Memories of Grandpa - Joe

Fun memories of Grandpa Saurey Joe Bryan

When I was 3 or 4 yrs old, the two of us went down to the river to go fishing. We took some weenies with us and a couple of dogs came along too. While Grandpa was roasting the weenies, I was playing with the dogs and got a little muddy. Grandpa scolded me by saying that if I got muddy I would have to ride in the back with the dogs. We finished fishing and got ready to go. I climbed into the back with the dogs. I think Grandpa thought it was funny that I would take him so seriously. I remember him telling me to keep my hands out from between the bed and the cab before we left, but he let me ride back there.

Coming back from the river always involved “going fast over the bump.” Whoever was with Grandpa would start the chant from about where the irrigation pump was and, as long as the gate was open, we’d build speed down the strait. Everyone loved the butterflies in our stomachs as we went flying through the air and came crashing down. I don’t think it ever really went like that, but it may have seemed that way. Grandpa always had a way of adding a bit of fun to the work on the farm.

On more than one occasion, I remember being woken up by having a cube of ice dropped through my collar as I lay sleeping on the floor with whichever cousins were staying the night. I was pretty young when I had the assignment of driving the small tractor with the pipe trailer in tow so Grandpa and my uncles could move a line of pipe, and it was a job he liked to do early in the morning. Grandpa would always give me a stick of gum when we would work early in the morning – he said chewing helped keep me awake so I wouldn’t drive into the river. He always had packs of Beeman’s or Blackjack Gum which had their unique tastes that still remind me of Grandpa. I remember sneaking a stick from his sock drawer once and being amazed that anyone would maintain such a stock of gum.

I mentioned I was young when I had driving assignments. I think I was six the first time Grandpa had me drive. He set me in his old, blue Dodge, put it in first gear where it could idle without stalling in a stubble field and told me to drive along between rows of straw bales so they could be loaded. I think I could barely see through the gap between the top of the steering wheel and the top of the dash board. I was scared to death at first. I remember thinking that he must be crazy to ask a 6 yr old to drive. I executed a few turns and started to enjoy it though. Soon enough he was trying to teach me to shift into second gear so we could go a little faster. I don’t remember what he said, but I distinctly remember from one of his lessons that you NEVER leave your foot on the accelerator while clutching and shifting. Another thing I remember about Grandpa every time I drive a manual transmission.

I must have started feeling pretty confident and one night as we were coming back up from the field just at dark, Grandpa and Uncle Brent held the gate while I was to drive up a slight hill from the pasture into the barnyard behind the house. There was a bit more finesse on the clutch required for starting on a hill than I was quite ready for and I paid more attention to that than to the task of guiding the truck safely over the bridge on the ditch. When the front left wheel started going off, I must have figured that I better give it some power to get back up on the road. Before I knew it the back wheel was off too. Now I was stuck with the driver door over the water below or the passenger door leading right past Grandpa. I took my chances and made a run for it. I made it safely to the house. I remember Grandma making my excuses when Grandpa came in a while later after pulling the truck out with the tractor – something to the effect of, “he’s only six.”

I thought I might never get the chance to drive again, but that wasn’t Grandpa’s way. It wasn’t long before he was showing me how to do it right. Sometimes I was surprised at what he expected me to do, but he always wanted me to do it right. When I made a mistake he would make sure I would learn and not make that mistake again. He didn’t lose faith in me, he just taught me and expected me to do it better each time.

When I got a little older I remember friends of mine coming over on their dirt bikes or in their pick-ups. If he happened by and saw all those engines, he knew there must be a crew and he would come enlist us to help him haul some gravel or fix some fence or something. Some of my friends started being creative how they would park their cars when they would come over hoping not to be assigned to one of his work details. Telling him “no” wasn’t something anyone ever did.

“Grandpa” and “hard-worker” are synonyms. I learned from him that there is a way to hold a shovel in such a way that you can use your leg for extra leverage and get a much larger scoop of gravel. I don’t haul much gravel these days, but the lesson of “holding your shovel the right way” is true. Maybe it’s a little neurotic of me, but I often find myself wondering if I’m doing something the right way and trying to find a better way. Thank you for that lesson Grandpa.

When I was staying in their basement, I would often dress and come up the stairs to walk to my Mom’s house for breakfast about the time Granny and Grandpa were having their’s. I remember reaching the top of the stairs one morning and hearing Grandpas voice in the dining room around the corner. It sounded quieter than I was used to his voice sounding. I realized they were praying. At first I thought they must have something on their mind that he was earnestly praying about because of the softness in his voice. I peaked around the corner to see Granny and Grandpa kneeling down beside their chairs at breakfast. As I listened to his words I realized there wasn’t any crisis or emergency; he was just saying a blessing on the food and asking for Heavenly Father’s hand in their life for that day. I waited for them to finish before sneaking out.

I grew to love catching them taking turns saying their prayers in the morning. Sometimes they would pray specifically for some of the family or for something they were anticipating to go well or for favorable weather, but always in a soft and reverent voice, and always kneeling. It was a great example of humility and reverence and gratitude to the Lord. My faith grew because I saw their devotion and faith.

Eighty years might sound a bit like a long time, maybe even start to feel like a long time, but when I think of it in terms of 80 trips around the sun, or 80 Christmases, or 14 US presidents, or 10 president’s of the LDS church, or 2 missions, or 5 children, or over 20 grandchildren, or HOW MANY great-grand children, or 87,000 good meals, 80 years doesn’t seem like all that long a time. I’m grateful that your 80 and my 25 have overlapped – I’m glad to have a grandpa like mine.