Santa’s Reindeer Hay

About the Book

It come about principally by two very young boys asking their mother if I were Santa Clause, my driving by them on a tractor towing three wagon loads hay, and what was I doing. “Making hay.” was likely her remark not to dash their imaginations. Before and followed many hunkered down conversations with a many little people with such opening lines such as, “I know who you are!” or “Look Mommy, Santa Clause.” These encounters more than I can number: grocery drug stores, physician offices, department stores. Stooped in conversation, I spoke of, “You mind your Mother?” or “You don’t play near the road.” and “You brush your teeth before you go to bed.” And, standing I let myself a wink in for their pretty mothers direction.

About the Author

Born in Detroit I remember mom showing me my fist outside chore feeding and gathering eggs the chickens. My parents part time truck gardeners at a war time, dad worked a hush-hush WWII job for the government. After that war I remember dad’s enjoyment building homes for returning soldiers. Having moved to South Haven, at age twelve years dad started me my carpenter apprenticeship so he would know where his tools were. My first job was a front-end loader operator and dump truck driver. On our way to my first, out in the world, job dad purchased for my use a brand-new Panama shovel and wheel-burro. Some years into learning and working the construction trades I found my lifetime love at first sight. We’ve been married well over a half century with whom we raised seven children. Seriously injured the twenty-seventh year working the construction trades. For a new living I studied for a charter boat skipper’s license and served the public taking them Great Lake Michigan game fishing for some years. An economy down turn and a sister’s passing I came back to the farm to help keep the animals, Shorthorn cattle near Otisville. I have been here ever since. Enjoying the sight of animals pastured on and making hay off green fields. The best job them of all. Here my hair and beard have turned white over a fuller belly. I’ve happily been year round mistaken for the grand old Elf of the North Pole himself. Meanwhile, I’ve enjoyed hunkering down to speak with many a nice boy and girl throughout these best years.