In Dracut, Mass., Jim Ogonowski is getting ready for the fall rush, as visitors will soon arrive to buy his pumpkins and richly colored mums. But the beautiful backdrop will take on a somber tone on Sept. 11, when Jim takes to his tractor to honor his brother, John, who died in the terror attacks on that horrific day 25 years ago.
“The best place to honor my family and my late brother is on a tractor,” Jim says. “I will be in the field on a tractor the majority of 9-11. It’ll be very emotional … but it will be one [place] where I can reflect back on great memories.”
To the world, John is remembered as the captain at the controls of American Airlines Flight 11, the first plane to strike the World Trade Center. But on the farm that has been in the family since their grandfather emigrated in 1904, John was known first and foremost as a father, a farmer, a neighbor and a steward of the land.
Two Uniforms
“We always joked that he had the two uniforms,” recalls John’s daughter, Caroline Anderson. “His denim pants, his work boots, tractor grease — farming was his passion. On occasion, he’d put on his pilot uniform and go fly … but for the most part, he was home with us. He was farming. That’s his legacy.”
One memory she has of her father is tied to the blueberry bushes near the hay field — picking the fruit alongside her father and selling it at the farm stand. She describes a moment so vivid she still holds it close: her father pointing out which berries were freshest, picking them with a quick joke and a sense of fun.
“He was lighthearted — definitely one to make the dad jokes,” she says.
Milestones in His Absence
The grief that began on that crisp September morning in 2001 has softened with time, but it has not disappeared. Jim still remembers watching the breaking news on television when the phone rang: his sister-in-law, Peggy, on the line.
“Jim, it’s John.” Within 20 minutes, the unthinkable was confirmed.
In the 25 years since, life has kept moving forward, though family milestones are always marked by John’s absence. Recently, the family gathered as John’s youngest daughter, Mary, got married.
“It was very sad to watch her walk down the aisle without her dad being there,” Jim says. “They’ve done incredibly well, and they had a strong mom to raise them, but there’s always been something missing. I’ve tried to step in as much as I could, but nobody can replace a dad.”
For Caroline, this anniversary arrives with a bittersweet new chapter. Eight months ago, she welcomed her first child, a boy named John, who goes by Jack.
“My dad will never meet his first grandson,” she says. “My son will never meet his grandfather. I know he would have been a wonderful grandfather … and I know he’d already be up on our big John Deere with him.”
Helping New Roots Take Hold
Caroline says her father’s legacy reaches beyond the tragedy. She points to what he contributed over his life as a husband, father, community member and a longtime advocate for preserving farmland and supporting immigrant farmers, including those from Southeast Asia.
“He was an activist in terms of preserving land, especially farmland around Massachusetts,” she says. “He helped folks who came from Southeast Asia … he dedicated his time and his land to make sure they could be successful in making farming their livelihood here in the United States.”
Jim says one of those refugees, now in his seventies, still lives locally, still farms — raising produce for Asian markets.
A Living Monument
Today, the Ogonowski family runs three farms around Dracut.
“My brother’s farm is preserved as open space forever,” he says. “That was something he had arranged … My uncle … his farm is now preserved as open space … That’s another hundred acres here in Dracut.”
For Jim, keeping the farm alive is also about keeping history alive for generations born long after 2001.
“One of the things that amazes me is the fact that anybody under the age 30 has no memory of 9-11,” he says. “Unless we teach the young people what happened that day, too many people will forget.”
For Caroline, the most enduring monument to her father is not carved in stone — it is found in the recurring rhythm of the seasons.
“[It’s] such a beautiful time on the farm,” she says. “The hay is cut, the pumpkins are popping out, the farm stand is open. It’s a living thing that continues, even though it’s been 25 years since my dad’s been there.”
Out in the fields, John Ogonowski’s presence and legacy as a family man, farmer and pilot remain as rooted as ever.
