Grandpa Hibernates

Grandpa Strupp, the grizzled man, always smelled of silage, sweat, and the handmade soap that was in their bathroom shaped like sea shells.

Jenny and I had a step stool that we placed behind his recliner, so we could comb his hair while he napped. Sometimes with just our fingers and others with a black comb, the only comb they had in the house, the kind they gave you to fix your hair right before class pictures in grade school. We’d dip the comb or our fingers into a cup full of water and began to sculpt. His black and white streaked hair felt like sewing thread between our fingers as we parted it to the left, the right, into a Mohawk. We’d cup our hands over our mouths, our fingers tasting of salt, as we laughed at Grandpa as he snored away, at times, unaware of our play.

Our grandpa was a tall, slender grizzly when he slept. You’d think he was hibernating, but that’s what farming did to ya.