Farewell for now, Grandpa Dixon

Forest's grandfather, Grandpa Dixon, passed away last week at the age of 95. Although I once heard him say he hoped to live to 100, I believe he is happy to move on and be reunited with his wife, daughter, and parents.

I didn't get to know this man the way Forest or Parry did, but I do have some memories of brief moments I was able to talk with him.

The first time I met Grandpa Dixon was on our wedding day. He was 92 and still going strong.
The next day when I saw him at our reception, he looked at me and said, "So--you survived the night."
The only other time I saw Grandpa Dixon was at his Idaho farm in May 2008. Forest and I stopped to visit him on our way to Portland for an internship. He was 93 and still going strong.

I got to meet his new foal, Cookie . . .
. . . and snap a photo of the two Forests, side by side. Grandpa was given the name Forest at birth, but told us he added an extra R to his name later because he thought it looked more "distinguished."
Before we left, we cooked him dinner, and I baked a loaf of bread in his oven. As I was preparing the dough, I remember he looked at me, kind of incredulously, and asked, "You're going to make real bread? From yeast? No one does that anymore. You're a good woman."

Last Wednesday we got a phone call about Grandpa Dixon's death. His health had been declining these past few months, so the news did not come as a surprise. Still, I think I will always remember him as that rock-solid Idaho grandpa, going strong as long as he could.

With Parry's help, we arranged to fly out West for the funeral. Forest, Ramona and I arrived in Salt Lake City on Friday to meet up with family. As always, it was enjoyable to see the cousins together and watch as Aubrey attempted to carry Ramona around.
Saturday we woke up early for our drive to Idaho--back to Grandpa's old farm in Jerome. We arrived with plenty of time for Ramona to play with four-wheelers, . . .
. . . play with cousins, . . .

. . . play with Grandpa Parry (whom she currently calls Pacca), . . .
. . . and take a quick nap before the funeral service.

Soon after we put her down for this nap, however, we heard that Crissy's van doors were mysteriously opening and closing on their own. That was when we realized that Ramona had been holding the van keys before we left. Then we found out that the van doors were completely locked with no way to get in--except for the keys in Ramona's hand. Apparently the last button she pushed before she fell asleep was "lock."
I got the job of sneaking in the room and extracting the keys from her so everyone could get their stuff out of the van and get ready for the funeral. It seemed like an easy enough task, but I was gone for at least ten minutes before figuring out that Ramona was actually sitting on the keys. I can't believe she stayed asleep the whole time I was searching.

This is what Pacca looked like most of the weekend: At the mercy of both granddaughters.
After the funeral, it was time to play on the farm again. Ramona was delighted to feed hay to horses, one of which was Cookie--now all grown up.



Maria pulled out her camera and captured some some memorable images that evening. Here is one of the window on Grandpa Dixon's favorite sunroom:
And here is one of a scenic Idaho sunset:
A photo of the Parry branch of Grandpa Dixon's posterity:
I think he would have liked this picture of his great-granddaughter Ramona--don't you?
Sunday morning we went for one last walk on the farm.


One last look at the horses,
and one last romp in the dirt,
before a nap-ful drive back to Utah
One last bedtime story from Aunt Maria,
before our flight back to Iowa.

We miss you, Grandpa Dixon.