Marty and Arty

Marty's Dad, Arty Watkins, was quite a character. He had this kind of John Wayne swagger that was both intimidating and endearing. Arty was the epitome of a self made man and was what I always called an agricultural entrepreneur. He loved to tell and listen to jokes and was very generous with his time, his wisdom and his talents.

Marty was very much a Daddy's girl. Their relationship was not complicated. She loved and admired her Father, he loved and was really proud of his daughter. Marty wrote the following in sometime in March of 2003, Arty passed away suddenly in January of 2004. I think she communicates her feelings very well.

My Dad

Your presence:
sometimes gruff and fearsome,
sometimes charming laughter,
often giving generously,
sometime brooding silence.
Always large.

Your advice:
often sought and needed,
always freely given,
at times ignored as too simplistic,
lived as well as said.
Quoted with pride.

Your loving:
often so clumsy you crash into me,
hugging too hard, not caressing,
such rough tenderness.
I'm often left stunned
by the sudden simplicity of it.

Your hands and heart:
both speckled with brown patches of age,
both are callused and cracked,
from years of working,
carrying whatever needed to be carried.
Putting things right.

I cannot imagine a world without you in it.
What would I do without your presence looming so large?
Whose advice could I quote?
Whose love could I count on?
Whose hands would put it right?
What heart could find my own?

I cannot imagine a world without you in it.