Eggs, Taters, and Stars

One of My Favorite "Daddy Tales"

Father’s Day just passed, and while I’ve got a whole filing cabinet full of stories about my dad, this one popped to the top of the stack today. It’s one of my favorites—not because it’s dramatic or life-changing, but because it’s simple, sweet, and absolutely us.

Now, I grew up 35 miles out in the country—so far out we had to plan a day trip just to hit a grocery store. As the oldest of four kids, I spent a lot of time outside with my dad. We’d do chores, tell stories, and sing songs that were more silly than musical. That was our thing—me and Daddy, tackling the world with a feed bucket and a good sense of humor.

When Mom was expecting a baby (which, with four kids, happened more than once), she’d head into town to stay with Grandma, taking the rest of the crew with her. Once the baby arrived, she’d stay a few more days to rest up before returning home to the chaos so was usually gone 5-7 days. I was in school, so went back home with Dad and we would ‘batch’ it.

Now my dad could do just about everything—he could milk a cow, deliver a litter of piglets, ride a horse, tear apart a car or a tractor, put it back together, and make it work! He told the neatest stories, helped with homework … and he wasn’t afraid of ANYTHING.

If he was lacking in any skills, it may have been cooking. He did make the best fried eggs and fried potatoes … but that pretty well exhausted his culinary skills.

I think it was about day 4 of baby number 4, and I’d had enough yolks to last me until Easter and enough potatoes to sprout roots, when Dad said, “Wash up—we are going to the neighbors for supper!” Hallelujah!

And we weren't just going to any neighbor's house. We were going to my best friend’s house—the kind of place where the food was always hot, homemade, and in large quantities. Supper that night was no exception. It was:

• Chicken and homemade noodles, (heaven)

• Buttery corn (perfect)

• and then chocolate cake for dessert! (amen and amen)

After supper, we girls went outside to play a bit and Dad visited for a while. All too soon, he called and said it was time to go. It was only a short way, but I remember the windows being rolled down and the warm wind blowing through my hair. The moon was bright and the sky stretched out above us like a velvet quilt full of stars. Dad started pointing out constellations, telling me the names, spinning stories, making the sky come alive.

There I was—ten years old, full of homemade noodles and chocolate cake, riding shotgun beside my dad, under a moonlit South Dakota sky, waiting for Mom to come home with my two sisters and my new baby brother.

And I thought, you know what? I’m a pretty lucky girl.

And thinking back on that time now . . . I still tell myself. You know what? You were a pretty lucky girl!