The following is from Shana's blog.
Once upon a time, there was a blacksmith. He decided
to leave his academic day job in Iowa to be a full-time
blacksmith and, along with a good friend of his, a potter,
and their capable, intelligent, and independently-interesting
wives, they moved to the wilds of Missouri to practice
their arts. In the wilds of Missouri, they built their own
homes and opened their own store.
They were sensible men. The wilds of Missouri they
chose weren't just any wilds, but a well-touristed
wilds where many visitors would come and, while
there, visit their shop. The river there is naturally
sculptural, full of rocks carved into nooks and
crannies and comfy places to sit and float, shallow
enough to safely float downstream on floats.
The star-watching was incredible.
The blacksmith was a tall, strong man with a lively
sense of humor and a great deal of kindness to him.
He took a visiting pair of sisters and helped them
forge their own creations out of iron, the younger
a slithery snake, the elder an elegant-if-slightly
-too-short-handled ladle.
As is the way of the world, the sisters grew up
and moved still further away, and the blacksmith
and the potter and their capable, intelligent, and
independently-interesting wives grew older, and
the once-new homes they had built themselves
settled in and were not so new any more, not
after twenty-three years.
Age is not always kind, and one day, that icon
of strength, the blacksmith, began to have
problems. It wasn't just age: it was ALS. His
body declined rapidly over the next few years,
as is the way of ALS.
I didn't make it back to see him. It had been
years since I last had, since I moved away
to one university and then another, no longer
accompanying my family on the drives between
Arkansas and Iowa which made the wilds of
Missouri a convenient stopping place. My
sister did - she lived in St. Louis for a while,
had a car, and went visiting. I may not have
seen him for years, but that doesn't mean I
don't mourn his passing.
He passed away this weekend, and he is much missed.
