The author and her husband, Duane, own and operate a 550-cow dairy in Cochranville, Pa.

I am the richest farmer in the world. Before you pound down my barn door for money, I want to clarify that I am not talking about financial resources. I am talking about the riches of a relationship, specifically the one with my dad.

He recently passed after 96 incredible years earth side, and my heart is overflowing with emotions. Yes, sadness is there. Not having him around has been really difficult, and the tears often flow. But my heart also has a ton of gratitude for the years he was here, the opportunity I had to work beside him for decades, and for the life lessons he taught me, not necessarily with words, but more so by example.

My father had a genuine servant heart. Before he got married, he spent three years serving farmers and families in Austria, Germany, and Morocco, helping them rebuild their farms and communities after the war. From that time on, his career included truck driving and dairy farming.

My childhood memories are full of fun, even in the most challenging of times. Hot summer days when we put up hay ended with a trip for ice cream and a swim in the local pond. When there were winter storms, he gave me one more sled ride down the lane before he covered it with cinders so the milk truck could back up the hill. More than once I stepped onto the school bus with wet clothes because our ongoing water battle was his to win that day.

Dad had a unique and calming way with animals. The slowest of calves did not rile him, the wildest of heifers did not entice his temper, and the needs of everyone and every animal around him mattered the most.

I remember one particular cow that was extra contentious named Promise. Promise stood still for my dad as he gently spoke to her with his hand on her leg; she did not mind his presence. If my brother or I came within 2 feet of her, she lived up to her name and promised to kick us out of the way.

He brought that same gentleness and patience to our farm when he came to work for Duane and I during the last 20-plus years of his life. Having him help us raise calves and manage employees was priceless. He took the time to deal with the newborn that pushed the bottle away time and again, made sure that the animals had clean bedding, and that the grain was fresh and the milk was warm.

I know he was not perfect; none of us carry that status. His sisters are the first to argue that they received a ton of teasing from him. The banter between them was the best of entertainment.

Like most farmers I know, he was stubborn. Once he made up his mind to go a certain direction, shifting it was a rare occurrence.

Changing a protocol on the farm was never easy. I had many discussions with him about why we needed to alter the way we fed calves, and I had to prove that the new way was indeed the best way before he would adopt the change.

Over the years, he was easily the most consistent and reliable worker to show up in the morning. In more recent years, we asked him to stay home if the weather was nasty. Of course, there was no guarantee that he would listen.

The little details always mattered to Dad, and taking his time to do it right was more important than doing it fast. Just this last winter and early spring, he would call employees to make sure they had dumped out the water buckets before they left the farm; otherwise, the frozen water would be an issue for the early morning calf feeders.

He gave special attention to our farm dogs, and I will never forget the day he taught Kelby’s blue tick hound dog how to catch a groundhog. I wish I caught that on camera. There was a groundhog trapped near the manure pit, my dad with a broom handle, and an anxious Harley that was slightly apprehensive to dive in. It did not take her long until she was hunting them by herself.

My dad was everyone’s friend, dad, abuelo, and grandpa. He was adored on our farm for his caring nature and humor. He never let an opportunity go by to tease, add his wit, or lend his wisdom to the conversation with his co-workers. He did not crave attention — he disappeared when we gave tours on the farm.

Farm dads simply are the richest of blessings, and I am blessed to have been given the best dad. He was the best friend and co-worker on our farm.

Helen Keller once said, “What we once enjoyed and deeply loved we can never lose, for all that we love deeply becomes a part of us.” That gives me comfort in knowing that even though he is not walking around the calf barn, shaking out hay for the calves, testing his patience with a stubborn newborn, checking on the kittens, or just chatting with us in the office, he will always be a special part of our farm. Rest in peace, dear Dad, and thank you for making me the richest farm girl around.