shoulder and gently made her follow her mother. In front of her, Grampa lay in a metal and velvet bed. ‘He can't really be dead,"’ Jaimie thought frantically, ‘‘Why, he’s just taking a nap like he always does after dinner. He's just playing ‘possum. He's goin’ to wake up any minute now and pretend to scare me, and I'll let him ‘cause it makes him happy. C'mon, Grampa, wake up. Let's play cards or checkers or somethin’, C'mon, Grampa.. Please, please wake up.” driveway of the house and the people inside came out to greet them. She expected the usual happy shouts and greetings she'd known whenever they came to visit, but there were only murmured welcomes. Then Jaimie’s grandmother came out side and clung to Jaimie’s mom. They all went back into the house and sat down on the arms of floor, everywhere, except chairs, on the in Grandpa's big rocker. Jaimie remembered that so well. She remembered sharing it, ing games in it, or just plain sitting with Grampa. Her eyes filled with at seeing it empty, but she knew would have been furious if anyone dared to sit in it. Feeling that she not stay any longer with the silent tives, she went downstairs, where chair playin it tears she had could rela- a roll- away bed was set up, and went to bed. The next day went by in a blur for Jaimie. Kind, well-meaning neighbors had brought food, like casseroles and pies, and expressed their sympathy for the family. Soon, too soon, Jaimie felt, the main room, Jaimie saw how the saw a small room On brown-green grass And newly-born roses. ceil- u n Shafts it's way through clouds. Child-eyes look to splattering waterspots clearing away. Spring clouds gently move away, Followed by laughing children in front of hand, She saw ching for her denly, she Grampa uncle, then groped that her own realized for her mother mother's that streams or the was grace but | knew Pamela that it was almost DROUGH Today Miller the gold rain unto marvelous brother, dad father, put his husband, arm of over They were remember the The thirsty earth, The water splashed out miser him | think only of good, full, from heaven locked the door ; seeped no move. but Willow, Autumn's ln Sud- Deft or friend. her bending with invisible morning s fingers Mane new combing of breeze, light. out UE ee hen tye ee ie e LLL TT Y To 4 ET TUTTE IE the Degasus. Pamela 22 E S Chee pote and given, rea- ME SPS LPO Ie PPE eh brown, QUENCHED poured Emily Fowers TE old, | know that there is a place deep within my heart where there is a clear mountain lake abounding with trout and surround- ¢ ed with green pine trees and purple mountains where he will always live. just her around hands. and calloused and beneath his nails there seemed to be a constant layer of dark, fertile soil. They were his hands and they were the hands of kindness, strength, and love. They could bend an iron rod or pick an injured Humming-bird from the ground and nurse it back to health. He wore a_ green flannel work shirt and green pants. On his feet he wore his brown boots made to look gray by the covering of dust. That is the way | always remember him. | know he was not perfect, but when | that had died but other people's Jaimie’s Hill that curved around the large two story house, grandpa was coming in from the field. The wheat in the field bounced and swayed in the wind like a thousand tiny dancers. He wore an old gray stetson on his head. His face was like an old scarred piece of leather with two small holes through which his eyes, like blue flames, shown through. His arms hung loosely at his sides and at their end hung his when | could look across the green, rolling hills of Oregon and see his big red barn. | remember him best the way he was the day that we arrived the year | was five. As my father's little yellow Ford pulled onto the long gravel driveway mother's hand. it wasn't mountain Like around a closed wooden casket. She wondered if that was “‘it’’, but the funeral director led them to another room. Jaimie watched the floor as she walked into the and clear ever, her with a group of silent people clustered room, | don't remember the first time | saw his kind face or touched his calloused hands, and it seems as though | had always known him just as | have always known the color of the sky or the scent of a mountain pine. | am sure that | will never forget him and that his memory could not be dulled by a million years of time. He was my grandfather, the only grandfather that | ever knew, and though he died when | was only six | can close my eyes and see his face as clearly as though he stood only a few feet away. And if | try | can hear his words, an echo of the past, speaking to me of the beauty a running deer. My grandfather lived in a small farming and ranching community in eastern Oregon; therefore, we made the trip from Ogden to there only once a year. When | was young this trip of about three hundred miles seemed like it would take for- the ing and walls glowed in the lamplight. The rich wood tones made the sad place seem almost homelike. “Grandpa would've liked this place. It has so much wood in it,"’ Jaimie thought Jaimie by Howard of APRIL family had to leave for the viewing at the ‘mortuary. The mortuary had once been a grand old house. Jaimie briefly wondered if Grampa had worked on building it. As they opened the front door, the heavy scent of too many flowers in one place rushed out into the warm summer night. When they stepped into A MAN WORTH REMEMBERING Miller