History Lessons: Time Has No Speed Limits, A Father's Day Tribute

By Carol Harper

I have many cherished memories of my father, Charles Starks. He turns 90 this year, and what a life well lived! As I look back on my own timeline, I've come to realize that what Dad has taught me about life and the living of it came through talent, hard work, and enjoying the little things that could be missed if you aren't actually looking for them.

My own kids and I have had conversations of what it was like to be raised in the Generation X era, but I believe it's better to understand how our parents were raised in their time. My parents were born in 1936, during the Depression era, and my dad grew up out in the Pavillion prairie in tar-paper shacks with outhouses. Can you imagine how cold that would be in the Wyoming winters? Dad told me that as kids, his brothers and sisters would gather around the stove with their blankets open, get them reallly hot, then run to their beds and wrap themselves tightly to hold the heat in. He was a farm kid, and told me he had to get up very early in the morning, before the sun rose, to milk the cows and work. Both of my parents taught me that there was a time to work and a time to play. I carry those words with me to this day. Depression era kids really knew what it was like to do hard work to survive...pretty applicable to this very day!

And Dad worked very hard for our family as one of the most sought-after welders in Wyoming, certified in a variety of welds...which meant he was in demand and was away from the family a lot, traveling all over the state. It also meant that time with him was very precious. As a young child, I really didn't have a have a concept of time, so in hindsight, I would describe it like having a father in the military, just  randomly "deployed" to remote areas like Gas Hills or Lysite (he also told me he was a part of the crews that blew out the tunnels in the Wind River Canyon). I'm proud to know that the work my dad did is a part of Wyoming's stuctural history, but my own favorite memories were when would come home covered in and smelling like dirt and oil...and I would run and jump into his arms anyway. I didn't care. Dad was home, and that's all that mattered.

Speaking of work, I wrote a little bit about how my mother was instrumental in my music life in my Do It Better writing, but my father was the one out working hard to not only provide for our family, but to pay for my lessons, tuitions, books and eventually a baby grand piano. I'd be up at 5:30 AM to practice for a couple hours before breakfast, and when I was done, there was big breakfast on the table, most of the time fixed by my dad (to this day, his pancakes are second to none. No one makes pancakes like my dad. And I mean, no one.)

I felt special when Dad could take me to an oil rig out in the middle of nowhere. One memory stands out where I was dressed up in my little cream-colored dress with pastel flowers on the hem, white frilly socks, and shiny black patent leather shoes. I sat in the truck, and had coloring books, crossword puzzles and paper to draw on. I'd listen to old school country music on the AM radio and watch the traveling block on the rig go up and down until I fell asleep. It was usually dusk by the time he was done, and we'd go back home, country music still playing on the radio. I was able to experience my Dad's work day at a very young age.

I don't know if any of the locals remember the ornamental fence he built around the property, and a very intricately designed gate. We always had a beautiful yard and a huge garden every year, and dad was always out prepping it it all, surveying it often, working on the sprinkler systems, etc. He would create ornamental spiral stairways (those were popular in the 70s), and it seemed like he would always be on-call to help people, even during the holidays...fences, cattle guards, trailer hitches. Amazing. Here's a man that worked so hard out in the field, and then came home...and did more work!

But when we played, we played hard. We'd take the boat out to Ocean or Boysen lakes and waterski, go fishing and have picnics in the mountains, take road trips and stop at every historical marker and learn about the places in Wyoming. We'd visit Devil's Tower, Independence Rock, Castle Gardens...but the thing my dad always wanted to do was stop in Farson for ice cream, or in Shoshoni for their famous malts. "I want some ice cream at the ice cream store..." and he'd turn the car into parking lot, sometimes even against my mom's will (but hey, my brother and I never complained)! I love how his spontaneous inner child shone through at random moments. 

And speaking of driving? (Okay, Dad, I have to say it)...not the best driver. Remember, he was a farm kid. My mom would constantly get on him for having one foot on the gas and one foot on the brake. He would be driving along and then suddenly slow down, sometimes to a crawl...and take his eyes off the road. My mom would shriek, "Keep your eyes on the road!" We'd always wonder why he'd do that, but my mom said that he was "looking at the crops". Or he'd speed up at random times, with little or no regard for speed limit signs. My dad and I once took a trip up to Greybull (this was just a few years ago), and he actually got stopped by a cop out of Worland for 'speeding' in a 45. It was both embarrassing and entertaining to watch the cop approach my dad's rolled down window, and saw who was driving. "Do you know what the speed limit is here?"  I was smiling and thinking, "Um no. Here, meet my Dad." 

Talk about distracted driving! In his defense, though...my dad always had a deep appreciation for Wyoming's beautiful landscapes and scenery, the mountains, the sunrises and sunsets. Sometimes we'd stop and take a little hike to view a hill of wildflowers, or he'd pick a strand or two of sagebrush, rub it with his fingers and say, "Smell!"  Sights, colors, and the sounds of nature. I remember as a kid once, that he was out on a job for a very long time, and sent me a postcard with a photo of a Meadowlark on it (not the car, lol), and explained that it was Wyoming's state bird. I love the sound of meadowlarks to this day. I've learned that it's more about the journey rather than the hurried trip to get from point A to point B and back again, and to remember it as a metaphor to living my life. It's the little things, the details, that we might miss along the way.

I'm one of the the blessed who can say that my father is a good man. Time has no speed limits, and everything is in constant motion. Many times I think that we go way too fast down all of these interstate highways of supposed "progress" that we forget to slow down for the details of Life. Sometimes I get distracted by all of the work, worries, and problems I face, and forget to play and play hard. Sometimes I get so focused in on my own time and need to remember God's Time and places in the grand scheme of things. What a beautiful world God has created for us to enjoy, and Wyoming is the best place to experience it.

Happy Father's Day, Dad! I'm glad I came home to God's country.

For the beauty of the earth,
For the glory of the skies,
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies.

For the wonder of each hour

of the day and of the night,

hill and vale and tree and flower,

sun and moon and stars of light.

For the joy of human love,

brother, sister, parent, child,

friends on earth, and friends above,

for all gentle thoughts and mild.

For Yourself, best gift divine,

To the world so freely given,

Agent of God's grand design:

Peace on earth and joy in heaven.

Christ, our Lord, to you we raise

This, our hymn of grateful praise.