Milton Johnson Jr. was and will always remain my Grandad Buddy. He was not only my grandad, he was also the grandad to Ryan, Steven and Jonas, and we loved him dearly. He would often ironically tease me about being his "favorite granddaughter," when of course, I was his only granddaughter. He had a lovely sense of ironic humor -- one of his often-repeated notations was that descendants of Norwegians who had dark hair were, in fact, part Spanish, genes inherited from the distant, distant past when Spaniards invaded Norway. And of course, he would say this with a twinkle in his eye, knowing that I was soon to remind him that he had dark hair. Regardless of the truth, this was his way of kidding, and this is only one of many sayings that I will miss him utter. What else I will remember about my Grandad is his strong determination and his gentle way of caring. One example of his will power and love was when in 1994, at the age of 79, my grandad drove by himself across country, from Iowa to upstate New York (where I was living at the time) to deliver to me some furniture from storage -- furniture which included a dresser he had given to me when I was only two-year-old. He drove straight through, stopping to nap along the way (as was his thrifty custom not to spend money on a hotel) and then arriving in Albany, only to want to turn back and head home home again after a day and a half. He would tell me that he missed Grandma, and he missed home, and he was anxious to return. In his desire to return home, he was truly a homebody, a native Iowan, attached to his land, and in traveling across country by himself, he had taken a risk that few would have taken at his age. I loved him for this touching gesture, and for the brief that he was able to experience my home in New York. Because I lived so far away, he would often call me on Saturday mornings, early in the morning (and would often ask me if he woke me up and of course, he knew I was the night owl) and he would often talk about the weather, as a farmer is wont to do, and how I should move to a warmer climate, in the lower Midwest, after I finished my degree. Like myself, Grandad did not like the chilly, cold winters and he anxiously looked forward for the first signs of spring. My grandfather loved the spring and the start of farming season, because he loved his work and farming was his life and his passion, something he had the good fortune of being able to do up until the age of 86 -- my grandfather worked as a farmer until the very end, and it was this strong work ethic that he passed on to his children and his grandchildren. Another one of his favorite sayings was related to the day I was born; every year on my birthday, he would call me up, in the morning of course, and tell me that he remembered the day I was born, a sunny Saturday morning and he was out in the field getting read to plant. That was where my granddad was on a sunny late-April day such as this one, and the image of him farming and watching over his crops, while driving down the highway, is one of the images of him that will stay strongest in our memories. He also loved his John Deere tractors, and he took great care of them. A child of the depression, like many of his generation, money and possessions had a precious value and deserved great care and conservation in his mind. As a young boy, he watched his father lose his farm to the bank, and as a result, grandad made the revolution that he would never borrow a dime in his life, and through perseverance and struggle, he stuck to that resolution, providing for his family but always saving for the down turn. Not only was he a farmer, but he was a shrewd and talented businessman, which in my eyes is a compliment and only a compliment. In the early part of his life, my grandad struggled without many of the luxuries we have today and he struggled in ways that I will never understand as a result, and I am grateful to him for what he experienced and how his memories have taught me to be grateful for the technological advances that we now take for granted. ... And his memories were rich ones. My granddad's memory was sharp -- from the prices of grain, to the weather on a specific day five year previous, to genealogical information, his mind was an encyclopedia of the information that was significant to his life as a farmer and his passion for his Norwegian heritage. My granddad's interest in his Norwegian heritage is what spurred me to attend Norwegian language camp and travel to Norway as a summer exchange student as a teenager. At family gatherings, he would always encourage me to say the Norwegian table prayer, which he himself had taught me. While my fluency has faded, his passion for researching his Norwegian genealogy remained strong and he served as a research source for many others throughout the years. There is a saying in African culture that every time a griot (or a wise person) dies, it is the equivalent of an entire library burning down. This could not be more true of my beloved Grandad.
I was blessed to have Grandad Buddy as my grandfather. We, as a family, were all blessed with him. He was an exceptionally determined man, and in that determination and perseverance, was where his spirit resided and will always reside. He was also a gentle and giving soul, giving in the love that he quietly gave to his family in the only ways he knew how and in the work ethic and memories he passed along. In his later years, he was learning how to express that love more directly. In a world of high speed communication and noise at all frequencies, and in a world in which social problems and violence are more prevalent than we often acknowledge, my grandad lived a simple, modest, peaceful life on his farm, close to the land, and labored in the noble profession of farming. And as such, he was a part of an era and an ethos that is sadly disappearing in our country. It has always given me solace to visit their farm and to experience the quietness so foreign to the cities in which I have lived, a quietness that is full of memories and loving thoughts of a man who I was blessed to have as a Grandad. Grandad loved his family dearly, he loved his wife, my Grandma, dearly for over sixty years, and such commitment is virtually non-existent in the world that we know. He loved his children, and he loved his grandchildren, and he loved his siblings, and we will miss him dearly and will always keep him close to our hearts. He will always remain in our hearts forever.
love always,
your only granddaughter, Diane