Back on His Foot

Many of you following this blog or, in general, following the Prairie Heritage Farm story know how important it has been for us, and for the farm, to have my Dad so close by.

He's done everything, from fixing our machinery, to helping fashion a greenhouse within a greenhouse, building a brooder for our turkeys to driving a combine more than 30 miles to get our Emmer crop in.

He was a regular fixture on the farm -- sharing his bologna sandwiches, his cream soda, carrot sticks and his vast -- and I mean vast -- knowledge of everything agriculture.

That's just the way my Dad is: He's always there for you when you need him, whether you're his crazy daughter and son-in-law trying to start an organic farm, an old lady with a broken water heater or a stranger stranded on the side of the road.

In so many ways, my Dad embodies everything society romanticizes in a "farmer." Clyde is the ultimate farmer, not because of his ability to grow food or fix machinery, but because of the way he gives -- the way he is as a neighbor and a friend.

Which is why it was no surprise these last few weeks to see the community, the strangers, and the family my Dad has given so selflessly through the years, come out in full force to support him through a trying time.

The first week of December, Dad was burning trash out at my uncle Joe's farm -- the farm my Dad grew up on -- which had recently been sold after Joe's passing. Something in one of the burn barrels exploded and caught my Dad's feet, which were standing in some sort of accelerant -- oil or gas -- on fire. He was able to get one boot and his coveralls off, but the boot on his right foot shrunk up around his ankle. He was able to put himself out and luckily, found his phone nearby to call his girlfriend Toni. Toni rushed him to the emergency room and the doctors there immediately put him (and me) on a plane to Salt Lake City to the University of Utah Burn Trauma Center.



He had second and third degree burns on his right foot, ankle and calf, but luckily was spared elsewhere. All that was left of his coveralls was one bib button and a little of the strap. The fire was still burning the next day when Toni went back to get his pickup.

After a month and a half in the burn center, and five surgeries and and skin grafts, the doctors finally decided that they'd tried everything to save his foot, to no avail, and so last Thursday, they amputated his foot, just below the knee.

Steve and I brought him home on Saturday and you've never seen someone so excited to see their own house. Toni and the dogs there to greet him, Dad looked better than I'd seen him look in almost two months.

For a farmer, for a guy like Dad, sitting around indoors for a month and a half is pure torture. Add to that the intense pain of a severe burn like his, the lack of sunlight and for weeks staring down the possibility of losing his leg and anyone but my Dad would have been surly and feeling sorry for himself.

But, instead, he was calm, hopeful, kind and funny, as he always is. The nurses there cried as he left. They all cried when the doctor told him it was time to amputate. Each one -- and each doctor -- came to see him off as we wheeled him away early Saturday morning. He just has an effect on people.

All week, I heard:
"Your Dad is amazing." "I can't believe how nice your Dad is." "People are just drawn to your Dad. He's helped quite a few of the other patients here."

During his stay, Toni kept him supplied with these 3-D wooden puzzles to put together and by the time we left, he had 15 or more displayed outside his room. He had the nurses lining up scissors, tape, glue, anything that he could use to put these things together. He horded all kinds of medical supplies - in case he needed to fix something. The guy is a MacGyver. He's already planning to make his own prosthetic.

The puzzle making made him a celebrity on the floor. He took one 9-year-old patient under his wing and the two of them put together a few puzzles. It took the little kid 45 minutes to say good-bye to Clyde and when he left, he left Dad with half his get-well balloons.

Dad is already talking about going to the local elementary school to teach them about prosthetic limbs and maybe volunteering to help others deal with possible amputations or severe burns.

He donated his puzzles to the burn unit and they're going to auction off several of them to raise money for the camp they put on for children burn survivors.

Even when he is in extreme pain and turmoil, he is giving.

One wall in his hospital room was literally covered with cards and letters from the communities he's a part of back home. And, so many people were dropping by the local bank with money for him, one bank employee finally called me and had me set up a benefit account.

To which, my Dad said, "Well jeez, I don't need all that." He said people didn't need to put up all that fuss.

I told the banker about Dad's reluctance to do a benefit and she just said, "Well then, tell him to stop being so gosh darn nice."

I told him this is what Karma is. It's all payback. You're good to people, they're good back to you.

That's what community is all about. And, that's exactly why Jacob and I moved back home.

Dad has a long road ahead. It will be a while before they can fit him with a prosthetic and even then, it's going to take some serious work getting used to walking on it. And, his job doing construction is going to be all but impossible for a little while. So, he needs all the help he can get. Luckily, he's got a bank of people wanting to help in whatever way they can.

God bless the power of small town and God bless the "farmer" in all of us.