It has been quite a week for us. Our neighbor, Steve, died last Sunday. We had only known him since November, but he quickly became dear to us. The friendship started with eggs from him to me and cookies from me to him and then dinners together. Each encounter was attached to a good visit, he in his rocker or our reclining chair. We learned in our last meal together of his solo crossings on skis of the Alps, of Benner vs. Disney, which he won, of living in a large wine barrel and of many other stories which only whetted our appetite to learn more. We are going to miss him. The funeral was yesterday at the Sierraville Cemetery.
Nothing in this area seems to happen without a story. Our egg lady is also the cemetery caretaker. The plot his sons chose is on the far side of the hill, near a large pine, looking out at the valley, just next to the Potter's Field, a perfect fit. The setting for the service was rather amazing. We stood in the shade of the pine tree, then moved to the sun when the wind picked up. We looked out to the beauty of the valley with its lush greens of spring. One of the reasons that the valley and the area stands in its purity today is because of the work that Steve has done over the years. After the service, the grandchildren, then family, then friends, filled in the grave. The first shovels rang eerily in our ears as the sound of the dirt and rocks hit the wooden casket. Afterward people gathered at his home. The church ladies let us know by their thoughtfulness that potluck casseroles are alive and well in this town.
I have been to a number of memorial services, but the funeral yesterday was only the second that I had been to; the other having been my grandfather. Steve wanted simplicity and "green", as he lived his life. The only casket that can be purchased without metals is a Jewish casket. It was quite lovely in its craftsmanship and simplicity and was brought to the cemetery in the back of Steve's red pickup truck with Skeena, his constant border collie companion, and the grandchildren all riding in the back.
About fifty people gathered and his eldest son spoke of his life. He lived it his own way. Then people spoke, from their heart of their respect and love for this difficult man. Tom and I have stories of our own but stayed silent. These people have known him many for thirty or more years and we, just months, but he touched our lives. He spoke so much of spring and we had made plans together for activities this summer. He had vast knowledge of the land and this area. We were just getting to know him and I think I feel robbed that he is now gone. We had just begun.
His last coherent words were to his dog, who he wanted to have stay in Sierraville, where she could run freely (mostly) and chase, birds, bunnies and bugs. He asked early, when he realized how sick he was, if we could keep her and we agreed. So, as of today, when his family goes back to their respective homes and lives, we have a reminder of Steve in our new dog Skeena. This will make three pups for us. If you would have told me one year ago that I would be living in Sierraville, with three dogs in hand, I would have laughed. She will be a good addition to the family though.
She and Summit are not allowed on furniture, so there is room on the couch and she spends much time outside, so friends and family, there is still plenty of space for you to come visit and no doubt you will quickly understand why we are so fond of her.
This has been one of those weeks that has been more difficult than I would have imagined, but I also would not have missed it; the intertwining of lives and families, the laughter and the grief, the reflection on one's man life and of death are the experiences that make life rich and deep.
We will miss you dearly Steve and will take tender care of your girl.
