Robert E. Winterton, Sr., 33°
1008 Peutz Valley Road,Alpine, California 91901–1212
tbc@adnc.com

A father’s example brings home the point that in Masonry, as in life, we must be workmen, good and true.

Dad was a farmer, a good farmer. I mean, a really good farmer. He made it a practice to raise whatever produce everyone said couldn’t be raised there. He had other talents and worked in other trades, but primarily he tilled the soil, planted seed, fertilized, irrigated, weeded and, when the time was ready, harvested.

I suppose farming seems a simple occupation to those who have never done it, but good timing and knowledge of the soil, seeds, and fertilizer are only the rudimentary principles of the craft. Discipline, Dad always told us, was at the root of doing anything well, including farming. He never left a furrow to be finished another day. Hard soil was no excuse for shallow plowing, and harness and implements were to be oiled and repaired with regularity.

The first team of horses I remember consisted of Buster and Molly. The trace chains always irritated Buster’s right leg. It would be wrapped before we went to dinner. "Never leave anything for tomorrow that you can do today," Dad would say. That kind of discipline has followed me (and sometimes haunted me) throughout life.

Dad died several years ago, just the way he would have wanted to go. He was covering up a ditch made when harvesting his potatoes. It wasn’t a very big crop, just enough for himself, his family, and a few down-on-their-luck neighbors. No team, no tractor, just a shovel and rake. The heart attack was massive. He was gone in moments.

After the funeral, we were visiting Mom, and I looked out the back window to the place where Dad had fallen. The shovel was still there. Only half of the ditch was covered. The rest of the work remained to be finished. I quietly slipped out the back door, picked up the shovel, and methodically began to move the remainder of the dirt into the furrow my father had been covering when he died.

Only then did my tears begin. With each shovel of dirt, I was not only finishing the job my Dad had started. I was recalling, step-by-step, the lessons he had taught me in my youth. Somehow, I had never felt closer to my father than at that moment. Perhaps there is a greater meaning in life’s journey, found only when we realize it is often our task to finish what others started and are no longer able to complete. But whether we finish the task ourselves or others complete it for us, there are some jobs that must not remain unfinished.

While covering the "furrow" left open by our predecessors, let’s not forget we learned our lessons at their feet, we were challenged by their example, and now, in sorrow because of their absence, we continue the great work we have inherited. Although the clouds may be dark and storms menacing, we, as Masons, stand tall upon the shoulders of those who bequeathed us the legacy of Brotherly Love, Relief, and Truth. The soil may be rocky. It always has been. The soil is hard. It always was. But there is no excuse for an unfinished furrow or shallow plowing.

Robert E. Winterton, Sr. was raised in El Cajon Valley Lodge No. 576 in 1972 (Master in 1988), became a 32° Mason, Valley of San Diego, in 1984, K.C.C.H. in 1991, and 33° I.G.H. in 1995. A member of the Grand Lodge of California’s Speaker’s Panel since 1987, he was Grand Chaplain of the Grand Lodge of California 1989–90, and Chairman, Grand Lodge Education Group, 1991–92. Presently, Personal Representative, Valley of San Diego, he is also a member of the York Rite Bodies, Al Bahr Shrine Temple, O.E.S., Order of the White Shrine of Jerusalem, So. California Research Lodge, Scottish Rite Research Society, Joseph L. Shell Daylight Lodge No. 837, The Philalethes Society, The Royal Order of Scotland, The Robert the Bruce Association, York Rite College, and National Sojourners/Heroes of ’76.