Remembering Dad

Eulogy Rewritten in Poem Form by Lisa

A son to Martin and Marie was born,

On that crisp autumn morn,

In Galt Hospital, October's end,

John Kubik came, their joy to tend.

From Czechoslovakia's distant shore,

To Iron Springs, Alberta's core,

His parents crossed the ocean wide,

Where prairie dreams and hope collide.

At fifteen, when his father passed,

The farming life would hold him fast,

Young John left school to work the land,

With calloused but devoted hands.

He loved the crack of bat on ball,

The curling stone's strategic call,

The swift glide of hockey's dance,

The fishing line's patient stance.

On his birthday in sixty-four, 

He wed the one he did adore, 

Sweet Jean McLeod became his wife, 

Together building farming life.

Four children blessed their prairie home,

Stephanie, Lisa, Johnna, John to roam,

Learning his drive for perfect rows,

Work ethic only a farmer knows.

Little Bow Farms, the family name,

Mother Marie, all worked the same—

With brother Martin by his side,

In farming's rhythm, their hearts abide.

Arrow-straight his crop rows ran,

Wheat and barley, canola's span—

Fields pristine, free of weeds,

The earth rewarded honest deeds.

Limousin cattle, his pride and joy,

From dawn to dusk he'd employ

Equipment tinkered, made just right,

His hands until the fading light.

Two sons-in-law joined family ties,

Dan and Doug, both good and wise,

He welcomed them with an open heart,

Though handy skills weren't their best part.

In ninety-six, retirement came,

With cattle, llamas, hay—the same

South of Lethbridge, acres new,

Love of land still burning true.

Then came two grandchildren, his delight,

Alexa and Jakob, stars so bright,

He spoiled them both as grandparents do,

With gentler rules than their parents knew.

The golf course knew his steady swing,

A garden's bounty, vegetables to bring

Rock polishing filled winter days,

To food banks in countless ways.

He coached and cheered, a helping hand,

At McDonald's with his coffee band,

For family first, then friends around,

Where stories and laughter could be found.

With Scooter by his side each day,

Walking Six Mile Ridge making their way,

He'd greet his neighbours, share a word,

The kindest soul they'd ever heard.

From Czech roots to Canadian soil,

Through seasons of both rest and toil,

John Kubik lived with grace complete,

His legacy forever sweet.

A life of service, love, and care,

Teaching all who gathered there

Of stewardship and honest work,

That from duty, we must never shirk.

Though quiet in his gentle way,

In memory's garden, he will stay—

His heart was large, his spirit strong,

A life well-lived, a faithful song.

A year has passed since he's been gone, 

Yet in our hearts, his light lives on, 

Through changing seasons, high and low, 

His love remains in all we know.