Dad's Tractor: What One Man Does with Stage 4 Cancer

If you've read the "About" on this webpage, you know that we came here to Canby a few years ago when my Dad was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. Before that time, my Dad was a strapping man in his seventies, a man who spent his days outdoors, working and building and planning--each day another project, another way he could make this place just a bit better than the day before. As my brother so succinctly put it--"Dad never got old until he got sick." No kidding.

During the 3 years of his illness, Dad cleared our 14 acres of blackberries and trash & fenced those same acres. He helped me grow our herd of cattle to 25 and counting, raised several flocks of chickens and ducks from eggs to adults. He mowed and raked and cleaned and organized across nearly 40 acres of land on two sides of the road. He built a deck for his wife complete with a wobble-rail from limbs he gathered in his cleanup. He cheered and encouraged us all into tackling this insane farm house remodel and he was there all along--even while the rest of us were at our paying jobs--cleaning, tearing down walls, stuffing insulation into bags, hauling wood, putting up doors, throwing out old windows, leveling ground, fixing fence and tending to cattle. And still the cancer continued to grow inside him.

He could not tolerate the treatments--they made him too sick, too miserable--so he chose the minimalist route, opting instead for targeted radiation to reduce the painful tumors pressing on his nerves so he could get back outside and back to work. Still he talked about the family business, about how my brother and I could expand our construction company and grow the cattle business alongside it, perhaps adding a building out along the fence where the land is nice and flat. For awhile it seemed the cancer had slowed and that Dad might be with us as we pondered the building, the plans for the future. Then the pain came back--so much worse than before, and radiation was no longer an option. In March hospice came and brought with them the medicines to help him to sleep and to manage the pain so that some semblance of peace returned.

For weeks then we watched as the pain went down, and Dad slept more and dozed in his chair and came outside less and less. Stopping by the house in the middle of the day you might find him in bed--an occurrence never before seen in my 45 years of life as his daughter. He lay in his bed, eyes closed, hand clasped around mine, telling me about the cattle and how I needed to watch for signs of impending labor and how much hay to buy to get us through the end of the winter.

At last he stopped coming outside at all and his skin--forever bronze with a lifetime of work in the sun--turned a pale, thin, grey color. My brother took to running the tractor as the need arose and I took over all of the chores. Things left in the barn stayed in the places I put them. Nothing moved ahead unless one of us--Tyson or I--moved it along. Dad stayed inside in his chair, in his bed. This is what it will be like when he is gone, my mind said. How will you keep it all going when he is gone?

In the early morning hours of August 28, 2021, our father let go his last breath and the world dimmed around us. Like the poet he was, Dad made his exit at the height of harvest time, fruit heavy on the trees, flowers flashing their final brilliant colors before returning to ground. We are so blessed to have had him.

May 2022

It has been nearly a year and so much has changed. We had the most beautiful calf crop-12 bulls before a single heifer was born. After much soul searching, I made the decision to begin selling off the herd and to focus instead, on our continued efforts to improve the land and buildings before returning any livestock to the land.

It is amazing how much work we have done here these past 4 years--the place is hardly recognizable. Everywhere I see my father, and I have committed to plant a new tree each April 6th on his birthday, in tribute to the life he lived dedicated to making the earth and the places he touched better than he found them. This year it was a Magnolia, planted just outside the front window so I can see the bright purple blooms from my place on the couch.

So now to the house.

We have worked SO HARD on this house. It is not an exaggeration to say that the house was absolutely on its last legs when we bought it. Some of the photos will tell part of the story, but only those of us who were here can ever really understand the magnitude of what we have been through with it.

So far this Spring, we have added a sweet little patio outside the kitchen window, complete with planter boxes and an old water feature that belonged to Dad. We built a privacy fence out front along Mulino Road, and just this past week, we finished the irrigation around the house, allowing automatic watering of all the new trees and flowers we have planted.

The new fence led me to calling Tyson over with the excavator to tear out the dilapidated old concrete walkway off the front porch, which of course led me to last weekend using the broken concrete to build the first of several pathways through the yard. I have a vision developing of the most beautiful cottage style garden; the first few plants have already taken root--creeping thyme planted amidst the new pathway, yarrow and blue fescue and poppies elsewhere in little patches of color. One day, the entire yard will be a garden--not a stitch of grass--instead, quaking aspen trees along the fence, sweet lilac and lavender, masses of wildflowers, butterfly bush, sedum and bulbs to span the seasons.

This summer a covered back patio is planned, and I have the irrigation for the hillside garden along its edges already teed up for planting. I suppose we will need one more privacy screen at the new patio as well, and then onto the continued development of the orchard, where already a hammock swings in summertime and games of badminton spring up with the kids.

The banks of the Milk Creek call my name this time of year too--Dad and I spoke of it often--the picnic spots and little camp sites where we can welcome people to enjoy the creek and fields. Lucky for me, nature has done most of the work there, and what remains is some mowing and brush cleanup to make it just right.

Inside the house a few odds and ends remain--painting the exterior doors and adding doors to a bedroom closet upstairs. (I have already purchased some old doors from Aurora Mills Architectural Salvage, and I can't wait to get to work on them). I am planning a built-in shelving area for the living room which I hope to complete by early Fall at the latest, and I remain on the look out for some appropriate patio furniture for the wrap around porch upstairs, which is so under utilized owing to the ongoing tasks elsewhere. One day I am sure to turn my attentions there, and I know it will be such a lovely space. Please stay tuned for what is to come--one day soon we hope to begin hosting camp sites along the creek as well as events and accommodations in the farmhouse. Please send an email with inquires and have a safe and happy Memorial Weekend.