by Donna Swagerty Shreve
I received the tragic news from my second cousin that her dear husband had died. I literally gasped out loud when I read it. Rennie and I have kept in touch over the years and have stayed up on each other’s lives. Her father and my father were first cousins. Rennie comes down from the Aldrich line of our family. Her grandfather and my grandmother were siblings. Her father was the only surviving Aldrich son and he had a son and a daughter. I think of that branch of our family as the farmer branch.
My father was worried he was going to have to stay on the farm and help his father farm but, by the time his father had enough money saved up to buy his own land, only the youngest son was available. Dad and two of his brothers escaped to go on to college and other careers. I always looked to the very successful Aldrich farming family as what could have been a possibility for our own family. Clarence Aldrich, Grandma’s brother, left his father’s farm and created his own farm with what he was able to afford. Clarence passed down the farm to his son Everett. Everett’s son, Randy, continued the tradition as a farmer on his father’s land. Rennie and her sister both married farmers and stayed in Hughson. Rennie and her husband had two sons and one of them is continuing the farming on their land. Today was a celebration of Jim Beck’s life and also a celebration of farmers.
My just under-an-hour trip started by driving down Highway 99. During my childhood, I spent many an hour in the family station wagon traveling down Highway 99. Dad would play a game with us kids naming the crops. Sometimes the various crops were planted at an angle where it looked like an imaginary guy named Daddy Long Legs was running along side of us. All of these sights from my childhood were still there. Of course along the way, all of the valley towns have grown and more and more farm land is being gobbled up by housing developments and strip malls but it definitely still is farming country.
Soon I was taking an exit off the highway and heading inland through a city on my way to Hughson. Hughson now tends to blend into the bigger neighboring towns of Modesto and Ceres. I recognized I was in Hughson because of previous visits. They were either to the same church where I was headed today or locating my great-grandparents’ in-town house once again. Soon I was in the parking lot of the Hughson United Methodist Church and looking for a spot in which to park. I was twenty minutes early but the lot was almost full and I was thankful I had left time for any delays. Having some preconceived notions of traditions, I wore an all black ensemble and a bit of heels on my black sandals. Placing my mask on my face, I headed to the church. I certainly had company as many people were headed in the same direction, all without masks. Darn!
I was reassured when I entered the church. A sign was placed on the door that requested all who entered to be courteous and wear a mask for the benefit of all. A box of masks was provided in case anyone came without a mask. The foyer was crowded as people took their time looking at many posters of Jim’s life and lining up to sign the guest book. Programs were available along with a packet of wild flower seeds which fit in beautifully with the theme of the service of planting seeds. The service was designed to fit Jim’s life and was a true celebration of his life. Admittedly I have not sat through a church service for awhile. The various Methodist traditions such as scripture reading, prayer. hymn, message, and benediction were so familiar and comforting.
After the service, we were invited to gather in the social hall next to the sanctuary. We were excused from the front of the church to the back, pew by pew. It was only after I got my turn, that I realized there was another group of mourners sitting in chairs in the entrance of the church. Jim was well thought of in the community and town came out in droves to remember him. I scanned the crowd and the various people seemed so familiar to me from previous gatherings in the area. I gave my regards to my cousins and her siblings and departed. I did not stay for dessert and refreshments. It was time for me to leave.
I then punched in the address into my GPS of my great grandfather’s land as I knew there was a fruit stand on his former property. Somehow I felt it was important to purchase, at the very least, some peaches, as that is what Hughson was originally known for. My father and his brothers spent several summers lugging lug boxes of peaches to the trucks that were headed to the canneries. Dad and his brothers stayed in good shape for their college football careers by lugging many a peach box.
My route took me through the heart of orchards and fields of various produce. Once at my destination, I parked and went into the barn to shop for what I felt I could eat. I gathered peaches, plums, melons, corn, tomatoes and some baked goods. Once I loaded all of the bounty into my car, I had to maneuver out of the now more crowded parking lot. Trying to get out of the way of an entering car, I was distracted enough to not check every mirror in my car. I backed right into a parked car situated directly behind me. In this car were two 17 year old girls dressed as Disney harem princesses who were going to be entertainment for a birthday party being held in the park area behind the Fruit Barn.
Being in an accident was a new experience for the girl behind the wheel. She immediately became a bit hysterical. After determining that neither of us was hurt, I explained to the girl that we both needed to exchange information such as driver license, insurance information, and phone numbers. The young girl quickly called her father and I then dealt with him on her phone. He was most gracious as I accepted full fault. The young girl asked if I was planning on attending the birthday party as I stood there dressed in complete black. I replied that I had just come back from a funeral.
Unfortunately my day ended without much more nostalgic memories. I carefully drove the hour back home and showed the damage to my husband which he graciously offered to take care of. I am quite lucky in so many ways and having a very helpful husband is one of them.
I cherish my farming roots even though the last farmer in the family was my grandfather. I am aware of the fruits and vegetables that are in season. I enjoy having plants around me. I have always had a personal garden to supplement my groceries until I moved into a condo and can only have potted plants. When either of my sons show any inclination to grow things, I am pleased. Farming is an admirable profession.
I am including the Farmer’s Creed by Frank L. Mann.
I believe a man’s greatest possession is his dignity and that no
calling bestows this more abundantly than farming.
I believe hard work and honest sweat are the building blocks of a person’s character.
I believe that farming, despite its hardships and disappointments,
is the honest and honorable way a man can spend his days on this earth.
I believe my children are learning values that will last a lifetime
and can be learned in no other way.
I believe farming provides education for life and that no other
occupation teaches so much about birth, growth and maturity in
such a variety of way.
I believe many of the best things in life are free: the splendor of a
sunrise, the rapture of wide open spaces, the exhilarating sight of
your land greening each spring.
I believe true happiness comes from watching your crops ripen in
the field, your children grow tall in the sun, your whole family feel
the pride that springs from their share experience.
I believe that by my toil I am giving more to the world than I am
taking from it, an honor that does come to all men.
I believe my life will be measured ultimately by what I have done
for my fellowmen, and by this standard I fear no judgment.
I believe when a man grows old and sums up his days, he should be
able to stand tall and feel pride in the life he’s lived.
I believe in farming because it makes all this possible.
8/30/2021
Swagerty-Aldrich Family Web Site 