The crisp, cold November wind struck my face,

Standing in the half-done corn field on my own,

The cars race by trying to get to their different places.

Combines and tractors were my grandpa’s home. 

We would gather together on the red Chevy truck

The smell of Culver’s overtook the musk of soybean dust. 

A warm meal with my family in an unconventional spot,

Left something to remember that will never be forgotten.

The soft touch of his large, calisted hands 

Cushioned my back like a pillow, even though they were as rough as sandpaper.

A feeling that would never fade as time passes,

Even the look on his face through his glasses

Will remain ingrained in my brain 

And stay with me as I grow up

The house he shared with my grandma has an empty space

Where you would walk back through the kitchen to see his smiling face,

Reclining in his favorite chair and watching TV.

Now there is an almost uncomfortable feeling walking to that back room

Since the space is no longer filled with life.

Instead, a sad void occupies the area in which so many memories were made.

My grandpa, a dedicated lifelong farmer, and through hard work

Was able to share his life with his grandchildren before he was gone, 

In the fields from dusk ‘til dawn,

Making memories with his grandchildren

Who will never forget the love and compassion he had for them.

I miss him every day and wish I could see him just one more time

For the sake of the good times.