29 March 1922- 29 September 2014

FEB and his sweetheart

92 years is a lot of life.  

Four years old

Mostly, this is how I remember both of them

Soil microbiology in action!

And now I'm wondering if he didn't hang on until he was 92 so he could be the same age as Grandma?  Hm.










When I was a child my grandparents always called me 'snookie'.  I have no idea why, but I do know that I treasured this nickname and insisted on introducing myself as  'Joy Snookie Slade' as if it were my full legal name.  On at least one occasion in school I got in trouble for insisting that it really was my middle name, so much did I treasure the affectionate moniker.  Even now that recollection brings a smile to my face, and in the present day when my Dad addresses cards 'to Snookie' it makes me downright happy.  Not only did my grandparents give me the nickname, but because they loved me so completely that name has come to represent their love to me.  

I don't ever remember Grandpa getting flustered about anything.  At his most perturbed a solemn 'Great Scott!' might escape his lips.  Of course, I was not part of any of the fixit projects he seemed to get roped into whenever Grandma and Grandpa came to visit so perhaps I am simply missing knowledge of his true temper, but somehow I doubt it.  Even recovering from knee surgery I recall him stoically completing his knee exercises without any of the vociferous complaining that I demonstrated when I had surgery last year.  I don't mean to say that Grandpa was glum, but his disposition tended towards the mellowly happy, even when bemoaning the sorry state of government as he pontificated from his rocking chair.  Even less-than terrific news was greeted with the 'Oh, dear' which was spoken in a tone more resigned than flustered.  And though Grandma's energy was much more vibrant and active they still made a perfectly complementary couple.

The one part of Grandpa I think I've inherited is his love of gardening.  I remember lots of talk about what was planted that year, how the boysens were doing and his other trees and plants.   Even though my thumb tends towards the black instead of green I am glad that that small part of Grandpa lives on in me.  And I'm also grateful that the smell of walnut trees takes me back to the happy sanctuary of Grandpa's back yard, being completely assured of the love that surrounded me whenever we visited 821 A street in Davis.

I will be forever grateful for the heritage my loving grandfather has given me, and especially for his example of true love towards Grandma.   His tireless affection and care even when the twilight of dementia meant she no longer knew him will stand in my memory as an example of true love.