He was gnarled and stooped from years of struggling on a poor little farm, three fingers sacrificed to a threshing machine, rheumatism swelling his painful joints.
He had a big voice and a kind heart. His grandchildren loved him.
Dave helped his son farm the sloping 80-acre farm. The house he shared with Emma was a tiny four rooms on a dirt basement lined with shelves for the year's canning. Only in later years was there a bathroom added.
At church he sang so loudly he embarrassed his family. It didn't matter—he loved church. He loved the people who went there. After the service, he enjoyed the fellowship and was one of the last to leave. Emma was a shy woman and stood quietly or sat in the car waiting patiently. People were important to him, and she seemed not to mind the wait.