Gifts for Father's Day

I watch Father’s Day ads on TV and think about how many years it has been since I’ve bought a gift. My dad and father-in-law both died in 1990, so my husband became the recipient of Hallmark cards and aftershave. Of course, during his nursing home years, I usually bought Jim NASCAR or Kansas City Chief tee-shirts for all special occasions.

As the big day for dads nears, I began to think about what these three special dads have taught me. My dad, Robert Capps, passed on his work ethic to all eight of us kids. He taught us to give a full day’s labor for a day’s pay. He encouraged us to stay in school and get an education so we could have a better, easier life than he and Mom. My dad wasn’t a religious man, but he taught us honesty, compassion, self respect, unselfishness, and ethical behavior. He always wanted a better life for us kids. He said, “It’s as easy to love a rich man as a poor man.” My two sisters and I never listened to that. In the first place, we didn’t know any rich men, and living in the Ozarks, we weren’t in danger of ever meeting any. Maybe that was his point. He also wanted us to be independent.

My father-in-law, William Howard “Bill” Fisher, taught me to laugh and find humor in unexpected places. His personality was totally different from my dad. Bill played music and his idea of a good time was to have a jam session with his family and friends. Their extended family could usually be found in a campground alongside a creek with good fishing. The Fishers traveled, moving from house to house, state to state. Bill was sentimental and somewhat superstitious. He saw life as mysterious and intriguing. I once lost a contact lens, back in the days when they cost a lot of money. Bill had a dream and knew exactly where to look for it the next morning.

Jim inherited good qualities from both his parents. He was happiest when he was driving down the road and taught me to love travel. Jim was the most generous person I ever knew. Jim would not only give someone the shirt off his back, he would give away his last $10 if someone else needed it.

I came home one day to find Jim digging in his mom and dad’s yard.

“What on earth are you doing?” I asked.

He leaned against his shovel, wiped the sweat off his brow and said, “I’m going to build Mom and Dad a house. That trailer is falling apart, and they can’t live there anymore.” Our mobile home was in better shape, and we had barely begun construction on our home. We put our house on hold, and built a small, solid house for his parents.

Most important, Jim taught me about true and enduring love. Jim was generous with his love, and family always came first. I knew that no matter what, he was always on my side.

I have no father to buy presents for this Father’s Day, but these three fathers left valuable gifts behind. On Father's day, I will pause and cherish their legacies.

Mushrooms in the Ozarks

Those of us living in the Show Me state tend to get excited about tangible things, which most definitely include morel mushrooms. Due to the heavy rain this year, morels are being found in record numbers. My sister-in-law has been combing the woods and shared her abundant supply with me.

I grew up in the heart of the Ozarks where mushroom hunting should qualify as a sport. During my years of hunting, I’ve been chased by bulls, came within a hairs’ breath of stepping on a copperhead, came eyeball-to-eyeball with a snake hanging out of a tree, jumped creeks, balanced on a log to cross a ravine, slid down embankments—just to mention a smattering of the dangers involved. Rather than suffering from post traumatic stress disorder because of my innumerable misadventures, I think of mushroom hunting with fondness.

At mushroom time, the woods come alive. Dogwood, redbud, and wildflowers burst into bloom. Mayflowers open their umbrellas, birds chirp, twitter, whistle and squawk, squirrels chatter and dance precariously on limbs, the scent of wild onions and garlic fill the air. There’s something refreshing about carrying a walking stick and pushing aside nature’s ground cover to find a perfect morel poking up through the leaves.

It is best to hunt with a partner so that when you wander into dangerous situations, someone has your back. I was always confident hunting with Jim and knew he would see that nothing would harm me. I remember one year Jim found a patch of mushrooms and didn’t pick any of them. He led me to them and let me “find” them. If you aren’t a mushroom hunter, you don’t realize how symbolic that is of true love.

You notice I didn’t say anything about hunting mushrooms this year. For all my fond memories, I haven’t braved the snakes and ticks to find those little darlings. It’s something I long to do, but haven’t been motivated to do. In life, we constantly balance memories against reality. The sun is shining today, and we had more rain yesterday. Wait—is that the siren song of a great spring mushroom hunting day I hear outside my patio doors?