Ernest Albert Fichtner(Part 3)
The Grandfather I Grew Up With
The only time I remember my grandpa ever yelling at me involved me getting in his way. I was about 6 or 7. Every year I got to spend a magical two weeks in the country on my grandparents’ farm. I was a city girl and the weeks I spent on the farm formed many of my strongest memories. In a lot of ways that was my happy place. By then, it was just my grandparents on the farm and I had them all to myself.
“Walk beside me or behind me, but NOT in front of me!” my grandfather roared when he almost tripped over me for the 3rd time.
We were on the way to the chicken coup to collect eggs for the day and I’d been asked to help. I was so excited that I was practically running and also trying to turn back to talk to him. Of course, Grandpa Fichtner had very long legs and at six I barely came up to his waist. Running just to keep up with his regular strides, it’s no wonder I got in front of him.
For more about my adventures with Grandpa on the farm read about my introduction to pigs on their farm:
Even in a big family, children grow up and move out, and for my grandparents this happened in two phases; the first with all three of the daughters, and the second ended with my uncle Royce leaving home to get married in 1964. His older brother Rodney was already enlisted in the army and had served in Germany by then. Royce’s departure left the couple on their own for the first time in their lives. It also left Grandpa without help for the farm.
In order to supplement their income, Liz worked for many years in town as the office person for the local vet. She may have increased her hours once the kids were out of the house to allow grandpa to hire hands at the farm. They continued their routines and community lives, adding the ability to travel now that they had no one to care for. They took trips to Mexico and the Carribean, enjoying the time together. They also enjoyed family vacations with siblings and their grown up children during the summers.
Ernie had several friends in the local farming community and after the days’ chores were done would spend time gathering together with them spending an hour or two talking and laughing. These same farmers all worked together during the busiest farming times such as harvest or hay baling, and together they got done whatever was needed.
On one summer visit to the farm, I went with Grandpa around to his farmer friends. He knew how to make me feel special, which I am sure was likely a trait that he used early on with Grandma. Maybe because of all the loss he had early in life, he had a big place in his heart for each of his grandkids and eventually great grand kids, and was incredibly proud of all of them.
Compared to my mom, my grandparents seemed wealthy, but they were not. They were among the predominantly agriculturally rich but money poor of the 1970s and 1980s in Iowa, and like many, had farmed land for decades that they didn’t own.
Yet, the people surrounding them and the community they were a part of made them rich beyond measure. Everything in their home was always clean and in good repair; anything that could be created yourself was valued. Gardening, canning, woodcraft; all of the skills that are suddenly back in vogue were just part of being fiscally smart.
I still have the rocking horse and the doll crib my grandfather made for me when I was tiny. The horse is so small I must have outgrown it by the time I was 3, even though I was a small child. The crib I played with as long as I played with dolls. Both were lovingly made and outfitted by them. I have many other beautiful heirlooms from them and treasure every one. Here is a post I wrote not long ago:
By the late 1960s/early 1970s, Ernie was getting older and his health was starting to show the years of long hard work. He started to have heart trouble and they realized they could no longer live on the farm. It had come time to retire.
In order to have a down payment for a house in town, they held a farm auction and sold off everything on the farm that could be used. With the money they purchased their son Royce’s house in Hubbard. It was a perfect move for everyone as Royce had just accepted a position in an engineering department in Marshalltown requiring them to move.
Thus started the last chapter in their lives together. During the next few years, Ernie grew increasingly less able to manage on his own and wasn’t at all happy about it. He struggled with his decreasing abilities and to some extent, shrinking world. That never changed how he interacted with his family. Grandpa always seemed delighted to see us grandchildren, planned or not. We never felt like we were intruding.
Ernie died of heart related problems on November 6th, 1976 while hospitalized in Ames, Iowa. He is buried next to Elizabeth and his step daughter, Patsy King in the Hubbard Cemetary.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this story about my grandfather. I certainly enjoyed writing it, and while doing so realized that I have written quite a bit about my grandparents. If you enjoyed this and want to read more please read the posts above or these:
Part One of this story:
Part Two of this story:
Here is a short piece about the farm itself:
And a couple of others:
And of course his link on WikiTree:
Finally if you enjoyed this and would like to support me with future writing please consider subscribing. That way you will receive notice of any new writing that I do right when I publish instead of just stumbling across it on my site.
Thank you for reading and if you have any thoughts please don’t hesitate to comment or reach out.