“I think our suffering climaxed the afternoon of the day Ted died, when we walked up the lane and came upon his field of soybeans ripening in the late September sun — tangible evidence of the unharvested fruit of his life. We sobbed together the deep, wracking sobs of the broken-hearted, the sobs that must come in the long interval before you accept the inevitable truth. Someone else will rise up to harvest the beans, to ride the trails, to marry the pretty girls, to fulfill the dreams.”
— Patricia Penton Leimbach, “Harvest of Bittersweet”
While sorting through a lifetime of treasured mementos, my mother handed me a book.
There were tears in her eyes as she said, “This really should be wrapped in ribbons, but I have no doubt you will see the gift in it.”
It was the third and final book written by Patricia Penton Leimbach, “Harvest of Bittersweet,” and it chronicles a treasure trove of her writing. A columnist for 38 years, Leimbach’s appeal had grown from a local farm woman to those in and around Vermilion, Ohio, to one of the most famous women in country circles.
Her column had become syndicated to farm publications nationwide, and Leimbach began traveling the country, giving animated talks and humorous readings. The Wall Street Journal referred to Leimbach as “the Erma Bombeck of the Farm Belt,” and the timing of this distinction could not have been better.
Bombeck was enjoying enormous popularity as a humor writer. A brilliant producer on “Good Morning America” booked the two women together on its show to great acclaim.
My mother had received a handwritten letter from Pat Leimbach, who jokingly said, “Watch GMA if you dare,” as she provided the date of her upcoming appearance, adding that she had no idea what to expect.
This friendship through letter writing had become a bright spot in my mother’s days. “The Country Wife,” as Leimbach was known, had walked a similar path to many women I had known in the days before fame found her.
Her marriage in 1950 to Paul Leimbach had placed her on a fifth-generation farm known as “End O’Way Farms,” where she pitched in wherever needed while raising three sons.
Much of what bonded Pat Leimbach and my mom proved to be a genuine love of family farm life and their place in it. Running for parts, packing up a quick picnic with enough for all who were helping with farm work on any given day and stretching every dime into a dollar whenever possible were things their jotted notes to one another portrayed.
Over ensuing years, their letter writing slowed, as Pat Leimbach’s success took her into 48 states and six provinces to share her words of truth and humor found while living the country life.
Mom cheered her on with great happiness for her success. There were tears of anguish when Mom learned of the death of the Leimbach’s second-born son, Ted, after a terrible traffic crash on a stormy day.
When I learned of the death of Pat Leimbach in 2013 at age 85, I talked to my mother about her great life. She had died after a brief illness and donated her body to Case Western Reserve School of Medicine for research and education.
“What a grand lady she was and continues to be, still giving of herself even after death. How lucky was I to call her a friend!” my mother said.
