Here is a poem I wrote about my grandfather. He was one of the wisest men I've ever known, and lived a long and adventrous life, but always put his family first. He was a kind, loving, and modest man, with a sense of humor that isn't often found in a man who has done all he has.

Clayton Stanley Stewart was born June 15th, 1909 in Parkers Ridge, a village a few miles out of Boiestown which was the lumbering center of the Upper Miramichi River area. My grandfather woked the logging camps, log drives, and guided and outfitted fishing and hunting parties during his early life. An exerpt from the first of his two books that he wrote about his life starts to explain who he was:

A lot of politicians, actresses, actors, famous men and women, have written their memoirs, and I as have many other people, read and enjoyed their writings, it has a fascination, and maybe we live a little of ourselves in what we read, and while reading about these celebrities and famous people, I have often wondered what it would be like to read about the life of an ordinary person, who may not have seemed to amounted to all that much, or to have made any great or outstanding contribution in the scheme of things of the world, but in some way, just might have made some small unnoticed contribution, that would be as important to a way of life, as the contributions made by those we consider great and famous. For as the old saying goes, "It takes all kinds to make a world," so who is to say, what and who is really important to it all.

Grandfather

Old bones resist as he slowly sat up.
As streaming bright sun squinted 
old weathered eyes.

Gazing past the light to the scene outside
fleeting moments float across
memories of yesteryear.

Moments in time, captured by his mind
Days of youth and spirit.

When cold was but a mere nip to the skin
When he knew he could accomplish anything.
Days of adventure and strength.

His able and fit body faced the crack of dawn
Brash, bold, overconfident, invincible.

As the world changed 
So did he
Wife, children, grandchildren - family.

Grandsons, granddaughters, the cycle continues.

A knock on the door interrupts the daydream
and a small shinning face peeks in,
Then runs and jumps into granddad's arms.
A mirror of life, from within.

I love you Grampie, and I hope that your new travels are as rich you deserve. Amen.