By A. Ray Lee  

Columnist 

 A few days ago my brother Paul, who since childhood has been known as Spud, came for a visit. It was a sunny spring afternoon so we chose to sit on the patio. We are in the short rows of life and beset with health problems that have run rampant in our family tree for generations. We have already lived beyond the “three score and ten years” mentioned in the scriptures. Our two older brothers have not been with us for some time.   

As Spud and I settled in for our visit which would last over an hour, we propped our walking sticks within reaching distance against a table. For a few moments, there was silence as we gazed across the fields where we had grown to adulthood planting and cultivating crops in the spring and summer and harvesting them as winter approached. There was a myriad of other tasks required year around to sustain a successful farm which had occupied much of our time. In my mind I can still hear the voice of J.J. admonishing us to do this or that while we rested.  

It was inevitable that we would soon be sharing memories. Grandson Henry, who had been cutting grass nearby, parked the mower and came to join us. He forgot about the lawn as he sat with wide eyes and open ears listening to tales of those long-ago days on the small family farm. 

I, and my brothers, left the farm almost as soon as we graduated high school. Joe, seventeen at the time, joined the Air Force. At his insistence, J. J. had reluctantly signed the papers required for an under-aged youth to enlist. He remained in service for many years before retiring after having reached the highest rank possible for an NCO. Pete fumed while laboring in the fields through the hot summer after graduation until on his eighteenth birthday he followed in Joe’s steps and also enlisted in the Air Force. He served honorably for four years before returning to North Alabama and a career with one of the plants which had moved into Decatur. 

At age seventeen over the protestations of J. J. I left the farm behind and entered college by faith believing my needs would be taken care of as I prepared for a lifetime of Christian ministry. That ministry has now spanned sixty-five years. When Spud came of age the era of profitable small farms had passed. He joined the public labor force and had a very successful and profitable career.  Each of us enjoyed brief visits back to the farm and on occasion had helped with some project or chore, but each knew we would never return permanently. 

Today we live in a vastly changed world where Henry and other youth find it difficult to comprehend what has motivated my generation. We left the farm early in life, but the values gained there never left us. Our roots grow deeply in the soil of our souls where seeds were planted and grew into fruition. On the farm, we learned the value of a work ethic that remains strong. In the church, we learned of an overarching faith and received a moral foundation for relationships with both God and man. In school, we were taught what it means to be a good citizen. We came to understand one’s responsibility to his fellow man, his community, and his civic duty. Unlike today, the institutions of family, church, and school had rested on firm foundations and worked together in molding our attitudes and shaping our lifestyles. 

 (P.S:  Concerning last week’s column: Of course, I know the prophet who heard God speak in a still small voice was not Isaiah but Elijah. Thanks for fact-checking me and following my columns.)