Time out

A Sabbath sensibility
When I was a child I could hardly wait for Wilhelm Roepke, my grandfather, to arrive at our farm. Though he had formally “retired” after a lifetime of farming in Poland, Germany and southern Alberta, he couldn’t stay away from the fields and the barns. His fields and animals had a hold on him, a pull that he responded to with affection and care. And so daily, come rain or shine, he would come to do whatever needed doing: feeding the cattle, trimming and gathering grass around fence posts (nothing was to be wasted), sorting lumber, cleaning the chicken coop, straightening nails from a disassembled shed, baling hay and straw or butchering a pig.


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