He lived in the farmhouse in Canada that he was born in. 

It had no running water. 

It had no electricity. 

It was hot in the summer, cold in the winter. 

Most of his food was kept in a dirt floor root cellar during the summer, out on the back porch in the winter. 

From 6 years old until around 10 or so, I spent every summer there with my grandmother and an aunt… 

….and Grandpa Clay. 

He was a part time farmer and a fulltime storyteller. 

All of his pigs were named, some of the chickens, and his male horse named, Cindy, after the one love of his life who said no when he took a knee to ask. 

Every day around 3pm he would grab his bottle of “medicine” and we would walk through the fields of corn, along the way he would hide so he could jump out and scare me but for some reason always coughed loud right before the “Booo.” 

And then, over a small little hill was the “Clay Ocean.” 

I have no idea how big it was. 

It though was filled with frogs, Pollywogs, cigar butts and fish… 

…every one of which was named. 

Every frog had a name, and a story… 

…as did every fish… 

…as did every bug that flew by. 

When his medicine bottle was empty, when the tip of his cigar was no longer red, when my grandmother would ring the dinner bell… 

…he would reel in our fishing line all the while saying, “Huh didn’t catch them today but you know what…”

…And I always did know what and we couldn’t move until I told the pond: “Thank You,” and “We’ll be back.” 

As I write this, I can still feel my right hand brushing back all the stalks of corn as we walked through the rows. 

As I write this, I can still feel Grandpa’s hand on my left shoulder, guiding me still. 

Midway through my last summer on the farm, he passed. 

The next day I was picked up and taken back to Buffalo never to set foot on the farm again. 

A couple years later, I was living with an aunt and uncle in Buffalo, Aunt Irma and Uncle Jim, Uncle Jim was related to Clay and one day I found an old, kind of bent envelop on my bed, scrawled on the front was this: Donnie. 

And inside was a short note from Grandpa Clay, a simple note, handwritten with one thumb print in a corner… 

…it was dated the day before he passed… 

…and this is what he wrote: “I will save you a cloud of cotton candy and two vanilla moon suckers… 

…WITH STICKS.” 

Love, 

Grandpa.