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FENTON A. GRAHNERT

FENTON A. GRAHNERT

This Guest Book will remain online permanently courtesy of Fenton's loving son and daughter in law- Wes and Sandy Grahnert.
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May 26, 2018
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May 26, 2018
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December 29, 2012
Jim & Wes, Your Dad and I were friends as long ago as 75 years. He was my uncle. Once on a family visit he took me out where his Dad had a large field filled with tomato plants. As I followed him I took care not to step on plants or fruit, as did he. In fact, I probably stepped in his footprints. The field was so large that it all looked the same to me, but your Dad knew exactly where he was going. Finally he stopped, bent down, and showed me where he had hidden a salt shaker under leaves of a tomato. We settled down right there on the warm dirt, and proceeded to pick ripe tomatoes. We ate our fill without having to move, and it was a glorious, sun-blessed day for me. One which I will never forget.
It was just one of many. We also shot our 22s together on hikes over the hills. I went with him when he milked cows. Cats lined up against the side of the barn and your Dad, every now and then, proceeded to squirt milk into their opened mouths (more or less, that is--not all of each squirt got into a targeted mouth. But the cats didn't mind the misses. They simply licked it off their fur and waited patiently for the next squirt.
Your Dad was a master craftsman, as you know. As a little boy and later as a man with kids of my own, I watched him carve animals out of wood which were perfect replicas of the real things. He also made bows that not only shot arrows straight and true, but also were so beautiful as to be works of art, and displayed the grain of the bow wood finished with loving care. In later life he turned rock hound. Once in San Francisco I stood and listened as he conversed with an expert on rocks and minerals. Your Dad knew more than the expert, and had been to every dig the expert mentioned, knew the name of every speciman the expert was showing, and told the expert how to get to places the expert needed to see himself. I was impressed, and proud of my uncle. Later, your Dad began cutting and polishing some of his rocks. Once again he proved a master, and gave lovely rocks to those he loved. He never finished cutting and polishing all his raw material, and I suspect you may strain a muscle or two hauling tons of gemstones away from his beloved proverties.
I could go on, but there's not time (I'm 81 myself, and probably not much longer for this world.) But I want you to know I loved your Dad, and look forward to meeting him in that better place where he now is. God bless you and all your kith and kin. Convey to them my love and hope for comfort at the loss of a great man.

Love, Duane
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