Grandpa's Stories

Our Dad (Ivan Woodrow Butterfield) was born on his family’s farm in Tingley County Iowa in 1915. His time spent on the farm in the years leading up to and during the Great Depression had to be tough. I believe that the lessons learned during that time helped him to develop (and pass on) the hard work, never give up, I can do anything attitude that our family tries to live up to. 

We lost Dad to an accident in 1990. But it is amazing how much his influence is felt by our entire family on a daily basis. 

We wanted to share with you, our friends,  the Dad we knew. Dad used to hand out a little business card that stated his name and the phrase “ If you haven’t met me, you haven’t missed much… But if you haven’t met Jesus, you’ve missed everything.  We’ll Dad, I believe that you were only half right, those who hadn’t met you did miss quite a lot.

In truth, Grandpa was the title he really loved, so that’s how we’ll refer to him as we share his stories, stories he wrote. Anyone who knew Grandpa knew that he loved a good story. In his latter years, Grandpa realized the importance of recording his story. Recalling his “life on the farm” as a young boy to traveling to Louisiana to support his family, Grandpa made audio recordings that were later transcribed for our family to share.  Through blog posts and a new section of the web site, we’ll be sharing a story each month in Grandpa’s own words that will give you a peek at the Grandpa we knew and still love.

By the way… If you don’t know Jesus, give us a call. We’d love to talk with you. 

Thanks Dad.

--John

The first of Grandpa's Stories:

 First Recollections

     My first recollection is of living on a farm about three miles north of the town of Tingley, Iowa, in the county of Union.  I must have been about three years old, but I can well remember how the house, barn and outbuildings were situated.  About the only other thing I remember happening while living there, was when Dad was going to help a neighbor cultivate corn and I wanted to go along.  Dad agreed to take me and got out an extra horse so I could ride behind him.  He tied the reins of my horse to the back of his cultivator and we started out.  I wanted to drive the horse myself and finally persuaded Dad to allow me to be on my own.  When he turned my horse's reins over to me, I discovered that the horse had a mind of his own as he promptly turned around, much to my dismay, and headed for home with me screaming every step he took.  Dad turned around and caught up to me and my horse, and we remained tied for the rest of the journey.  I don't remember if we ever got to our destination or not.

     Sometime after that, Dad bought a farm (or at least we moved to a farm) down south in Ringgold County, Iowa near the town of Diagonal, known as the Dan Frazier Place.  As was the custom in those days (1918-1919) when a farmer moved from one farm to another, the move was made between March 1st and 15th, which is about the worst time of year as far as weather is concerned in Iowa.  At any rate, we moved in a sleigh.  What a day!  Or should I say night, for I recall carrying a lantern as we walked beside the sleigh to keep warm.  A sleigh on the farm was a wagon with the wheels removed and runners affixed in their place.  It must not have been more than ten or twelve miles from one farm to the other, but I recall it was snowing very hard and we had to get off the sleigh and walk to keep warm.