Athey Keith is an unforgettable character—one of my favorites in all the fiction I’ve read. He appears in Wendell Berry’s Jayber Crow, where he is a remarkable example of being a grandfather. While few today could repeat the particulars of Athey’s grandparenting, we can see in him perennial features of one the most important of human relationships.

Athey is maternal grandfather to Jimmy. Jimmy’s parents, Troy and Mattie, work a farm near to the homeplace where Mattie grew up farming with her parents, Athey and Della. The contrast between Athey and Troy, exemplifying respectively old ways and new ways of farming, is a significant theme in the book. I wish simply to focus on Athey and Jimmy as grandfather and grandson.

“Troy’s work was too high-powered, fast, and dangerous by then to permit a small boy to stay along with him. Athey’s ways of working permitted company. Wherever Athey went, Jimmy could go with him. Whatever Athey did, Jimmy could help him do.”

What strikes me here is a simple yet profound point: sometimes grandparents can be present and mentor grandchildren in ways not possible for parents. Current socio-economic conditions make it very difficult for parents, especially fathers, to share their professional work with their children. Apart from considering the bigger issue of this problem, we can see renewed attention to grandparenting as one powerful way of addressing it.

Intentional grandparents—and parents who are thinking with them—might sculpt their daily life especially in view of making it accessible to grandchildren. Grandparents and grandparents-to-be (as well as anyone in more advanced years) might take as a key rubric: how can we forge our home life to become a nourishing context for young people?

“He gave the boy real jobs to do… He showed him things that needed to be picked up and carried and put down…When Athey plowed his little crops or his garden, Jimmy would be on the old mule’s back, guiding him through the rows and turning him at the row ends, saving Athey the need to bother with the lines.”

Yes, arts of cultivating the earth are especially suited to bring together generations. The image of little Jimmy on the back of a mule with his grandfather in what must have been a big garden has stayed with me. It always makes me smile and gives me something to strive for, even in my own limited ways.

I will be honest. I have to choose not to spend time wishing I could do with my grandchildren exactly what Athey and Jimmy did. Thank you, Lord, but that will not be given to me. But this much is clear: I can make choices, especially about the work I do in my home—as well as some more leisurely activities, such as fishing—in view of making deep, personal, embodied connections with younger folk.

Later, “Jimmy had become a fair master of the work on Athey’s little place. He could milk. He could drive a team. He was learning something of the use of judgment… He had mischief in him, and you could see that. Behind that grin were notions and energies wanting to be let loose. Now and again Athey would have to check him, but all he needed to do was speak. ‘Nup!’ he would say. ‘Look out, now.’ Jimmy would look at him to see if he meant it, and then come to heel. Athey always meant it, and Jimmy always looked at him to see if he did.”

The narrative speaks for itself. It speaks of deep things in young people that call out for and indeed require a context for exercise and shaping, restraint and direction, as a young person is sculpted into his or her true self.

We—almost all of us—experience the dearth of the most natural and well-suited contexts for this critical life formation; and we all suffer from it. But it is in our reach to take certain steps, even small ones, to rediscover and enact such contexts in our own homes. A central means for this will be looking again at a diversity of traditional home arts, and fitting them to our busy lives today. And we might begin by thinking about this from the perspective of grandparenting, and of meaningful connections between older and younger generations.

And let there be no doubt of the great and surprising fruits, not least of all for the aging, who in God’s providence are richly rewarded in one way or another. You can read the rest of the story of Athey and Jimmy and the others in all of its pathos. But I will leave you with a description of Athey some years later through the eyes of his faithful barber, Jayber Crow:
“And his eyes to the last looked back at you as they always had. I had known him well for twenty-three years. I had seen him change from a vigorous man whose thoughts were all of life to a man who knew he was dying and who still lived willingly and thoughtfully and humorously.”

May there be more such grandfathers and grandmothers; and may we with them rediscover and prioritize simple yet beautiful ways of living, and growing, together. ~ ~ ~

NEW PODCAST EPISODE: HOW WENDELL BERRY CHANGED OUR HOUSEHOLD. Since Berry’s death many are taking stock of his unique voice warning of the tragic demise of community and household, culture and agriculture in twentieth century America. But his prodigious appeal and influence are most evident in his pointing to something beautiful still very much in our reach. Sofia and I share the astounding gift his work has been for our own household. Find and share all our podcasts HERE.

Image: Norman Rockwell’s The Music Lesson

John Cuddeback

Husband, father, and professor of Philosophy. LifeCraft springs from one conviction: there is an ancient wisdom about how to live the good life in our homes, with our families; and it is worth our time to hearken to it. Let’s rediscover it together. Learn more.