1st Peter 1, and 29 Pines

As with any great person, there is no way to quantify the value of experience with, on this memorial day, Grandpa Stan.

I planted and weeded thousands of trees with him, and those days passed like cottonwood seeds, even though our concentration was on pines, red and white...

And pines, beyond hue, were the backdrop of our occasional golf outings: Stan equally walked the course and offered a cart--more a matter of other considerations than of him. We golfed a couple courses, but I most enjoyed the local links of 29 Pines...

where he knowingly said 'the greens are like postage stamps'--due grins nowadays at such adhesives to such hermetic missives--and Stan met those greens like friends, not lamenting their limitations, only embracing their grace, that true treasure lie not in our power to score easy putts, but to honor the earth, the steward, the guide.

I liked playing by Stan's side.

I was too young to attend a Kiwanis retreat with my dear Grandpa George; when he died God granted a new Grandpa Stan and I grew in the service of community past, community now: both grandpas engendered how faith could meet fact: I learned from their service and now,

looking back,

with golf games in store, with
kids singing 'Jesus loves me' at Lac La Belle shore, with
all the trees planted with Mildred and Bunny and progeny more, with
love in his laugh, and faith galore,

we'll love you forever
and ever you'll
be our dear
Grandpa
Stan

I Peter 1: 3-9