Grandpa Anderson

Grandpa's son, grandson, and three great grandsons at the farm. All Anderson men.

Last week Mike's Grandpa Anderson died, today was his funeral.

He has been in my thoughts all day.

Although we never spent a whole lot of time together, I have come to love and appreciate this man who I gladly and wholeheartedly share a name with.

My first recollection of Grandpa Anderson, actually occurred on one of my first dates with His grandson. I liked this Handsome boy who had been asking me out, and one winter night as he was driving me home, the topic of his grandparents came up. I remember him telling me a little about them and then he dropped the story that sparked my interest and desire to learn more. Right before he dropped me off, he told me that his Anderson grandparents eloped to Las Vegas to get married. In fact, Grandpa was too young to legally marry without his parents permission, so,(I think he was 17 at the time) once at the Blue Bell Chapel Grandpa, had to call home to get their consent before the preacher would marry them. Well I was hooked, and whether or not Mike wanted another date with me, I had to have at least one more with him to get my fill of this amazing story, was there a happy ending?

Mike and I got more and more serious and as time went on I soon would meet his grandparents. I knew a little more about Grandpa, by this point. I knew that he had been a football coach, baseball coach and I think even a track coach. I knew he was strong and a hard worker. I knew he had a farm, that Mike loved to go to. I knew that he lived in Gunlock and Spanish Fork. I was a little nervous to meet him when the time came, I thought he might be a bit intimidating, but I was wrong.

Grandpa was welcoming and included me. He asked about my family, and when he found out I was from Cache Valley we found common ground, and as a gentleman he built onto that. I learned his family had come from Hyrum and he had turned down a job to coach at Logan High. I remember feeling comfortable with Grandpa. He was quiet, but kind and he would really listen when I talked. I appreciated that.

Grandpa was there when I married his grandson. He was there with a huge bandaged thumb, and whenever Mike and I look at our wedding pictures and see that thumb it brings a smile to our face. Grandpa and Grandma graciously let us stay at their cabin in Gunlock for our honeymoon.

I remember less than a year after we were married, Mike took me to Mesa to introduce me to his friends and show me the place he grew up. It was a wonderful trip and on the way back home we stopped in Gunlock. Grandpa was the only one there for some reason, and for the next two days Mike and I spent time with him. These are some of my choicest memories of the man. He would make breakfast for us in the morning and then sit at the table with us for a few hours telling us stories about his life. I loved watching him tell us about Lowell, Mikes dad. I could tell he was proud of his son and loved him. His eyes would light up and he would rub his large hands across his forehead and face then rub them together and chuckle a little as he recalled some of Lowell's childhood experiences and later athletic achievements. We had long good chats, chats about working in Wyoming building roads, teaching in Nevada, in a school much smaller than anticipated, coaching his son's football teams. Later Mike and I would go play in Saint George and when we came back Grandpa would be there doing some project, fixing something for Grandma. That was a fun two days, and when I think about Grandpa those days come to mind.

I remember the first time I went downstairs in his basement and saw his football watching room. I think Grandpa had the original "Man Cave."

He built his Grandkids the neatest looking tree house.

As I think about it, Grandpa has touched my life in many quiet ways. Perhaps his farm is one of the biggest influences. He was a gentleman farmer. Mike loved going to his farm every summer, he thrived on it and still does. At the farm he gets to feel like a cowboy, every boy needs that, and grandpa provided it. Now my boys get to go to that same farm, and feel those same feelings their dad did and still does, and they all love it too. The farm has given us so many happy memories from sledding behind the suburban, to riding horses with Mike, to feeding cows, to watching Kody play fetch, to seeing a baby calf be born with Mutsi, to riding and driving the sexy tractor, to evening cookouts, to breathtaking views in the early evening that stay in your memory always. We love that place. Thank you Grandpa.

I remember a few years ago when West Nile Virus was running rampant in Utah, Mike's dad expressed concern to Grandpa that maybe he should be more careful out at the farm and avoid getting to many mosquito bites, or something like that.
Grandpa said, "Well Lowell, I just can't worry about that."

That simple response has now become a quote in our little family. I tend to be a chronic worrier. I wish I wasn't, but often I can feel myself getting worked up, more and more worried about something. When I'm getting a little to concerned about things out of my control, Grandpa's words come to mind (or Mike will lovingly remind me of them.) I'm thankful for that reminder That yes, I should be smart, and safe, but then it's time to live life and enjoy it, with a I just can't worry about that anymore attitude, and move forward, not worrying but with faith.

I think that's what Grandpa did.

Thank you Grandpa.

He was and is a good man, and is still moving forward to a more perfect place.

We love him and will miss him.