My grandfather passed away on July 4th of this year of systemic lymphatic cancer which he'd been fighting off quite effectively since it was discovered 5 years ago. He was born 79 years prior, on December 7th. A week before he died, he had been out in the yard trimming bushes; up until he was no longer physically able, he was still busy trying to impart his encyclopedia of knowledge and wisdom to the following generations.
Morgan, my grandfather, was a Renaissance man living in the wrong era. He went about his day singing songs; or writing, memorizing, and reciting poems, and with the occasional stop at the easel to paint a landscape. With intimacy, he knew every winding trail and field, and arguably every tree, for miles around.
Yet, he was always there to help a person in need. "Have a happy heart" and "If I can do it, you can do it" were two of the guiding principles in his life, and it showed in his zeal. He was highly involved with local historical and wildlife preservation efforts.
He taught an untold number of people to shoot, myself included. Despite the many who received instruction from him, I was uniquely fortunate to have him - a prominent member on the 2nd Army Rifle Team in his time, a recipient of the Distinguished Marksman award, and a thoroughly accomplished outdoorsman - as an instructor.
Starting when I was at a very young age, he started teaching me about the world. Sometimes it was about shooting. It wasn't so much the shooting itself that I was taught at this early age, but the little, important things which go along with firearms, hand in hand: a love and appreciation for the outdoors; an understanding of the environment and how it feeds back upon itself; the civil and personal responsibility. As I got older, shooting accurately - as a grown man would - became more of the emphasis. The outdoors was his focus throughout life, and every little thing about it continued to fascinate and overjoy him until the final bell tolled.
Being his grandson, he did little things to help guide me towards a love of the outdoors. When he would take us fishing, he would often make the fish talk to my brother and me. When we were walking in the woods and we would happen upon an animal track, he'd try and get us to guess what it was before he told us. He made us deadfall sets and would help us trap things like squirrels, chipmunks, and the occasional raccoon.
His largeness in life may have been colored by the fact that I was his grandson, but he impacted a great many people in a similar fashion as well. His powerful, charismatic personality was captivating until the end. I doubt I will ever be able to load a magazine with .22LR and, looking at my hands, not think of him doing the same.
Grampa, I'll miss you.
Morgan, my grandfather, was a Renaissance man living in the wrong era. He went about his day singing songs; or writing, memorizing, and reciting poems, and with the occasional stop at the easel to paint a landscape. With intimacy, he knew every winding trail and field, and arguably every tree, for miles around.
Yet, he was always there to help a person in need. "Have a happy heart" and "If I can do it, you can do it" were two of the guiding principles in his life, and it showed in his zeal. He was highly involved with local historical and wildlife preservation efforts.
He taught an untold number of people to shoot, myself included. Despite the many who received instruction from him, I was uniquely fortunate to have him - a prominent member on the 2nd Army Rifle Team in his time, a recipient of the Distinguished Marksman award, and a thoroughly accomplished outdoorsman - as an instructor.
Starting when I was at a very young age, he started teaching me about the world. Sometimes it was about shooting. It wasn't so much the shooting itself that I was taught at this early age, but the little, important things which go along with firearms, hand in hand: a love and appreciation for the outdoors; an understanding of the environment and how it feeds back upon itself; the civil and personal responsibility. As I got older, shooting accurately - as a grown man would - became more of the emphasis. The outdoors was his focus throughout life, and every little thing about it continued to fascinate and overjoy him until the final bell tolled.
Being his grandson, he did little things to help guide me towards a love of the outdoors. When he would take us fishing, he would often make the fish talk to my brother and me. When we were walking in the woods and we would happen upon an animal track, he'd try and get us to guess what it was before he told us. He made us deadfall sets and would help us trap things like squirrels, chipmunks, and the occasional raccoon.
His largeness in life may have been colored by the fact that I was his grandson, but he impacted a great many people in a similar fashion as well. His powerful, charismatic personality was captivating until the end. I doubt I will ever be able to load a magazine with .22LR and, looking at my hands, not think of him doing the same.
Grampa, I'll miss you.
