Growing up, my dad and I were not particularly close. I loved my dad and gave him the respect he deserved, but we did not do those things that typical father and sons do together. When we would go fishing, hunting or play ball, it was always with friends or in a group – very seldom, if ever, just the two of us. It was not what I preferred, but I figured that was just the way my dad was and that was that. It wasn’t until my early 20’s that my dad and I started to connect. I can’t say why, but we started taking a random day here and there to go canoeing or catch a movie. This went on for years- yes, this was better than before, but I wanted more.

In 1995, my dad suffered a major heart attack. He endured a triple bypass and recovery was very slow. This was a wakeup call. I met with my dad and told him that I felt like we had wasted so many chances to enjoy being a father and son and I didn’t want to keep making those same mistakes. Something changed in both of us. Shortly thereafter, Melinda and I bought a small ranch (Barefoot Creek Ranch – BCR). At that time, our girls were young and full of adventure. We would spend 9 out of every 10 weekends at the ranch. Dad would join us for half of those weekends. We both worked our butts off on this little ranch and loved every minute of it. The ranch came with a small Kubota tractor which soon became my dad’s favorite toy. The memories made at BCR soon filled whatever void had been created in the past. Dad had now become part of our family.

Spending weekends at BCR gave Melinda and I insight into the direction we wanted to see our family grow. In 1998, we purchased Spring Lake Ranch(SLR) to grow together as a couple and as a family – and that include Pa. Dad found a small house in neighboring Rosebud, Texas. Life was good. Dad and I dreamed dreams and came up with a seven year plan to completely transform SLR into something special. Dad would show up to the ranch around 9 A.M. each morning, we would have a cup of coffee together, and then he would head outdoors with a list of things to do. I would help mainly after business hours and weekends- assuming I was not practicing softball with my two daughters.

Dad and I were clearing the last field, when we heard what sounded like falling water. We took our machetes and started whacking our way through the thicket towards the sound. What we found simply amazed both of us. The head waters to Poole Creek are found on this part of the property and the beaver had constructed a 2 foot high dam. The sound of the water came from the creek water falling off the backside of the beaver dam. In front of the beaver dam was a nice pool of cold, clean water. We took off our shoes and waded on the edge of the pool. On this Texas, hot, July day, God could not have provided a better reprieve.  As the long, hot days continued, Pa and I would take our breaks sitting on the top of the beaver’s dam while our legs stayed submerged in the cool water.

For the moment, this was our secret oasis. We finished working in that field during the fall of that year (2005). It was during that winter that I noticed Pa was really slowing down and taking much longer naps. Pa noticed it as well. I thought it was just fatigue and old age, but dad was not convinced. In January of 2006, during a routine blood analysis, the doctor noticed an odd spike in one of the protein levels. More tests were done and Dad was diagnosed with stage four multiple myeloma cancer. The next 9 months were filled with hope then wretched disappointment as one form of promising treatment would cause an even more dreadful side effect. By the late fall, all reasonable treatment had been exhausted and now it was a slow methodic march towards the end. Everyone who has walked alongside a loved one through this experience knows the stress and pain, but there is an upside. When you know your loved one’s days are few, you are given the chance to tell them just how special they are and how they have enriched your life. Knowing also gives you the luxury to embrace each moment and try to make the most of each opportunity. It was during this time that the thought occurred to me to honor my dad by building a park in his honor. The location of the park was an easy choice-our spot on Poole Creek where we had spent quite moments cooling off our feet and speaking of things new and old. The name of this park would be “Pa Park” and it would be engraved on a large plank that Dad and I had carved out of a cedar tree years before. I started working on the park in November of 2006. It was important to me that Dad could see as much of the construction as possible when he was able. We would load up in the pickup then I’d help Dad into a chair perched on the hill so he could enjoy the autumn breeze and watch the park slowly take shape. As winter set in, most of the work on the park ceased. Dad had taken a turn for the worse and getting in and out of a pickup was becoming risky. On February 28, 2007, Dad’s body had suffered its last pain – his spirit rejoiced in the newfound freedom. After Dad’s passing, I took some time off work and buried myself in the construction of Pa Park. I had told my dad seven years before that I could not manage this ranch without him –  we were a team in everything that happened – and now I found myself feeling very much alone.

Getting over the loss of someone you are closely connected is never easy. I frequently thanked God for the man my dad had become, for our special relationship, for surviving the heart attack and giving Pa another decade to live. Pa was never one to judge another. He would tell me we all make mistakes. Unless you have walked many miles in that person’s shoes, who’s to say you would not have done the same thing. Pa was also one who would give when others needed help, even though he had very little himself. The quality I appreciated the most was his capacity to help others. Pa spent part of his life as a medical missionary in Africa, entirely giving of himself. If anyone had a need, he would not hesitate to jump right in and lend a hand.

It was the end of March and coming up on the one month anniversary of Pa’s death. I could tell it was going to be a tough weekend. My youngest daughter had an out of town softball tournament and I knew the last thing I wanted was to be around a lot of people and pretend that all was okay. The truth was I was not doing well. As soon as I step outside, Pa’s memories were there, attached to everything we had done together in building the ranch. The only thing that seemed to ease the pain was to work in Pa Park knowing that someday joy and laughter would run as free as the creek.

I got up early that Saturday morning and decided to start clearing the brush on the south side of the creek. The cedar trees were so thick you could not see anything but them. By the end of Saturday, enough brush and cedar trees were removed to give way to the beautifully hidden oak trees. This gave me enough motivation to continue the same work on Sunday. Starting at first daylight, I started where I left off and continued for most of the day. Towards the late afternoon, there was a group of very large, tall cedars that were surrounding a large oak tree. Determined to free this oak from the choking affect of the crowding cedars, I gassed up the chainsaw and started cutting away.  As the big trees fell, sunlight poured into the area that had been dark for years. That was when I noticed this was not one oak tree, but two. This is hard to explain, but in that instant, I knew what those two trees symbolized and that this was a gift from God. I fell to my knees and wept aloud, not in sorrow but in gratitude. There are 250 acres on this ranch and I have walked on most of it. This small area had remained inaccessible due to the high density of cedar trees and underbrush. God had kept this sight hidden only to be revealed until the time was right. In that moment I knew that. I knew exactly what I was looking at and knew exactly what it symbolized. Two oak trees of different types, one very old while the other middle aged, growing next to each other. About 7 feet from the ground, the two oaks turn towards one another, fuse together, then cross each other forming the shape of a “Y”. The trees are on a small hill and because the trees are fused, they actually support one another. There before me, was a beautiful picture of the lives of my father and I – growing up as individuals, coming together, bonding, then supporting one another. Only my God, who I have come to love more and more, could orchestrate such a sight. Only God could have known that a beaver would have placed his dam on the creek at that specific spot and that my dad and I would stumble across it. Only God knew that one day, out of love and admiration for my dad, I would decide to build a park in his honor at that very spot. And only God, knowing the intense pain I was enduring, knew He would speak to me through his creation at the perfect moment. As I pen these words, I’m sitting in Pa Park looking at those two trees – reminding me of the depth of love of our heavenly Father; that we are not alone, that our lives matter to God, that death is nothing more than a door, that our best days are still to come.

As hoped, Pa Park has become a source of joy for the young and old. It’s a place to cool off in the spring water, to sit near the cypress tree and listen to the water as it falls over the dam, to play games along the grass covered slopes, to be still and thank God for being my ultimate Pa – my spiritual dad, my mentor, my rock, yesterday, today and for eternity.