Every day is a gift, of that there is no doubt. Some come to us unexpectedly, wrapped figuratively in ribbons and bows, creating a memory of a lifetime.
All my life, I have known a family that stands out in every positive way.
My dad spoke with a wonderful mix of joy and reverence of the McNaull family. He had such great respect for Edna McNaull, a neighbor in his childhood, who would often give great community club performances of long, intricate and detailed poetry without a single note in hand. She was also an exemplary cook.
I was fortunate to interview Mrs. McNaull and write of her divine stories from memory, and I often visited her son, John, and his wife, Bonita McNaull.
It is their son and daughter-in-law, Dan and Debbie, who now live on the McNaull homestead, settled in 1815 by John and Rosa McNaull.
The younger son of Cloyd and Edna McNaull who my father had grown up admiring was Cloyd “Junior,” and I had not had the privilege of visiting with him.
Dan and Debbie invited me to brunch at their home last week, along with Junior and his lovely wife, Mary Ann, and their beautiful daughter, Barbie. I looked forward to this like a kid counting down to Christmas.
Sitting with Junior and hearing his great stories felt like touching the very best of history. His incredibly sharp mind and great wit at 94 is a gift like no other, especially as he spoke of my dear great-grandpa Charlie Myers and my father.
“I would walk to Charlie’s farm and it would be a great day if I found Stanley there,” he said with a wide smile, adding that my father’s cousin, Donnie Myers was often included in their boyhood adventures.
All of my life my sisters and I have felt an empty place from never having met our paternal grandmother.
Helen was the oldest daughter of Charlie and Anna Myers, and the few photographs we have of her are held dear.
In her college graduation photograph, we admired the dark-haired woman with a gentle smile. How we wanted to know her stories, her laughter, her touch.
Junior’s warm personality offered me the opportunity to ask if he had known Helen.
“Oh, yes, she was a wonderful woman, always kind, very good-hearted,” he said. He said her death from a tonsillectomy was such sad news for the community.
Junior shared neighborhood threshing stories, speaking of each fellow’s special place of labor on threshing days.
“Charlie Myers had a hard job on the crew, working on top of the thresher, directing the big tube. Charlie called down to me one day, ‘Junior, I need a piece of cherry pie to keep working.’ So, I ran and told Mother. She first said, ‘No, no, he is just joking with you.’ Then she surprised us both by sending me back to Charlie with a slice of cherry pie,” Junior said.
I could picture my jovial great-grandpa filled with delight along with a dash of embarrassment as he climbed down from his threshing job to this unexpected treat.
“At the noon dinner, all the other men got on Charlie for fooling me into giving him a piece of cherry pie,” Junior said with a laugh.
This great fellow gave me such a generous gift, sharing his wonderful life stories.
As I later drove home, my heart was full from such a lovely day with truly good people, our connections running deep.
I found myself smiling endlessly, feeling as though I was given a bonus day with the great-grandfather who was so dear to me in my childhood.
Next week: Judith Sutherland will detail Junior McNaull’s grand stories from his one-room schoolhouse days.
