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A Tribute to Dan Gibson - January 22, 1922 - March 18, 2006
By Holly Gibson Stewart
As delivered at his "celebration of Life" service at Yorkminster Park Baptist Church on March 30th, 2006.
When it became apparent that Dad would not recover, I began putting my thoughts and memories down on paper in preparation for this day.
I soon realized what an overwhelming task it would be to try to condense a life so fully lived, in every sense of the word, into a few short minutes.
It is impossible, but Gordon and I will just try to relate our perspectives as best we can.
On behalf of my family I would like to thank you all so very much for coming today to share with us in the celebration of the life of my father, Dan Gibson, also know as "The Bear".
I can't help but think how much Dad would have enjoyed seeing everyone and spend some time, in what with him was always lively conversation.
Since Dad became ill, we have been so touched and gratified by the flood of phone calls, cards and e-mails of good wishes, first for his recovery and then sympathy, honor and encouragement after his passing.
It has been this outpouring of kindness and tributes that have helped us cope through the first difficult days without him, for he truly was the leader of this family.
We are all here today to pay a final farewell and tribute to the man who was a husband, father, grandfather, brother, uncle, friend, colleague and mentor.
He touched and influenced the lives of so many people of all ages and walks of life through his engaging personality, welcoming spirit, generosity and natural leadership.
Everyone who met him was drawn to his charm and sense of fun.
Dad was a father who led by example.
He was not often comfortable talking about deeply personal things and was private about his innermost feelings.
But he showed us through his actions how much he loved us, and to set high standards to live by.
He was most definitely a people person.
Everyone was heartily welcomed at our home or cottage and he was always willing to help out a neighbour or friend in need.
One friend said that summer didn't truly begin for them until they saw Dan Gibson arriving and heading up the lake in his old aluminum boat seated on the over-turned milk crate.
He could talk to anyone about anything at any level and he would just as soon talk to the plumber as the prime minister.
Dad forged a successful career out of his hobby of photography.
As we all know it evolved into film and sound (Solitudes) and he became known and respected around the world for his work and contribution to the awareness of protecting one of our most precious resources, wildlife.
There were some bumps along the way but he never lost faith.
He just worked hard, kept his priorities and reinvented himself as the need arose.
His last project was with the help of my brother Dan.
It is a compilation of his photographic work over the decades to be published this year.
I believe his passion for nature and wildlife was born from his experiences at Camp Ahmek in Algonquin Park and the leadership of "The Chief" Taylor Statten, whom he so admired and revered.
It was at camp he developed lifelong friendships with many of the people he met there, undoubtedly some of you are here today.
But most importantly he met, fell in love and married a lovely young counsellor, Helen MacLure, from Camp Wapomeo, across the lake.
My parents so believed in the experience of camp enriching one's life that they provided the opportunity for all of us to go and we, in turn, have sent our children.
Three generations of Gibsons.
Dad has also been a supporter of the Taylor Statten Camping Bursary Fund, an organization that helps by providing funds to children whose families would not otherwise be able to afford this experience.
Our summers were spent on Canoe Lake.
As children we were the lucky ones to have our Dad all summer when most of the other fathers could only come up on weekends.
He taught us to paddle (properly - the Ahmek way), swim, water-ski, sail and fish.
He took us on canoe trips, nature hikes, howling for wolves and calling the moose during the rut.
He quizzed us on bird identification and showed us not to be afraid of bears by running at them roaring and making himself look big.
I'm still not sure that is a good idea.
There was always a project on the go and he would often have some strange pet around.
We had ducks, a crow called Joe, who ate Dr. Ballards canned dog food, Leroy the raccoon, 3 blue jays named Tom, Dick and Harriet, the ever present chippies and red squirrels, and last but not least the Giant Canada Geese of "Wings in the Wilderness" fame.
I think he liked the geese the best, although they weren't always popular around the lake.
They often left their mark on the docks of Wapomeo.
As kids we all took our turns being a part of his films and later, as adults, we all, at one time or another, worked for his company.
Winters were spent skiing at Osler Bluff and later when Dad's knees could no longer traverse the hills, he took up ice-boating with tremendous enthusiasm.
Every weekend he would pack up the boats and set out looking for the "good ice", and Mum and whoever else wanted to join in went right along with him.
Life was such an adventure!
Dad was a man who cared little about clothes or cars or anything fancy.
He dressed comfortably and thoroughly resented having to wear a suit, or heaven forbid, a tux.
One day I was on the phone with the mother of a new friend who also lived in Forest Hill.
She said she thought she had seen Dad in the village and asked if "he dressed very casually".
Dad's "uniform" in those days was baggy beige pants, white shirt and Greb boots, and his car was a truck!
A Chevrolet Suburban!
Who would have thought that one day it would be a status symbol to own and drive one?
What our neighbors must have thought with this big, honking green truck parked in the driveway and baby goslings bobbing around in a pool made out of trailer top in our backyard.
Not to mention the walks Dan and Gordon took them on up and down the sidewalk of Dunloe Road.
We loved it!
Of course we all know Dad as the consummate storyteller.
As kids we especially loved his stories about camp, camp friends and the early days at the cottage on Canoe Lake before we entered the picture.
One of my favourite stories is of Mum and Dad returning from their canoe trip/fishing honeymoon on Lake Lavielle where a bear ransacked the campsite and ate all their food on the first day, and they lived on fish for 5 days, breakfast, lunch and dinner.
When they returned to the cottage, starving, a bachelor friend of Dad's had moved in to keep them company for the remainder of their honeymoon!
To add insult to injury some of Dad's wilder camp friends had moved the all of the main cabin furniture and crammed it into one tiny bunkie.
Mum was not impressed!
That wild group eventually all married and settled down into domestic bliss and let the next generation make their mark on Canoe Lake.
No tribute to Dad would be complete without mentioning the great influence that music had on his life.
My earliest recollections are of him seated at the piano, or bouncing the accordion on his lap or plucking away at the bass fiddle to a song playing on the radio after dinner.
Of course he loved jamming with the Stringers, his Osler Bluff group "The Band de Soliel", and one time he joined the Salvation Army Band caroling on our street with his sousaphone wrapped around him, marching through the snow.
There was always music in our home.
Last year when his breathing became labored due to his weak heart his doctor suggested deep breathing exercises.
So he took up the clarinet and it did the trick.
Above all else Dad was a devoted and supportive husband and father.
Kirkie, Dan, Gordie and I could not have had better role models than our parents love and total commitment to each other for nearly 60 years.
They are truly a testament to what is most successful and enduring in a marriage.
He blazed his own trail and sometimes there were slippery slopes to climb, fallen trees to stumble over or rapids to portage around.
But he carried his family on his back and we always made it over the hill to see the next lake.
Fare Thee Well Bear.
May the loons wail, the wolves howl and the songbirds serenade you on your journey.
I love you. |