favorite farmer

Grandpa, you are my Pepa. Before me, you were

Robert Elias Cunningham: son, brother, husband and father

God, through my birth, made you Grandpa

I, in my smallness, through toddling talk and wondering words, made you Pepa


Just now, deep in my life, I feel you kneeling in your garden,

Planting your plants,

Your skin the color of newly plowed rows, your smell the humble smell of dirt

Sweat drips off your forehead and mixes with rain and soil

Nourishing plants so they can grow


Your heart, faithful and soft, is a red, big, beautiful

Better Boy Tomato

Swaying softly in whispering winds of

Southern summer skies


Your soul, bright and gentle, is a yellow ear of

Sweet corn

Wrapping itself gently in tender husks,

Protecting itself from searing sun, wooly worms and harsh hours


Your mind, persistent and broad, is an experienced

Briggs and Stratton motor

Running a plow, working through problems, fixing anything

Accepting me, allowing me to grow as the

Land accepts the seed and allows it to grow


Your strength, helping and enduring, is a trusty

Farmall tractor

Helping keep the farmer from struggling behind a mule and a plow,

Enduring almost eighty years,

Puttering, held together with baling wire and Duck tape, down one more row


Pepa, you are our favorite farmer

Just as you sowed your seed and gathered your garden

So you sow

Faith, hope and love into your family's

Hearts, souls, minds and strengths and

Gather us to you


We love you my Grandpa, my Pepa, my friend