I didn’t want to go too long before I paused to remember the passing of one of the last of the old farmers. Ever since our family made its home on sixty acres in Saline Township, Bill’s family was a part of the fabric of the community. His great grandfather settled there around 1870 and the family has been there ever since.

Bill ran the farm on his own after his parents died, eschewing the large scale, specialized farming methods and continuing to keep a few pigs, a few sheep, an orchard known throughout the county and a marvelous herd of Holstein dairy cows all descended from the single cow that his grandfather acquired in 1922. Apparently, her name was “Corny”. Seriously.

But that’s not what I really remember of Bill. He was truly a man born of a different and gentler age – and one of the finest 4H leaders I’ve ever known. Other than my father, he is the one man most responsible for getting me through nine years of show cattle projects that ultimately paid for three years of college. As one of the elder statesmen of Washtenaw County agriculture, He also took a ragtag team of teenage boys to the state livestock judging finals. We didn’t get into the top five, but it was his tough but fair coaching that got us there in the first place.

He was one of easy nature and temperament – I only remember him losing his temper once, (for which he immediately apologized). His patience for kids, as I look back, was truly saintly. Although he remained a bachelor his entire life and had no children of his own, Bill has adopted kids all over the world through his tireless efforts introducing so many to the unexpected beauty of agriculture.

It took no patience on my part to hear his stories – from his time with a German family while he was in the Army to the inner workings of relationships from generations back to controlling fire blight on the young apple seedlings. Bill was the consummate yarn spinner who would regale me with tales as we drove the back roads of Washtenaw County on our way to the next judging practice.

But mostly I remember him as one of the hardest working men in that same county. For as long as I can remember, he worked that farm – alone – with the care of his whole heart. He never took a vacation (dairy farms are a tough mistress that way), but in the forty years I knew him, I never heard one complaint. And the barnyard was neater than many fully staffed farms twice the size.

He chose a quiet life of communion with the land, teaching others the ageless value of responsibility, reliability and simply keeping promises. His death was sudden and, at the age of 71, far too soon.

And I’m going to miss him.