He was a “hold this” helper, and he was good at it. Together, we got the hose off and ran to town to have a new one built. We did get the tractor back up and running, and, though we were a little late for supper, we finished planting that same day.

Regrettably, this was the last fall that he and I ever planted together. He died of complications from dementia the following year. He was a giant among men … and even though he never planted a single row crop, he was the greatest farmer I ever knew. He didn’t know much about cotton or peanuts, but he knew a lot about life and family and faith. And he was better at those things, for sure. So that’s where he planted seeds … in life, in faith, and in family … and in me, too. And I’m not much of a crop, but I’m a might bit better than what I was when he found me.

Sometimes, just hold something … sometimes, just be eager to help … sometimes, be forgiving. But always … love people where they are. And, even if you wander off the path a little, just come back.

God bless.

Walt Merrell writes about life, family and faith.  An avid hunter and outdoorsman, he enjoys time “in the woods or on the water” with his wife Hannah, and their three girls, Bay, Cape and Banks. They also manage an outdoors-based ministry called Shepherding Outdoors.  Follow their adventures on Facebook, Instagram and YouTube at Shepherding Outdoors.  You can email him at shepherdingoutdoors@ gmail.com.