07/12/2025
Bill, from Sumac
At dawn, when frost still kissed the fields,
Bill was there — boots on, heart steady.
Though the job asked for five mornings,
he gave us ten years — and every day was ready.
First in the barn, he’d greet the light
with a grin and the clatter of feed buckets,
calling it the “Breakfast Club” —
a quiet joy in waking horses from their dreams.
He moved mountains of hay with ease,
mucked stalls, spilled more water than he’d ever admit,
mowed the fields to postcard green,
and plowed snow with quiet grit.
Garbage runs, manure spreads,
a harrow’s drag, a fence to mend —
Bill tackled it all with fort-building flair,
the kind kids dream of in backyard dens.
He could fix the unfixable with baling twine and cheer,
answer any “can you?” with “sure thing” —
and while his toolbox held the usual bits,
his true magic lay in everything.
He loved to make others smile,
spinning tales like he owned the place,
referring to the girls as the Sisters of Sumac
and telling folks, with a straight face,
that they were all sweet and pure —
which, of course, made them laugh even more.
He was adored by all of Sumac’s clients and crew —
a steady soul with a generous heart,
the kind of man who left things better
in every place he played a part.
And oh, the quips — a legend’s worth:
“Be good to the people,” he’d call
when the boss left for town,
or grin, “Another fair maiden tired of her freedom”
when someone got engaged and settled down.
To a bright idea from higher up,
he’d deadpan, “Not all your ideas are good ones.”
And when asked to take a break, he’d smile and say,
“I’m here because I want to be” —
and truly, he was.
Even as illness slowed his step,
he still came by, still kept watch —
proof that some people don’t just work somewhere,
they belong there.
Now the feed room is quiet,
the mower at rest,
but the barn still hums with echoes
of the man who gave it his best.
We’ll miss the smile, the stories,
the peace he brought with every chore.
Thank you, Bill — for showing up,
and giving us so much more.
