Saturday morning as the sun rose I was sitting by the bedside of my dying father and I had to take this photograph. The scene said so much to me about the state of things at that moment. I had brought him home 9 days earlier and with the help of hospice we were going to send him on his way from the comfort of his own home.
I put his bed in the living room so he would be surrounded with the things he loved and the sunlight could stream in around us all.
There is an African proverb that says, “When and old man dies a library burns to the ground”. These words have gone through my head for the past few weeks knowing the wealth of knowledge we were about to lose.
My father spent his entire life working. He went from high school to the Navy in 1951 during the Korean conflict. He traveled to many different ports, all of which were on the opposite side of the world from Korea.
Once out of the Navy he began working for the power company in Worcester. The building of Yankee Atomic brought his young family to Rowe and he began as one of the original crew. He and my mother bought a ramshackled house on Potter Rd. and he set about improving it. There was no running water, heat or foundation under the house. He’d work by day and every evening would work on improvements. Starting with the basics and moving to comforts.
He began a little menagerie of animals at the time as well. A cat, a couple of goats, a horse. He loved his animals dearly. He moved an old garage from miles away with the help of friends and placed it in the back of the house for their shelter.
All of his hobbies/projects were always on a grand scale. His love of steam came from a childhood spent on his grandfather’s farm that was along the railroad tracks where he watched the train’s daily runs.
He moved his family and animals to Fort Pelham Farm in 1967 and went on a quest to have his own locomotive but ended up with a collection of steam engines and steam-powered equipment that came to him more easily.
He received a grant for using a renewable energy source to power his sawmill with steam and spent a couple of years putting together an amazing network of machinery that allowed him to saw boards while also heating the house with the residual steam from the boiler. It was a sight to behold when running and blowing the whistle when everything was up to steam would let the entire town know what was going on.
While he was working at the plant and at his hobbies he enlisted in the Air Force Reserves out of Westover where he served for many years including active duty for Desert Storm as a loadmaster and in vehicle maintenance.
He retired from Yankee in 1988 and started up his little business making patio furniture keeping him busy into his seventies.
In his later years we talked a lot about weaving and the processes that were used in the woolen mills of his childhood. His parents and grandparents were all part of the weaving community as he grew up. After the flood of 1955 his father bought all of the looms in the weave room at Charlton Woolens for junk and they spent weeks welding pieces of the looms together to make a few running machines out of the many parts that they had. This was the beginning of Alix Woolens, a dream his father had. My father didn’t understand weaving but he knew how the looms worked and as I learned to weave he was right there learning with me, making sure my loom was put together properly and talking about the differences between what they had done and what I was doing.
He talked about weaving until his last few days actually. Partly knowing I was interested but also because I think it brought him back to something he was so fond of. A time when he was working with his father, figuring out how to make a complicated piece of machinery out of so many parts. Firing it up and having it work. He had such pride in that particular accomplishment and I think he was also grateful for his part in helping his father realize a dream. One of my earliest memories is going to my grandfather’s mill and listening to the looms run in the weave room.
So the library burned on Saturday. I have no one to ask about the mechanics of the house. I can only take a guess at where water lines to the barn might be. I have a vague understanding of the septic and sewer or where to buy replacement parts for the cupola on the garage. But I can look around me everywhere and see signs of him (some good, some not so good) and know his presence will be felt here for the rest of my life through the big things and the small.
I’m quite sure there will be many things that I will never understand, those projects begun and walked away from. A universal understanding by anyone who creates anything – sometime things just don’t work out the way you’d planned so they are abandoned. My abandoned projects are quite small in stature compared to the things that make up the amazing collection that is our backyard.
So rest in peace Dad, and thanks for being the crazy, eccentric, brilliant guy that you were. You made our lives interesting and I think you may have taught us to follow our dreams no matter how quirky they might seem.
16 thoughts on “Eulogy”
Thanks for sharing your story. Sorry to hear of your loss and I offer my condolences to you and your family. Interesting information you shared. The steam powered mill caught my attention, as when I was a child and lived in Charlemont, my dad worked for Fred Carroll who had a steam powered sawmill up above Harmony Heights in Charlemont and at one time, also a steam powered ski lift. If I am not mistaken, they were built by a man named Chuckie Goodwin, also from Charlemont. It’s always a blessing to hear stories of those that came before us.
Chuckie Goodwin and my dad were great friends. I imagine them tinkering on something right now.
This is a beautiful tribute to a man who sounds remarkable! So sorry for the pain you must be going through–I hope writing this helped.
I am sorry for your loss but certainly enjoyed reading about your Dad’s wonderful life. It is a strange thing as we get older because to the world we just look like old people. But, in reality, we all have exceptional libraries and stories to be told. You did your Dad proud telling his story. 🙂
Such a wonderful tribute to your dad. His greatest accomplishments are his amazing children. He and your mom will live on through the three of you and your children.
So sorry for your loss. It’s a difficult journey to recover from. I hope you are given the support you need from family and friends.
Your African proverb made me weep. I lost my Dad two years ago in May and it still hurts so much. Your post about your amazing Dad is beautiful. Thanks so much for sharing him with us. Hang in there.
Such a wonderful telling… a beautiful ending of a life come full circle.
What a lovely tribute Jo, and I know you devoted these last years to him. Your father sounds like an incredible person who did such interesting things! I’m sure I would have liked to know him and I certainly would have wanted to talk to him about weaving. I miss my father, often. Thanks for sharing all the memories with us.
A great man, a talented man and all of us who have had the pleasure of knowing him over the years will miss him.
I knew him briefly years ago and had no idea he was so gifted. Helping spend his last days at home was the best thing you could have done for him.
What a beautiful story of your Dad, Joanne, it brought tears to my eyes, I wished I had known him. He was a remarkable man, a true craftsman, I know now where your many talents come from. You are so blessed.
Noted your comment about your dad and Chuckie Goodwin being good friends. My dad was also a good friend of Chuckie Goodwin and in my Baby book my mother kept for me was an entry of me going on my first boat ride with my parents in Chuckie’s boat at Rowe Pond back in 1948. My parents have both passed many years ago but it would have been interesting to know if my dad knew your dad. My dad pretty much spent his entire life in Charlemont when he was growing up and my mother spent her childhood in Heath and part of the Peters Family who had the only store in Heath during that time.
I am at once saddened and relieved for you that the torturous ordeal of your Dad’s passing has come to an end. I am so sorry for your loss…the pain, the sorrow and grief.
You have always celebrated the history of your family. Your gratitude for gifts from the past have been the unifying thread of your life. The family you raised learned to respect family and community history and values. These you baked into every birthday cake, roasted into every Thanksgiving dinner, stitched into every dress or quilt, blew into every graduation balloon and cried into every funeral toast. These values you wove into every length of fabric created on your loom, framed in every photo you snaped, hammered into each vintage home restoration you tackled, and tucked into each hospital corner you made in the compassionate care of your parents as they passed.
In the end, it is important that our elders know that the labor of their lives matters. This eulogy is a precious tribute to your father and honors his life and many accomplishments. It’s important that you “read” the library that was his amazing life. However, the way you have lived your life, cherished the legacy of family, and passed those values on to the next generation, speaks volumes more.
Jo, I’ll be thinking of you and yours with much love in the days ahead.
I’m behind my time! I’m so sorry for your loss! Your dad sounds like a wonderful man! Rest in peace and be comforted!
A wonderful eulogy for a person who lived life well.