Remembering My Uncle Nate

This is a re-post from last year. It is my written tribute to my sweet Uncle Nate. He passed from this life to the next on November 14, 2007. One year ago this week. Rather than re-running this on Friday, I think it is fitting to just start this week out remembering him - for me it is enough. There is not a day goes by that I don't remember him and this week, I want to celebrate his life, rather than his death. So, remember my Uncle Nate with me, this one last time.


I am waking up this morning in the land of my birth. The land of Elvis, Faulkner and magnolia trees. It is a bittersweet homecoming. I love coming back here – and it has been much too long since I have journeyed this way. I love bringing my child here and seeing her face lit up by a horse, or a cow or the dogs that play at our feet.

Today, however, I am sad to be home. Those of us who are here, have traveled here to celebrate the life and mourn the loss of one of the best men God ever put on this earth. My Uncle Nate, my second father. I, although technically an only child, have somehow been blessed with four parents and two brothers, three sister-in-laws, two nieces, one nephew, and now one grand niece. How, you may ask is this possible?

Well, a long time ago, my father and mother came to this small town to be pastor of a tiny country church. This was long before I was even thought about in this world. They spent weekends here, and then traveled back to seminary for the weekly classes. It was custom in those days, that the preacher stay each weekend at a parishioner’s home, since the church did not have a pastorium. So, each weekend, my parents headed here, and spent the weekend in a different spot. No real home on those trips. Finally they were able to stay with one couple, close in age to them, who had two small boys. The foursome hit it off, and it was determined that on the weekends, my parents would stay at this one home, and be “at home” – no more guests in someone else’s place.

This is how it started. From that time on, there has always been a room designated for my folks, eventually for me, and then some time ago, my parents bought a home here as well. This couple, Nate, Nell and their two sons, Joey and Andy, became family. When I came along, much to my brother Andy’s chagrin, I became family as well. They welcomed me as a daughter, and became my Uncle Nate and Aunt Nell. They were my appointed legal guardians, should something happen to my folks, they were/are closer than any of my actual blood relatives. They are my second set of parents. Although the boys were much older than me – I still have always considered them my brothers, and the women they eventually married have always been to me like sisters. I have always confused people talking about my brothers, nephews, nieces and such. Truthfully, it is just fun to watch them wonder.

The death of my Uncle Nate was expected. But it has hit me in an unexpectedly harsh way. He had been sick for a while, at least three years. These last few years he would rally and then decline, but he has been at home and taken care of by my Aunt Nell, and I am sure that added to his life immeasurably.

I have not known a day on this earth without my Uncle Nate. He was the kindest, sweetest man I knew. He was also the strongest man I knew. I used to sit and watch him mix up all the food on his “platter”, not plate, before consuming it, eat a HUGE bowl of ice cream, and drink a gigantic glass of water all while telling tall tales and laughing around the table. He was bigger than life to a small girl whose only taste of the country life was watching him and how he worked the farm. He was a cattle, timber and chicken farmer who always smelled of earth, chickens (and not the good KFC kind!!) and hard work. He woke up with the chickens (literally) and spent the day tending to them, cutting timber or hay and seeing to the needs of the farm. He did not hold a college degree, but he held the highest honors in family, farming and pure and simple faith. He was wise, patient and yet, he was also known to succumb to the occasional temper outbursts of the scariest kind.

Most girls marry a man like their fathers; I could not find one because that mold was definitely broken, and so I married the next best thing- a man like my Uncle Nate. It is scary how true this statement is. My husband is hardworking, kind, patient, and has a screwdriver throwing temper as well.

I loved my Uncle Nate. He would always take time with me, even though I know he was often busy. And I am sure he would have rather taken a Sunday afternoon nap than take me horseback riding, nevertheless he always did. He used to bring me sugar cane, and then sit in his chair and peel it for me so I could taste the sweetness. He taught me about grease, gravy and skunk fluid, and if I ever get my cookbook published, that is the title, and then maybe you all can know the secret recipe too! He taught me about chickens. I can recall walking with him through the chicken houses, learning all about their feed, their water and what happens to a sick one --- DON’T ask! I can still picture him walking in the pasture, and I can still hear him calling to the cows or horses. I can see him in the old broken school bus feeding the goats.

There is just no place on this land that he has not touched, no where that I do not see him in my mind’s eye. It has been his kingdom for 80 years. Now most of the buildings are falling in, broken, in need of repair. They are missing his touch. I guess they always will.Uncle Nate is gone. This place is different. Even though he has been sick for a long time, to me, his presence was still here – now it is gone. The chicken houses are empty, his beloved cows are gone. If hay is baled or trees are felled, it will be by someone else’s labor. My heart is broken, and I fear that a tiny piece has been forever taken away.

Just yesterday, we stood in the driveway and watched as a runaway calf was herded out of Uncle Nate’s pasture by its owners. Once again dogs, horses and cattle calls were heard in that pasture. I keep thinking that just maybe, if we had looked closer, we would have seen a third horse, a third man, and heard a sweeter cattle call – maybe Uncle Nate was once again out in his beloved pasture, with his cows, calling them home, calling them to go with him as he traveled on to his heavenly home.

I am so lucky to have a piece of this man in my soul. He will always be with me now. I am sad that my daughter will never really know him except through my tales. I hope I can do him justice as I re-tell all I know of him. More than anything, I hope she learns from me of his kindness, his love of his family and of his faith in our God. She is part of my life because of him and his life. He is part of her heritage as well. The thread keeps connecting, the story goes on, and just like life on the farm, the cycle of life continues.