When I walked into Daddy Buck’s house, I often felt queasy from the scent of the sulfur from his well water, the cedar that lined his closets, and the pungent aroma of his pipe tobacco. Daddy Buck’s clothes also smelled like the sawmill where he worked—the machine oil from the saw blades and the yellow pine sawdust.

Sawmill visit. Once, when I visited Daddy Buck one day at the lumber mill with my daddy, I could hardly breathe because the air was thick with sawdust. I stayed close to my daddy as we waded through the wood shavings on the ground.

As we climbed up the creaky, wooden stairs, I gripped daddy’s hand and balanced myself with my other hand on the splintery railings. The shrill sounds of the ripping saws and high-pitched, threatening blades scared me.

Hands of a lumberman. Over the years, those vicious saws hacked off several of Daddy Buck’s fingers. My daddy warned me about how dangerous Daddy Buck’s job could be—feeding logs into the saws and planers with his bare hands. I didn’t dare get close to the saws or to Daddy Buck’s hands.

In fact, I was afraid to even look at his hands. I wondered what they did with those missing fingers. I think Daddy Buck knew I avoided his hands. But one day, he motioned for me to come close to him, while he sat in his thread-bare, squeaky rocker, next to the wood-burning stove.

I cautiously walked over to him, curious to see what he wanted with me. When I got within his reach, he leaned over, grabbed me around the waist with his rough, oil-stained hands, picked me up, and placed me gently on his knee.

Smelly, ol’ pipe. I resisted getting too close to Daddy Buck’s pipe. And I felt my body stiffen as I arched my back and leaned away from his face. Daddy Buck chuckled at my fear of his old, smelly pipe.

Suddenly, Daddy Buck took his pipe out of his mouth, and he offered me a puff. At first, I looked around to see if any one was watching me. Then, I accepted his offer. Afterward, I found myself choking and coughing, trying hard not to gag on the nasty taste that would not go away.

Daddy Buck just stuck his pipe back in his mouth and grinned, “Not too bad, huh?”

I jumped off of Daddy Buck’s knee and ran to the kitchen for a drink of his nasty well water, vowing to never smoke again.

Do you have any memories of going to work with your dad or granddad? Be sure to leave your comments below!

Photo/AllenFam
Photo/BarnesFam