by Rain Trueax
Oregon Coast at Yachats
There are things that a person just does not know how to write. Losses are among the hardest of those. Sometimes we prefer to let such times pass without words. Sometimes words are needed.
We have had a long time friendship with a couple that goes back to 1962 (we think) for one of us and him. Fisherman and Ranch Boss met as freshmen through a combination of working for a chemistry professor at the college and a fly fishing class. The class required taking some fishing trips. Twist their arms. From that time, they formed a friendship that lasted until he died this week.
In the fall of '62, I met what would be my future husband from my making up a dance class due to schedule change. We were pretty instantly attracted with dating, though not going seriously for a few months at least-- neither of us remember the exact date. I though, of course, met his fishing friend through him and later his girlfriend, Diane.
The relationships processed though the usual stages from engagements to our wedding in September-- theirs in June. That summer, we got together at their town apartment to discuss future plans since both men had applied at University of Arizona to work and study for a Master's Degree. In Tucson, we found an apartment complex that suited us all (can't remember who found it either).
From Oregon, we caravaned down the small roads of Oregon, Idaho, Utah, to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon where we shared a cabin along with our small black cat, Sheba.
Once in Tucson, life settled in very comfortable routine. They'd go to class and after a while, Diane and I would meet every morning at either her apartment or mine for coffee and to talk for a while on politics, culture, life, art-- not always agreeing but always stimulating. Then we'd break for the day while she painted and I wrote.
A painting Diane did down there and gave us for Christmas.
We each had a small patio, which they did theirs one way and ours another. The four of us played in the desert washes, even took an Easter break to rent a log cabin on the Rim (along with our black cat, of course), which led to this painting, which we have in Oregon.
Diane painted this one in the White Mountains on that trip. We bought it at a price she generously made possible for what we could afford.
Eventually, the four of us headed back north for jobs-- us first to Oregon-- later, them to Washington. We continued to get together as our babies were born. We shared interests and differences. It worked. Then he also got a job in Oregon which led to more opportunities to get together. For years, it led to sharing cabins on the Oregon Coast, going for hikes, and a lot of dinners together. And then he got sick and...
When you lose one half of a partnership like that, it's a hole out of your heart. You basically have shared your lives and done so much together-- always free to have other friends and other interests.We didn't expect it to end this way until we learned Fisherman had ALS. It is a disease that isn't easy to diagnose in the beginning. Later it meant an inevitable end. He fought it though as bravely as he did everything else. Finally it ended his life but not his spirit. He smiled to the end.
He was a good, strong friend. He contributed to the community by his volunteer efforts to help more people find joy in nature and fishing. He was a mountain climber, part of rescue teams, a scientist his whole life, and of course, always a fisherman to the very end as he shared its satisfaction and joy with others-- especially his family, which was always at the heart of his life.
Sometimes saying someone was a good man just isn't enough to describe all that means. He expanded his life with travel and always with his life partner, Diane, with whom he shared a long marriage from being virtually kids to old age. They were the kind of partnership; where he encouraged and helped her with her art as she did him with all his outdoor interests. To say he will be missed isn't to say enough. It's a loss but also a blessing to have had him in our lives.
I decided to create a small video of the photos we had with them. I don't have all the pictures I would have liked as most are still in Oregon but this represents part of a long friendship. Three of us go on, but he will always be part of who we are.
We were no longer in Arizona when Diane painted this one. Years later I had told her my regret at not having one of her big cactus paintings. It turned out one of her family members was redecorating and this one didn't work. We bought it. Later we brought it back to Arizona where it is hung in the living room.
