A Thanksgiving

There are many things to be thankful for this Thanksgiving weekend. Our garden was harvested by my son Mico and his friend and the crop fit into a large basket, a sharp contrast to the root cellar that my great grandparents and grandparents had, but still a pleasure to eat food that you have grown yourself.

I also find myself reflecting on how thankful I am to have this opportunity to write this story. I have spent literally months coming to an understanding of my family history through the reading of old letters and hours of discussion with different family members.  I have been incredibly fortunate that my grandparents did not like throwing things away, allowing me to have such a complete record of their early years on the Ranch. My yearly visits to Switzerland have given me the opportunity to expand on the history though long discussions with family, primarily Gus and my father’s sister, Michele. The last gift was the many years I spent living on the Ranch as an adult with my own family, further developing the relationship with my parents from the perspective of an adult rather than a child.

Through all of this I have been able to understand better who I am and what brought us all to where we are today.  Not everything is revealed though and life still contains many mysteries. There are hidden corners to every story and secret parts of the heart that I believe are better not to uncover.

As I write this I am thinking specifically of my father and his single minded pursuit of his dream farm. A dream he held, indescribably, even as a child.

It has been a beautiful journey learning more about my father through writing this story. Something else to be thankful for.

When you lay down the rose colored glasses,

then you see there are no heroes.

To love despite the imperfections is the challenge,

allowing yourself to see the person before you.

I think of my father’s indomitable will, the strength of character,

the one-sided perseverance. 

We have all paid the price of his vision.

A trick of birth and circumstance has brought the story where it is today.

Where he clung and built I have had to learn to let go and do nothing.

His word was the law, but no more.

No one can claim to walk in his shoes, nor should they want to.

I listened to every story with my heart wide open, and finally have understood.

Think for yourself, love as much as you can, accept the frailty of being human.

It is with all of this tenderness that I love my father.