The Garage

Matthew 6:21   For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

My father worked as a machinist at the local pulp and paper mill for over two decades.  Everything had a purpose, even after it no longer could fulfill its intended purpose, so he would bring it home.  He was a hoarder of things with possibilities.  Someone once said that dad’s garage had all the resources to start WWIII.  I spend many a summer day looking through his treasures.

These antlers have been in the garage for as long as I can remember. They have supported a variety of things.

Past Echos

Deuteronomy 32:7   Remember the days of old, consider the years long past; ask your father, and he will inform you; your elders, and they will tell you.

My heart resides on the farm of my youth.  I love the ‘stuff’ that my father had ‘saved’.  (see – One man’s junk is another man’s treasure)  The textures, patterns, uses and stories they hold are my ground and my heritage.  Beauty is found in the practical uses of a time not long past.

Dump rakes and seed drill

Manure spreader

Manure spreader - inside

Manure spreader - outside gears

Soil discs

I’ve seen these all in use at some time or another.  They are the tangible connective cord to the earth and all greening, growing things, even when at rest in snow.

One man’s junk is another man’s treasure

Matthew 13:52   “Therefore every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old.”

I am a pack rat.  I admit it proudly.  I cart around treasures from one place to another, never to come out of the boxes.  I have my first, and only, driver’s licence test (I passed, first attempt).  It’s in a soap box that contained roses scented soap.  I received the soap as a Christmas gift from an aunt one year.  If I remember correctly I was eight, and was thoroughly disappointed that my aunt thought my priorities lay with beauty products and not with horses, or books, or, in the very least, chocolates. I have most of my report cards, I am particularly proud of the one from kindergarten that says I exhibit leadership qualities and am subborn to the point of obstinancy (I attribute that to my Dutch heritage).  I have Grade One readers and workbooks, highschool artwork, diplomas, certificates, a spark plug cover that a boy I had a major crush on threw at me.

I am a pack rat.  I come by it honestly.  My father is a pack rat, of things of great value, in his eyes, junk in the eyes of my mother.  I believe his motivation is directed more toward the recycling aspect of keeping things, he hates to see things go to waste.  “Everything has a value and a use, just like people,” he would often say.  I agree.  I appreciate that everything he collected and kept over the years.  It makes for splendid pictures and is therefore, my treasure, in stills and in memories.









The Department of Highways provided dad with a new fence when they widened the road.  There still might be a use for the old barbwire though…better save it.











I couldn’t have asked for a better place to grow up, on the farm and under the wisdom and tutelage of a father who respected everyone and saw value in the old and in the new.  I was and am so blessed!