Memories

It is an honor to have known these men, my father Laurice Gilbert Clark (Ocotber 4, 1906-November 6, 1976) and his stepdad, Wilber Genness, the only grandfather I ever knew. It is with deep sorrow that I never took the time to sit with them, and learn more about them. It is a great loss for me. I would have liked to tell their story rather than my memory. My advice to you, is to take the time now if they are still with us. Honor them by wanting to know them,

This is a picture of my Grandfather Wilber and my dad. Wilbur was my father's step dad and they seemed inseparable. It was probably taken before 1940, prior to my dad entering the Army, (drafted). He was born On October 4th, 1906, a hundred years ago, and lived to be only 70 years old, dying in 1976. These guys in the picture were blacksmiths, they had a shop right near the barn with an apple press for a cider mill downstairs. They worked their apple orchards, hay fields and worked iron. As a boy I wasn't welcome in the shop, too many ways to get hurt I guess. I was there a few months back, and when the big sliding door opened on it's wide iron skid I flashed like you would never believe. I hadn't seen inside since I was 10 yrs old, 46 years ago. In my mind I could see the orchards just as if they were right there. I could smell the smells of "Haying" in the fall, the perfume of freshly cut hay, an awesome experience. The old house is there with my aunt still residing. I sat in the room that I sat in as a little boy. The old woodstove was gone, repalced by a oil burning furnace. There is electricity there now, the carosene lamps replaced by light fixtures. The old pump that required priming has been replaced by a modern sink. These were times of the old world, things were simple. How did we ever get here? I mean the technological scream is still in high pitch.

Today is April 9th, a Sunday in 2006. My Aunt Bea died yesterday at 6:10 AM, surrounded by those she loved. She had been fighting a hard fight for two years against cancer, and finally succumed to her disease. She died in the house she was born in, the family home where 4 generations have lived. In September she said to me, "Rocky I'm not afraid of death, how bad could it be?" She approached death as she did everything else, with dignity, grace, and without fear. My Aunt Bea was a central character in my early years. I would give everything I have to go back 30 years and sit with her. Never, ever did she scold me, or call me names. Seeing her onn Sundays in the mountains was the highliight of my young life. Her bold character, and her abilitiy to "cut through bullshit", was amazing. To be on the other end of a rifle held by my aunt Bea was a suicidal situation. She was the best shot I have ever seen, shooting crabapples from a tree 50 yards distance. We were joking in September about a squirrel that was on her nerves. and she said "Rocky, if I can see his eye I can kill him." What a wonderful part of this world she was. I shall always remember her, her white skin and bright red hair, and her command of nature. My heart is heavy.