He Farmed “For The Duration”

My father, Harold Carl William Balvanz, died Monday at the age of 91. He had suffered from Parkinson’s disease for several years and resided in a nursing home since 2007. It has been interesting these last few days, reflecting on my dad and our relationship. But it was especially interesting to see and hear the reactions of those who attended his funeral.

It has been 37 years since I left home, and many of the people who had crossed Dad’s path were unknown to me. Like the surly fellow who came to the visitation Wednesday night. For years he has worked as the on-the-farm technician for the local tire store. His only contact with my father occurred when Dad had experienced blowouts on big tractor or combine tires—times when one could become impatient as daylight burns away. The tire changer came because, “Your Dad was always nice to me. He was never pushy.”

My cousin, a farmer who lost his father when my cousin was only 20 years old, was overcome when he arrived at the funeral home. The family had asked him to serve as a pall bearer. “It is my honor to do this,” he said, because Harold had stood by him in the days when his own father had died.

Aside from his World War 2 service, Dad lived within a few miles of Eldora, Iowa his entire life. There weren’t many times when the imposing clock tower of the Hardin County courthouse wasn’t in view in the distance.

Dad farmed for the love of it. It was both occupation and pastime. He raised cattle because he loved cattle and the smell of freshly-cut hay. He raised corn because it grew straight and tall in the summer, and because the stalks gleamed yellow at the harvest. He liked to work hard and sweat a lot. Well into his 50’s he would embarrass my brother and me with his one-armed pushups.

Harold was one of the rapidly dwindling generation of WW2 veterans, having served from February, 1942 until October, 1945—service “for the duration” of the war. In those days men knew that they were committed until peace was declared.

Dad farmed “for the duration” too, until his body wouldn’t allow it. And so peace was declared for him on December 15th when the Lord called him home to heaven.

He outlived all of his Army buddies. And it was fitting that one of his best friends commanded the aging honor guard that conducted military rights on a cold, crisp and beautifully clear December 18th. As the echo of taps played I was left to ponder this man.

He rests barely a mile from his beloved country home, while in the opposite direction, in easy view, stands the courthouse clock tower that witnessed the humble life of Harold Carl William Balvanz for 91 years, 9 months and 26 days. Goodbye Dad. See you soon.