Dallas Petersen

Saturday morning my grandpa passed away. This morning, after comforting my newborn son, Sawyer, I was just lying in bed trying to go back to sleep when I started thinking about my grandpa and my memories of him. Light was breaking behind the Wasatch Front, so I figured I might as well get up and type.

Dad and Grandpa, 1958. Grandpa, ever the helpful and skilled craftsman, built a bed for Mom and Dad soon after their marriage.

Memories are a strange thing. It used to be that I thought I remembered everything in my life—that I had a “good memory”—but as I get older it takes more and more effort to recall things. Most of the time, memories come back through divine inspiration when I really need them or at seemingly random times. Sometimes it’s because I’m purposely trying to go back to a particular time and place. Such is the case right now…

• Age. My Grandma and Grandpa Gano were always so much younger than my paternal grandparents, Louie and Opal Petersen. It seemed a little strange to my young mind—”grandma and grandpa” seemed to mean a white-haired, frail, elderly couple in one case, and a younger, more energetic and active couple in the other. For the longest time, they didn’t seem to age. It wasn’t until they hit their 90s that I really started to notice time had passed.
• Travel. Grandma and Grandpa loved to travel, and spent much of their time doing the “snowbird” thing down in Arizona. Grandma would play violin/fiddle in a band, while Grandpa would be reading and playing card games.
• Games. Gaming is a family tradition. Grandpa loved cribbage and other card games. I never beat him in cribbage. One time I almost beat him. Almost. I was way ahead, but then he came back. I really respect that he never let me win. Maybe, after a lifetime of practicing, I can play him again.
• Christmastime. Nearly every year during my youth, my relatives, the Gano family, would get together on Christmas Eve. After a great meal and lots of playing with my cousins, Santa would arrive with a jingle of his sleigh’s bells. I think Grandpa covered for Santa some of the time. I guess that secret will go with him…
• Cooking. He loved to cook. The ensuing clean-up afterwards was a different story…
• Harvest time. Grandpa always seemed to be around during apple harvest time at my Uncle and Aunt Lange’s orchard in Yakima. I remember one summer/fall watching him fix an apple cider press.
• Fixing stuff. Grandpa helped me fix my fishing pole one summer in Minnesota. I remember his methodology for taking stuff apart and putting it back together, and use it still today.
• Woodworking. Grandpa was an amazing craftsman. He could build or fix anything. (A friend of mine posted about his grandpa’s passing and noted the same handyman tendency. I think it is partially a generational thing—perhaps out of necessity and interest they were “do-it-yourselfers.”) Here are just a few of the things that Grandpa built:
  • Camper trailers. Grandpa owned and operated a custom, handmade camper-trailer business.
  • My parents’ first (proper) home.
  • Countless Christmas gifts for family every year.
  • Greenhouses, sheds, furniture… nearly everything around his home.
  • My bedroom. He turned a carport into my brother’s and my bedroom.
  • A wooden pencil box from a tree branch (I still have this sitting on my desk at work).
  • Many, many more things for friends and family.
• Summer of ‘89. My brother, Carl, and I stayed with Grandma and Grandpa for a week. We went to Whidbey Island Naval Air Station and saw a jet “buy the farm” during a practice run for a plane show. That plane crash produced the reddest flames I’ve ever seen. We also went to a county fair in a nearby town, then did a bunch of sightseeing in Port Townsend. Mostly, we spent a bunch of time at their house. One day my teenage self was getting bored, so I started watching TV. My grandma said, “You don’t know how long your grandpa is going to be around. Spend some time with him.” I’m glad she gave me the guilt trip—Grandpa and I worked in his woodshop and produced the wood box I mentioned above. I treasure that item, and the memories of making it, to this day. I can’t say the same about Grandma’s homemade raisin-n-rice pudding… I guess I wasn’t mature enough to like it. Nah, who am I kidding—raisins in pudding?!? Come on! That’s just not right. Another memory: After I’d asked Grandma what political party she was affiliated with, she instructed me that “There are two topics you do not talk with people about—politics and religion.” Smart-alec teenager that I was, I then promptly asked her what religion she belonged to… followed up with a quick grin and laugh to keep myself from getting into trouble. Anyway, I’m grateful my brother and I spent that time with Grandma and Grandpa.
• Summer of ‘04. I got to thinking that I needed to visit Grandma and Grandpa, and do some family history interviews with them. My son, Nate, and I drove up to Idaho, picked up my dad, then the three of us did a road trip to Port Townsend. (I took a ton of pictures then, and blogged about it, but lost the blog posts some time after that). While I was interviewing Grandma and Grandpa, Dad entertained Nate (or maybe vice versa), something that I’m impressed with to this day. My dad is a terrific grandpa. My kids love him, and can’t wait for my parents to come visit during holidays and vacation. It’s funny—the trip was about Grandma and Grandpa, but a lot of it ended up being about my dad, my son, and me. As for the interviews, I’m still in the process of transcribing them—they are priceless stories shared by my grandparents. My wife, Diana, and I did interviews with both of our parents—you never know when those you love will be gone—cherish the moments.

Above and beyond the many things my Grandpa accomplished professionally and personally is this simple, yet powerful thing—he was a faithful husband and loving father. Most of all, I’m grateful for his bringing my mother into the world. I see much of my Grandpa in my Mom—her ingenuity, keen mind, playful spirit, and unfaltering loyalty to her loved ones, to name a few characteristics. Grandpa, you will be missed.