A Master Craftsman

The following essay is a salute to my father and to all fathers who make a positive difference in their children’s lives.

Although my father was a private person, his beliefs were evident in how he treated the earth as if it were holy, and the many ways he applied the wisdom of nature to his life. He didn’t just think about how he valued the planet, he lived out that basic precept in the activities of each day, his life exemplifying what he believed. Coming from the old school of farming, he knew that all things mattered.

Bill Knipe, 1921-1995

I don’t remember if I ever heard him say that everything is connected—that even a stone has a presence—but I saw it in the way he paid attention to the changing moisture in the soil, the symmetry of the terraces he carved. And in the gentle way he cupped the amber seeds he planted. These were his meditations. Wherever he went, he carried with him what he learned about honoring the earth.

For over fifty years, Dad worked the land, keeping his family afloat when times were rough. Like many farmers that had to make do, he used his imagination–rigging baling wire, sheet metal and assorted pipes to repair equipment. Using the same method to mend gates and outbuildings. Everything was recycled. He figured out how to use an old sundial, re-purposed a leaky bucket into a watering can, a discarded mailbox into a tool shelf, and before it was fashionable, found creative ways to collect rain water.

Thinking, creating and making thoughtful choices were his modus operandi. He accepted the infinite capacities of the universe, and yet, acknowledging a bigger truth, possessed the insight to realize his own finiteness. Once he said that “this land is not mine, not yours. We are only passing through.” Another afternoon, as dark clouds gathered in the west, he told me, “This is our time. We better learn how to take care of this earth, or we won’t have it for long.”

That moment we both turned and looked in appreciation at the ripe corn fields. Gold spreading like gospel before us. Stitches of fine, yellow threads connecting green quilt blocks of land. Every spring Dad looked forward to reweaving the fields. He was, after all, a master craftsman, contributing to the makings of the universe. – Becky