An email from my dad’s sister reminded us that yesterday would have been my grandpa’s 100th birthday. At first blush, I was pretty sure she was making things up. 100?!? That’s …. a lot of years. Then I remembered that my dad was the youngest of four… by a lot of years. I never met my paternal grandpa. He died when my dad was just 16. Everything I know about him I’ve learned through the stories my dad has told us over the years. Happy 100th to a proud, quiet, quick-witted, hard-working turkey farmer from central Indiana.