Somehow, you knew

90 years.
He wasn't a talker, but he always had a smile tucked away after a hard day of labor.

a never ending supply of Mrs Baird's pies behind the seat of his beatup grey truck seemed to magically regenerate every week

when i was 7, he showed me how to wittle a bar of soap into a tiny canoe

I remember how he took me on my first camping trip and I helped him setup a bright orange scout tent. the flimsy metal stakes had no problem with wet dirt below

On lazy Saturdays, he would mow the lawn or do stuff around the house then settle down to watch some golf or bowling on tv while he played his cross word puzzles

He liked bologna sandwiches with lettuce and mayo

when grama wasn't home to make dinner, he would usually end up feeding us some combination of hotdogs, baked beans, and white bread.

He liked those vanilla wafer cookies with bananas and vanilla pudding

He loved his coffee, and he liked it black
I have yet to meet man that drank as much coffee as my grampa.

He seldom got angry, and when he did, it was for good reason

I used to ask him about what it was like to be in the navy during WWII. He was a plane spotter; he said his job was to watch the ocean horizon and identify the type of plane that was approaching, hence the coffee :) I would always imagine my grampa sitting at the top of a destroyer with binoculars in one hand and coffee in the other with a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket.

He was universally loved in our church and throughout the community.

He loved my grama, he loved his kids, their kids, and their kids

He wasn't a hugger, he never said it out loud, but somehow, you knew

We love you and miss you old man