Uncle Arne: I regret that I never got to see you on my last couple of visits home. I know you would understand. You will be missed by many. I remember the farm fields, knowing that being a farmer was probably one of the hardest jobs a man could have. I never pass a farm when I don't think of you. Not only for you but for your family, and especially your wife. Farming, it seems, has become one of the most thankless jobs there is. But we appreciated all the hard work you put in, a hot summer day, tractors using lights to work the fields after dark. You did it your whole life. Then I remember our last visit when Mom and I came for lunch. We sat on the back porch on a beautiful breezy summer day and were talking about other things so that we might avoid talking about the ugliness of politics since you and I were not on the same side. We were talking about your military history since I love to listen to war stories, feeling everyone has at least one. You were telling me that you were drafted into the Army during WWII and sent to the Philippines. You especially remember the job that you and your unit had been tasked to do when there, and that was to guard General Douglas MacArthur's plane, a B-17. As we were talking, I said to you, that sounds like a B-17. You looked at me strangely and I said, no really, and looked up into the sky to the west of your porch and said to you, here comes one now. It took you a minute to realize, I really meant it. You quickly got up and moved to the edge of the porch to watch it fly over your house. Aunt Bea then said there was an airshow that weekend. Much love, Honey (Luann)
