Ernie

Born on Conifer soil, last Fields child on the homestead land,
Fourth of ten surviving kids, with steady heart and steady hands.
Milliken dirt, Johnstown halls, a name he carried proud and true—
Walter Ernest Fields, Jr., but the world just called him Ernie too.


Air Force blues in Montana skies, Great Falls wind across his face,
Met John “Butch” Cassidy there, brothers forged in open space.
Harleys humming with my mom, freedom rumbling like a vow,
My dad Ernie rode the world in motion then, and somehow still does now.


My dad Ernie rode highways like a prayer,
On a ’65 Harley with my mama in his care.
Said the only way to see this land is on two wheels and sky so wide,
From Conifer roots to the Continental Divide.
He built our world with his two strong hands,
Raised me up to fix, to think, to stand.
If you ask what a good man is, what a whole heart yields—
I’ll say his true name: Walter Ernest Fields, Jr.,
But everyone knew him as Ernie.


Dr. Doolittle in denim and boots,
Walked with animals like old mountain roots.
“Do it right the first time, slow is fast,
Build it strong so the work will last.”


Here’s to Ernie, my father, my guide,
The man whose love still walks beside.
He lived his truth in chrome and wheels,
And I heal the world with the strength he sealed.

Open lyric document