So Whadya Give A Guy Who's Turning 101?!

December 7th is the day we celebrate my Grandfather's birthday. Born Stuart Trafford - eldest son to Teresa and George - residents of Galeta, Ontario, in the Ottawa Valley. Before WW2 began, he would be father to David and daughter Mary was among the first wave of baby boomers. In the 60s and 70s he would become grandfather to David, Kelly, Russell, and Leah; through the 80's and 90's he would become Great Grandfather to Erin, David, Kaitlin and Shane.

But the greatest influence on his life was Bernice Bissell. She was the love of his life. After more than 60 years of marriage, Grandma passed away. She was 90 when she died. Stu was a spry 89 year old but we worried about how he would manage. No need it seems.This December 7th, 2009, Grandpa turns 101. Remarkably, he is the elder of four living generations on my Dad's side of the family. Stu might tire more quickly and he may be slower getting around, but the mind and the memories are still pretty sharp. And even at his advanced stage of maturity, he's not shy about sharing his opinions.

To state the obvious, my Grandfather has long been a presence in my life. While I'm grateful for the gift of his long life and what that's meant to my own adult children, I will always hearken back to my own childhood experiences  that will always shape my memories of Grandpa.

When we were kids, he always had a White Owl Cigar smouldering somewhere nearby; was always a snappy dresser - sharp suits and fedoras; and I can never remember seeing him without his moustache. But for all of his debonair good looks and image, Stu was a highly skilled carpenter and craftsman - (his work clothes still included a fedora mind you). I always thought he could build just about anything. It's a gene that my Dad inherited. He's the "McGyver" of the family, inheriting Stu's sense of design and ingenuity. Much to my wife's chagrin, the "handy" skills were a gift granted to my brother and not to me.

Grandpa would pour over the fancy furniture catalogues with absolutely no intention of paying "stupid prices". He'd do it to get ideas. He'd make his own sketches and plans of the cabinets and shelves and tables and you name it. Then he'd make it and it was always outstanding.

In 1959, he and my grandmother bought a cottage on Grass Lake, (turn east on the 518 at Emsdale!), about half way between Hunstville and Burks Falls. These days, that trip would take just over two hours. In those days, it was a trek that took about three and a half hours. The highways weren't what they are now. It was pretty much a single lane all the way. Now, that was three and a half hours if you didn't stop. It was a different story if you travelled with Grandma and Grandpa. They had a routine that made the milk run look like a high-speed express. There were times when I made the trip with them, heading out from 2095 Avenue Road around midday, and getting to "the Lake" about two ahead of my mom and dad - and they didn't leave until five in the afternoon!

But those trips to the cottage spoke volumes about life with "Stu and Bernice" - it was never really rushed, always purposeful, and had its share of kookiness about it. (Never quite sure why we stopped at the lumber store in Barrie to top up on supplies. Maybe the Huntsville lumber didn't quite meet with the Master craftsman's critical eye for quality.)

Our first "family vacation" at Grass Lake was during the summer of 1966 and we didn't go "up north". Nope. We drove south for a good six hours from Sault Ste. Marie. While Kelly and I were no strangers to "the bush", we weren't quite use to the "roughing" it part. We boiled the lake water for drinking, cooking and washing up, (no hot water heater); we burned wood in an old Quebec Heater to take the edge off the early morning temperatures; and then there were the requisite adventures with chamber pots and out houses!

But when we arrived, it was obvious that Grass Lake was something special. The drive way to the cottage was unlike any on the road. It was marked by a magnificent stone "gate". It was actually two rock piles, one on each side of the entrance. They were probably about six feet high at their peaks and a good eight or nine feet across at the base. No mortar, no stakes to hold anything in place. Each rock was placed on the pile by hand. The rocks came from the property and from the lake as Grandpa made and effort to "clean the place up". When I think of it now, here was a guy who was older than I am NOW, slugging wheel barrows filled with rocks of all shapes and sized UP HILL to the top of the drive way, then tossing and or placing them on the pile to mark our place on Grass Lake. You figure he handled each rock three or four times and he literally move TONS of stone by hand. I'm thinking Stu must have some druid in his blood. I'm convinced he could have built Stonehenge single-handedly!

To top things off, just to make sure Kelly and I knew were were not only welcomed but that this was our place too, Grandpa had nailed a hand painted sign to a pair of birch trees right at the shoreline. It declared this was "DAVEY AND KELLY'S BEACH". It was the site and scene of some of our greatest adventures as kids; where we learned to swim, sail, fish, pitch a tent, split fire wood, sing around the camp fire, and enjoy the comforts of friends and family. And we did it without tv or a phone!

Not sure what you give a guy when he turns 101, but I do know enough to say thanks for the gifts he's given to me.

Happy Birthday Grandpa!

Love David "Stuart".