Author's note: This piece is not my usual fare, but I visited northern Michigan last week with my family, so I'm posting something I wrote earlier this year. The trip was my first one since my Grandpa's funeral in May, where I wrote and delivered this eulogy.
Marvin Jantzi was my grandpa and he was a farmer. As a young boy I got to enjoy time with him on the farm, often for a week at a time without my parents. We would do the chores every day: making sure the pigs and chickens had what they needed. When that was done, I would ride along in his tractor or truck for whatever else he needed to do that day. As a five-year-old boy this was all I wanted in life, and I still remember those days with joy. Yet as I got older I realized that, as the oldest grandchild by five years, I got to not only have him to myself for a few years but also see him in his prime as a farmer. Even then I could see that this was what he loved to do, what he was meant to do.
In his later years he would often tell me the story of how he chose to take 40 acres from his parents instead of going to college. Those 40 acres were wooded when he received them, but over the years and with a lot of hard work he turned them into proper fields. I think that was one of the things he was most proud of in his life, though he would never say it. Part of his choice to become a farmer was also choosing to stay in Au Gres, Michigan. Grandpa lived his entire life here, raised a family here, made a mark on the land and the people here. He learned to know the place as a farmer does: the weather, the soil, the small details of each field.
Grandpa was a man who paid attention and observed, and it made him a good farmer. He could see when a sow was ready to give birth, or when a feeder pig was going to be a particularly feisty one. But he would also notice when I, as a five-year-old, was tired and needed to go into the house while he finished the hard work ahead of him. In a conversation around the table he would be listening rather than speaking most of the time. He listened carefully and attentively, and when he did speak it was something worth hearing. Sometimes it was a funny remark that fit perfectly into the flow of the conversation, and we would laugh and laugh, him the longest of all. Yet it is his words of advice that I will remember. They didn't come often, but when they did you could see that he had been listening carefully. He could see that unlike him — but like my Dad — I wasn't meant to become a farmer, and he encouraged me to go to college.
It was through this act of paying careful attention and following it with just the right action that Grandpa showed his love. As a farmer you could see his love of the land and his animals in his care for them day after day, season after season, year after year. He loved his family by working with them and for them, taking the heavier load but also coming alongside them to show them the right way to do something. He and Grandma worked side by side in this way for 63 years, showing their love to each other. His church community felt his love through his work in the church, but also through his presence here in these pews for his entire life.
It is the lack of his physical presence here in Au Gres that is felt most with his passing. It is a hole that cannot be filled. Yet his presence is not gone. He left his mark on this place: the Jantzi farm and the 40 acres he cleared are still here and will produce another harvest in the fall. He left his mark on each of us through his words and actions. I carry part of him with me: I share his middle name, Duane, as do my father Chuck and my oldest son Oliver. May I live up to his legacy as one who bears his name. May I teach my children how to listen, pay attention, and love the people and place around me as he did.