OPINION

My mother walked more than any of us. For decades, she was on her feet from before dawn until well after dark cleaning, cooking, canning, baking and doing laundry. You name it, Mom did it on her feet … and in a hurried, keep-up! pace.

Dad probably walked as much but his stride was less urgent. His day began with a starlit, 300-yard walk to the milking parlor and, after two hours of backand-forth shuffling between cows (alongside the farm’s born shuffler, herdsman Howard) Dad walked home for breakfast.

After that it was work, work, work and walk, walk, walk.

Noon dinner and a brief nap broke Dad and Mom’s on-their-feet routine.

Then, right at 1 p.m., an afternoon of more working and more walking ensued until 4, when Dad would walk back to the house for a “lunch.” Ten minutes later he was walking to the dairy barn for two more hours of the milking parlor shuffle with ever-shuffling Howard.