A Life Well Lived
Written by Leah Gilders; shared by her mother Julie Wright on Facebook. Julie is Irene’s niece. My uncle Roy died yesterday; he was 94. The top picture (1940s) was from his first solo harvest, using his dad’s combine. The bottom picture was from his very last harvest (2013 I think) before he retired. I absolutely loved spending part of my summer vacations with my Manitoba relatives when I was a child and teenager. Uncle Roy and Aunt Irene’s farm was the best. Their house was a perfect mid-century farmhouse time capsule. Their garden was amazing and expansive. The fields looked beautiful when the sun was setting. Uncle Roy was a quiet man, but always quick to smile and laugh. I remember him having unending patience and dedication. My favourite memories of him revolve around watching him work around his yard. He was always working, followed by one of his faithful canine companions (who always seemed to be named Buster or Major). I remember watching one of his dogs happily follow him from the house to the barn, just begging to be given a job. Uncle Roy stopped and gave the dog a wound up extension cord to carry and the dog trotted behind his master, wagging his tail, just so happy to be working. I imagine Uncle Roy was happiest when he was working too. I know he enjoyed being surrounded by his four children and 13 grandchildren and dozens of great-grandchildren; I know he loved going south for the winter in his later years… but to me he was always a farmer. He used to stand and quietly survey his land and that’s how I’m imagining him now. The sun is setting, a dog is panting, and a cowbell is clinking ever so softly. There’s a soft warm breeze and the scent of lupines is in the air; fireflies are starting to blink off and on. That old weathered face breaks into a contented smile. He’s home, everything is perfect. It’s time to rest. You deserve it Uncle Roy, I love you and miss you. June 28 1927-Feb 7 2022
