Dad was an ordinary man who lived an extraordinary life. He was a brother to eight, a husband to Jenny, a father of nine and father figure to many others. He was a grandfather to 23 and great grandfather to 18. He worked as a welder, a pipefitter and in the summers, volunteer swimming instructor to children, grandchildren, cousins and neighborhood kids.
Dad loved his family, his garden, the outdoors, and sharing his stories. There were stories about growing up on a depression era Salem County farm, of family, of high school friends, and football adventures… of fishing, trapping, hunting, and of beloved dogs.
Navy stories are the ones he told the most. The small town boy set off see the world in the early 50s. After boot camp at Great Lakes, Illinois… “Where it was so cold it brought tears to my eyes and froze on my face”… he set sail across the Pacific aboard the USS Estees bringing aid to South Korea.
He dived for giant clams, which were very heavy. He learned to weld, visited Japan, and witnessed history from his ship… when the first hydrogen bomb was detonated in the Marshall Islands.
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One of Dad’s regret in life was not getting back in time to see his dying mother. He tried. From his ship in the Marshall Islands, it became a wild adventure of plane changes, delays, hitchhiking before finally making it home.
Stateside the Estees travelled north to Alaska. Dad told a story about a lost wallet… and another of his ship being caught in the ice. He loved the beauty of the Alaskan Coast and was able to return later in life to share this with Mom.
After leaving the Navy, Dad had stories of owning a gas station owner. I was his soda machine baby. Sodas were a dime. Profit on each bottle was five cents. Dad paid the $25 it cost to bring me home with the change from the machine.
Not long after, Dad went to work for Mannington and later in life, DuPont. I was soon joined by siblings who he bounced on his knee, carried on his shoulders, snuggled on his lap, skinned the cat, and shared his knowledge of land and life.
Early on, Dad taught us public speaking. He stressed clarity and voice projection. When we had parts to remember for church programs… he sent us to the front of the house. We had to practice until Mom and Dad could understand each word from the kitchen.
My brothers can better tell about Dad’s fishing stories because they experienced many first hand. More than once, Dad was towed back by when the engine failed. Another time he motored back from the bay in reverse. Dad upturned boats, lost glasses, and a brother’s favorite reel on other trips. He also caught a few fish along the way.
Dad was man ahead of his time. He built his own solar water-heating unit 40 years ago, long before solar became a buzzword
Dad said that the Doctor’s considered him a “one in a million man because at 86 he had no prescription medications. He had survived Rocky Mountain spotted fever as a teenager. At 62, he lived through a fall that broke vertebra in his neck when he decided to show his granddaughters how to swing on a rope across part of Salem Creek. The rope snapped and he ended upside down with his head stuck in the mud. Years later Dad was severely injured in an automobile accident that he was lucky to survive. I think he was that one in a million man.
Dad enjoyed helping others. He sold Poppies for Memorial Day to honor a brother who died in WWII. He helped Mom put on Strawberry Festivals and Chicken Pot Pie dinners for Sharptown Church. He began delivering Meals on Wheels with Jay Pratt and later with Mom. He became animated when he told stories about his mission trips with the First Baptist Church of Woodstown helping with hurricane relief in the south.
From toddlers on, he taught us all to plant corn, start new strawberry plants from runners, and string the lima beans. On Sunday drives we learned to identify crops in the fields. I believe it is in Dads garden where we gleaned the most. It became lesson in history, economics, agriculture, science and life.
The garden contours have moved from year to year, but each spring Dad’s 1946 red Farmall Cub tractor… with the help of our brother in law… has chugged on. With the tractor, came Dad’s history lessons on the evolution of harvesting machine companies.
Each spring Dad was up at dawn heading to the garden that called to him. Over the last few years Dad walked among the rows somewhat thinner and a little more stooped.
Four summers ago, he struggled a bit after pulling a few weeds that threatened to take over. Some lessons Dad never stopped teaching. He explained once again, as he had so many times, that weeds compete with crops for nutrients and water. They had to go.
I bent over on the opposite side of the row and began to help. We moved down the row of cucumbers clinging upright on poles that gave way to the lima beans. We shook and beat the excess soil from the roots of the weeds as Dad taught us.
Towards the end of the row Purple Martins chattered and scolded. “The babies are flying and are ready to leave,” Dad explained as if were the first time. Each spring he watched for his “Martins,” to return. All of us, our children, and even some of the great- grandchildren will remember Dads lessons of how those graceful swooping birds eat their weight in mosquitos every day.
That day as I worked alongside my father, I understood that Dad’s garden offered him a healing balm to stresses he faced as he had became more of a caregiver to Mom. Over the years, the garden provided an oasis where his worries disappeared for a while. It took him to a world that he knew and challenges that he understood.
Dad had solutions for fungus, bean beetles and potato bugs. As my brothers and sisters know, some solutions involve hydrogen peroxide, the miracle cure.
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Dad was a generous man. He made his garden grow and shared the bounty with his children, neighbors and church family. The garden nurtured us. It taught patience as we waited the 85 days it took for some seeds to germinate until those crops were ready for harvest.
He taught us to work hard for the things that we want. Dad drove us around door-to-door, selling strawberries for vacation money when we were young. In winter we saved money by enjoying sauces, strawberries, lima beans, corn, green beans, pickles and other vegetables that we shucked, peeled, stemmed, and cut under the summer sun.
From early on we could identify a weed from a plant. Dad taught us that dandelions are a bear to eradicate because you have to get the entire tap root. Crab grass and clover are tricky to pull because they send out trailers that root in several places. Thistle is never easy to pull.
If nothing else, the weeds we hated to pull as children taught perseverance. Weeds never go away. Like life and work, sometimes it is a battle to be won each day.
This summer Dad will not see the golden sunflowers that reach towards heaven. He will miss the orderly rows of corn standing at attention… the tomato vines clinging to supports…along with the lima beans and other assorted vegetables that have thrived in his Sharptown garden for close to 70 years. This year as Dad’s garden grows… through my brother’s sweat and love… Dad will be there, walking in our memories.
Dad’s stories of life and garden lessons will never leave us. The smell of freshly turned soil, the heady smell of tomato vines and memories of lima bean leaves that stick like Velcro will take always take us home.
I will end by borrowing some thoughts from the band New Republic and a nephew who is working with doctors in Tanzania and could not be here to say goodbye. Like Dad, We grew up a million miles from a million dollars. We will never be able to spend the wealth that our father, our teacher, our preacher, our famer, our welder, our, dance partner, our teller of stories, our lover of dogs, our fisherman, our sailor, our trapper, our Phillies and Eagles fan, our ice cream lover, and professional nap taker has left for us. Dad you are forever in our hearts.
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James William Sparks Sr. January 29, 1931-June 18,2019
He passed away peacefully at home with all of his children by his side.
He was predeceased by his parents, John Restreak Sparks and Bertha May DeMaris Sparks; six brothers John, Joseph, Ralph, Geroge, Edgar and Preston; two sisters, Hilda Earnest and Carolyn Skelnar; His wife, Virginia Price Sparks. |
