This is the time of year when I think a lot about my roots. Having emmigrated from Denmark in 1927 (when he was 27), my dad returned for a visit in the sixties with his new Kodak in hand. Is this a sunrise or sunset that he captured? I don't know, but it is one of many treasures in his slide collection. It is awesome to look through his eyes and capture the image as he did. He taught me about beauty; to value and respect creation; to be curious and to explore and to find joy. I am thankful for Dad's eyes.
Though his hands were tough and hard calloused and brown, they tenderly potted thousands of fragile seedlings and eyedrop-nursed some orphaned kittens. They wove baskets, held a hymnal, carved soap figures, built from wood, created from copper, aluminum and iron. On his deathbed, he place his big hand over the head of the little cat that slept there beside him and whispered "misse, misse, misse" ("kitty" in Danish). I am thankful for Dad's hands.
It seemed appropriate to begin my blog with this memory and this photo.