Declining years took their toll. But, as the saying goes, “It’s hard to keep a good man down.” In his early seventies (or was it eighties?), he had a heart attack that landed him in the hospital. Upon his release, the doctor ordered him to slow down and not work so hard. His response? “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life in a rocking chair!” A few days after his release, he was jacking up the corner of the old farmhouse to shore up its foundation. That was the sort of man my grandfather was.

The years, though, were catching up with him. Canoe tripping brought some adjustments; he allowed himself a “.9” horsepower outboard motor (that’s point 9, less than one horsepower!), which spared him the long hours of paddling. When Grandma, his beloved wife, died, he attempted to live the bachelor life and plastered National Geographic photo clippings on his bedroom wall. He lived out his days doing the everyday chores of life until he could no longer effectively look after himself. My dad and mom moved back to northern Minnesota, to a nearby town called Babbit. It was an easy drive to the nursing home where Gramps lived out his days, with Dad faithfully visiting him and ensuring he was well taken care of. Gramps’ frequent companion was a collie dog that made its rounds to bring comfort to the folks who lived there. In the end, he died peacefully in his sleep at age ninety-seven.

Dad auctioned off the contents of the farm, having no desire to live in a decaying house and a barn that held no use for him. He sold the farm to a neighbor for a monetary price that was not commensurate with its value in nostalgia currency. Years later, when I visited the farm, the barn was still standing, but the house was torn down and replaced with a mobile home. The family who lived there eventually built a lovely, modern home. Upon a second visit years after the first, the owners gave me a sign they had found stuck in an out-of-the-way place in the barn. On it was stenciled the name “Jack Gianotti.” It used to hang on the front gate to the property, just off Highway 1. No longer did it announce the property owners; our family connection with the land was a thing of the past.

Jack Gianotti, Sr., my grandfather, had lived a long life, well past the number of years promised in the Bible:

As for the days of our life, they contain seventy years, or if due to strength, eighty years, yet their pride is but labor and sorrow; for soon it is gone and we fly away. (Ps 90:10)

Gramps and Grams are gone, and the farm is gone. I am reminded of the first part of Psalm 90:

Lord, You have been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were born or You gave birth to the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, You are God. You turn man back into dust and say, “Return, O children of men.” For a thousand years in Your sight are like yesterday when it passes by, or as a watch in the night. (Ps 90:1–4)

Yet, this is not the end of the story. Eternity lies ahead; there is more yet to come. The legacy of Giovanni and Elizabeth Gianotti and Jack and Gustava Gianotti carries on in our DNA and the heritage they passed on to us who are related to them. For you readers who are not related to the Gianotti gene pool, you have your own story to tell. We all join in the procession of humanity, created on this earth as descendants of the first man and woman—created to reflect God’s image in the world, to know and love Him, our Creator, who sent His Son Jesus to solve our sin problem in this fallen world. The story goes on!