LIFE IS ETERNAL

I am standing upon the seashore

A ship at my side spreads

her white sails to the morning

breeze and starts for the blue

ocean. She is an object of

beauty and strength and I

stand and watch her until

at length she hangs

like a speck of white cloud

just where the sea and sky

come down to mingle

with each other. Then someone

at my side says, "There!

She’s gone!"

Gone where? Gone from

my sight - that is all. She

is just as large in mast

and hull and spar as she

was when she left my side,

and just as able to bear her

load of living freight to the

place of destination. Her

diminished size is in me,

not in her; and just at the

moment when someone at

my side says, There: She’s

gone, there are other eyes

watching the coming, and

other voices ready to take

up the glad shout, "There!

she comes!"

From: Richard A. Fineberg (Aug. 28, 2008; Page 1 of 1)
To: Dan, Nancy, the Five Musketeers and Everyone Else in the Dryden Network


(1) 1976

The beginning. Comes to mind and heart a lovely song:

When the deer has bedded down and the bear has gone to ground,
And the northern goose has wandered off to warmer gays and sounds,
It’s so easy in your heart to feel the darkness all around,
But the world is always turning toward the morning.

Decades ago, Gordon Bok, sea-faring Maine baritone balladeer, wrote this for a
friend in need of solace. For months he was unable to respond to her letter. He
wanted to tell her to look to the hills for comfort, but it was November in Maine,
and he could find no warmth that month in the bleak landscape. And so he wrote
this song:

Oh, my Nancy, don’t you know, that the stars are swinging slow?
And the seas are rolling easy, as they did so long ago;
If I had a thing to give you, I would tell you one more time
That the world is always turning toward the morning.

Like others who have shared on these pages their deep appreciation and
affection for Dan Dryden and their gratitude for the warm embrace of the Dryden
family, I feel honored and privileged to have been welcomed into the Dryden
household and fortunate that we have shared so many years together. But (like
Gordon Bok, who could not answer his grieving friend) Dan’s sudden departure
left me so bereft that I was unable to add my reflections. As the news flew round
the globe during the first 48 hours, my first thought was that I must offer comfort.
But when I spoke with Nancy (from her hospital bed in Morales) and Jessica
(who called when their flight was delayed at the Anchorage airport), both sought
to comfort me. Amazing. Who could ask for better friends?

(Did the sea-faring song writer know Nancy? Perhaps not, for he wrote this
song to Joannie. More on this mystery to come.)

When I met Nancy in 1975, she brightened a cold Fairbanks November. I was
playing music with friends in town; she had come to her neighbor’s house to
borrow some sugar for baking. We immediately became friends. But as our
friendship blossomed, there was one major kink: She was always talking about
this guy named Dan. I figured he must not have cared for her because he always
was off driving a truck between Fairbanks and the North Slope. I didn’t want to
hear about this stupid jerk, but she wanted me to meet him.

Oh, well.

But then, one evening when Dan was not driving the haul road we met. Despite
the fact that I was reporting on the pipeline and he was part of the project,
hauling equipment and materials north, we immediately became fast friends. I
think we were equally intrigued by the striking similarities in our rational and
cognitive pursuit of empirical realities, as well as the equally extraordinary
differences between Dan’s cosmic approach to the universe (which I observed
with interest but did not share). The connections were so deep that, looking
back, I find it hard to picture my life without the Drydens.
Dan told me later that although he had driven smaller trucks and farm equipment
prior to the pipeline, he had never driven an 18-wheeler. He was looking for a
pipeline job when a truck driver offered him a ride to Anchorage; he took it,
hoping that he might get a chance to take the wheel and learn to drive a big rig; it
happened just that way. He came back to Fairbanks, ready for the Teamster test
drive. Fortunately, the Teamster test truck had the same gear box he had driven
(I forget whether it was 12-speed or 15-speed) and he passed the test. Over the
next two years, he made 92 trips north on the new, unpaved 415-mile road from
Fairbanks to Prudhoe Bay. With 150 trucks shuttling back and forth between
Prudhoe Bay and Fairbanks daily, it was called the Kamikaze Trail. Worst of all
was the 60 miles of old mining road between Fairbanks and Livengood. The new
road was rough-hewn, but at least it was built for big trucks. Not so for the grades
and curves on the he stretch from Fairbanks to Livengood, which was an old
mining trail.

Dan loved it.

On one northern trip, Dan paused on the Haul Road near Sukakpak Mountain to
enjoy the view when a voice came in on his CB. A miner in a nearby cabin, just
off the road, wanted to know what this truck was doing when Dan stopped there
and Dan immediately made friends with the old miner. In the spring of 1976 he
persuaded his to write me a note granting me permission to come and visit. With
that note, Dan could get me past the checkpoint at the Yukon River. Once across
the river, I could visit the old miner (I did a piece for the News-Miner’s week-
ender on the old miner, “The View from Linda Creek.” Better yet, I could walk
straight into the pipeline camps with Dan, sit down to a free meal, finagle a free
trucker’s bunk and – most importantly – talk to pipeline workers, free from the
company press chaperones that turned journalistic trips north into a dog and
pony show. But that is another story. This is about our first adventure.

After chaining up in a snowstorm near Livengood, Dan mounted the cab and
went on the CB: “18 wheeler at the foot of Livengood Hill; anyone on the grade?”

A crackling voice came back, something like: “Hey, good buddy, empty flatbed
coming down. I’m halfway down and it’s slippery as hell right
here. I’m swinging all over the place. Wouldn’t want to meet anybody coming
up.”

We waited until the empty semi, on the back haul from a pipeline camp or the
Slope, passed us south bound and then ground our way up the steep hill, Dan
straining to find the road through a caked windshield in near white-out conditions.

Dan left me at Galbraith Lake and continued north. My pipeline camp visits were
adventures of another sort; For example, at Galbraith I met laborer friends and
spent the night; we partied, drank and played square dance tunes. The next day,
I hitch-hiked south, blissfully ignorant that my mother had died in the Lower-48.
When I arrived back in Fairbanks and received the news, I called Dan and
Nancy, who prepared a ceremonial dinner, lit candles and introduced me to the
notion that death may not be the end. Dan escorted me to the airport. Who
could ask for better friends?

Dan and Nancy left for England to sail Janetta back. Steve and June have
described the friends they made. I would have little contact with the Drydens for
the next 13 years.

Dan later said he made 92 trips on the Haul Road. Near the end of his Haul Road
run, he landed in the ditch once – if I remember correctly – ruining an otherwise
perfect record. The rookie trucker on the pipeline became the veteran whose CB
handle was “The Professor.”


(2) 1989 - 2008

San Francisco, August 27. Elided remeniscenses on the fly.

The driveway on the eastbound ascent just past Mile 56 on the Rich gives little
hint of the beauty of that windswept bluff and not a clue of the warmth of that
barnlike house, with its dining room and kitchen on the second story. How clearly
I remember the summer day, thirteen years later, when, driving from Valdez and
Prince William Sound to Homer (it was the summer of the Exxon Valdez spill
and clean-up), I stopped to see if I could find my old friends the Drydens. Had
they built at Mile 56? Were they still there? At Sheep Creek Lodge I found them
in the phone book. Two hours later, driving west near mile 56, a little girl got out
of a car to check the mail, skipped back in. A woman who looked like Nancy was
driving. I followed them back to that unspectacular driveway and up the long
drive from the highway. I still recall sensing no anxiety on their part that a
stranger was following them as I jumped out of my truck to say hello. Nancy
calmly and happily greeted me and introduced me to Jessica, as if we had seen
each other yesterday; Daniel, 11, and Dan would be home shortly. As if a13-year
was nothing, I was welcomed into the Dryden family.

And so began 18 years of great experiences. The memories flow together.

I remember with joy how many times I drove up that driveway to find welcoming
smiles, a warm hug, a good meal. To l to look at the panaroma of the
surrounding mountains from a kitchen where I was always welcome, always at
home. A universe so different from the world of politics and current events I
inhabited.

The memories come flooding back. I never contemplated that they could ever
end. And I try to tell myself that they did not end.

Finding joy is so easy if you just let yourself. Grief? It is but a remembrance of
that joy, that potential. Focus on the beauty.

The outings. I came to think of Dan as the Tarp King. Always equipped, able to
devise a support system with ropes and skilful knotting, taking delight in sharing
the protected zone he had created.

And the places the tarps were pitched:

• Denali in a September snow storm, camping with the Woods, with Jessica
and Daniel home from college.

• The Kobuk River on big rafts we ran down from Walker Lake.

• The Copper River. Where Grizzlies watched us from across Abercrombie
Falls.

• The Turner River in the Arctic Refuge where we stood silent as thousands
of caribou appeared over the brow of a ridge, pouring for hours out of a
valley that appeared to be empty.

• Hawkins Island in Prince William Sound, where salmon sharks streaked
under our kayaks one day.


The memories flow together. Enjoyment of great experiences was the primary
goal, to which Dan contributed so much. And, seemingly, so effortlessly. Not
because all things came easily to Dan, but because he wanted to share.
However tired Dan might have been, however anxious about worldly problems,
he was always at his best on an expedition. Seeking adventure, and relishing it
when he found it.

The memories come flooding back. I never contemplated that they could ever
end. And Dan would assure me, I suspect, that they did not end.

Focus on the beauty.

Over the years, the kitchen became a clubhouse for Dan and me. Not a secret
club, but a place where we would bring back and exchange information,
understandings gained about the mysterious universe. A place where we would
ponder questions concerning whatever subject about which we had we gained
understanding since last we met, or whatever it was that we did not understand.

Grief is but a remembrance of that joy, that potential.

Finding joy can be easy if you just let yourself.


(3) Messages from a Far-Flung Network

In this time, the messages being passed around the world have meant so much
to so many. I cherish each as a blessing or candle for Dan. Here are a select
few.

The message from Riki Ott’s sister Lisi was simple and direct:

Subject: A Great Man

What a loss. We feel so blessed to have shared . . . quality time together. .
. . Peace be upon their family, they are in our thoughts.

Lisi Ott and Jeff Johnson

Years before, they had been welcomed into the Dryden world.

That was Monday, August 11. Much earlier that morning (2-1/2 hours after
Jessica called from the Anchorage airport), I had two wonderful and nourishing
calls from the Bay Area. One from my daughter Renata in Oakland and one from
my niece Julia in San Francisco. In these wonderful years, they both had the
opportunity to meet the Drydens and share their universe: My daughter
and my niece Julia, both checking in to acknowledge Dan’s departure.

The common denominator: All had been welcomed into the Dryden world and
are part of this wonderful, far-flung network.

Comes to mind now a verse from a Gordon Bok sea shanty, one I have carried
for decades.

Nancy, Oh my Nancy,
(Clear away in the morning)
She never played it fancy.
(Oh, bring her round).

It pleases me to speculate that Gordon Bok did meet Nancy:

Later that day (August 11), Dee Woods returned my voice mail message. He
said, very simply,

“We’re not doing any better than you are.”

I wasn’t home, but there was no need to talk; all said and done.

With Dan’s help, I know that in time we will all be doing better. And as we come
around, Dan’s memory is – will be – right there with us, smiling and proud.

Get out Old Dan's records
Bring out Old Dan's records
High above the fireplace
There's a smile on Old Dan's face
If Old Dan could see us now
I know he'd be so proud
If Old Dan were with us still
I know he'd come around

How did Gordon Lightfoot know? If only Dan were here, we could ask him: How
did both Gordons know? Can the network really be so expansive, penetrating
and knowing? Or did these two Gordons just happened to get it right by chance?

Dan would have loved debating this. And if he could see the outpouring of love,
affection and energy on these pages, I know he’d be so proud.

Thank you, everyone.

Thank you, Dan.

meadows and fields of wildflowers
imbued in glittering sunlight

... we send to you ...

skys woven of crystal whisperings
sung forth on
chariot wonder

... we send to you ...

waves unbroken from seas unplumbed
lifting
pearls in arc'ing horizons

... we bring
forth to you ...

children tressed in rainbow laughter
dancing glad on
diamond dreams

... we
usher forth to you ...

Aurora Borealis born of midnight suns
blazed deep in
Mystery's longing

... we
carry forth to you...

roses perfumed on desert footsteps
arabesqued
in silent jubilee

... we
carry forth to you...

mountains crested in seraphim wings
spun in
heart's of angels glad

... we
call forth to you ...

Love splendid in God's embraces
unfolding destinies
ecstatically unfurled

... we pour
into you ...

tea prepared in Mehera's kitchen
from teapot's of
the Beloved's joy

... we
pour forth for you ...


Meher's grace before His
unpresuming throne
tapped of His
Love unleashed of all measure

... we
drink with you ...

all wine and glory alive
in His presence
we celebrate
and rejoice

... in
beauty and joy of you ...

on the Silver Stairs immersed
in the Golden
where all is made
whole in the Divine Becoming

... in this we
dance All together with you .......



Doug Stalker

Dan Dryden Memorial

I first met Nancy at the Moser’s home where she came regularly to work with their daughter Molly through the Infant Learning Program. However, one doesn’t usually know just one Dryden for long. Soon I had met Dan, Jessica, and Daniel. When I first visited them in Sutton, they were living in their motor home which was parked in the garage of the building which would eventually be their home. It was tight quarters initially, kind of like a boat. I have many happy memories of being together with the Dryden family and other of our friends for hikes & outings, dinners, Holidays. Many times I would stop in at their home on my way home from berry picking or a hike and always received the same wonderful welcome Two adventures I had with the Dryden “foursome” stand out in my mind. One was the Crow Pass trip and the other was the Mint to Eska trip. .

For the Crow Pass trip my parents offered to do the car shuttle so that we didn’t have to backtrack to pick up a car after hiking from Girdwood to Eagle River. They loved the Drydens and looked forward to any encounter with the family. They drove me to Girdwood to meet the Drydens who arrived several hours later. My parents were worried that something had happened to them, but I reassured them that this late arrival wasn’t unusual for the Drydens and that even though it “appeared” that they were about to leave at the same time that we were, that they were often detained in one manner or another. Dan had been diligently listening to weather reports prior to this trip to time it with perfect, sunny, warm weather. The Drydens did finally arrive and we got a mid to late afternoon start. The scenery of the entire trip was outstanding, and more so because of the perfect conditions. We hiked along mining debris amid tall salmonberry bushes. We came to the deep gorge with the endless waterfall and explored around the falls and walked into the canyon room above it. Continuing upward the perfect conditions soon translated to “hot” and Dan shed his jeans for 2 bandanas tied together at his waist. On the way up, Dan pointed out how advantageous it was to have 2 strong teenagers who were eager to carry heavy loads and were in fact carrying the entire family tent. I had my little 1 person tent, but also benefited from the family porters, as the stove was being shared. Raven Glacier was spectacular on a sunny day and seemed to be coming from many directions as a vast expanse of rugged white ice chunks . That evening we were delighted to find that our campsite was also a blueberry patch & enthusiastically picked berries to supplement our supper & our breakfast. Dan extolled the virtues of the new little Coleman camp stove he had just purchased—such that I was convinced it was the answer to camping and bought one just like it shortly after the trip (It has been the answer). Crossing the Eagle River the next day was memorable in that the river was high and swift from warm weather glacial melt. Dan explained that we should cross as a unit, holding onto a pole which we found laying on the bank. I offered to lead the charge into the icy water but after heading out ran into difficulty, as my neoprene booties were washed away by the swift current & I stumbled trying not to lose them. If we hadn’t all been holding onto a pole to stabilize us, I would have fallen fully into the river. By evening, I was tiring as there is a 13 mile march along the Eagle River on the last stretch. Then Nancy started us singing, and we sang the last miles away with every song we could think of. There were no discomforts from then on. It was just such a joy from beginning to end to be with the Dryden energy and enthusiasm.



Another trip with the Drydens was a 4th of July weekend when we hiked from the Mint trail in Hatcher Pass to the Mint hut, across the Mint Glacier to the Moose Creek & hut, and then ascended the next ridge which lead to the headwaters of Eska Falls. We were leaving in the morning. I stayed up late packing and also got up to finish off. Knowing the chances of an early departure or even a morning departure were unlikely, I lay on the sofa and slept until the Drydens arrived—around 3 pm. It was a 3 day weekend & with the late start I had some concerns that we would not return in time for work on Tuesday, but I was reassured that we had to make it out by then as Jessica also worked. We hiked along at a brisk pace to make it up to the Mint Hut that evening. The next morning the start was leisurely. We identified the different Mint mountains—Spearmint, Peppermint, Doublemint, Governmint, Merrimint, Troublemint-- took careful stock of our surroundings, and gathered the gear for heading up the Mint Glacier. The glacier didn’t look terribly large or impressive as there weren’t any visible crevasses and it just looked like dirty, rock-strewn snow but we did rope up & stuck together. It was overcast but at one point the sun came out, and Dan & Nancy seized the moment to nap together on a rock in the sun. We went over the top, through a little wind, and made an easy descent into Moose Creek Valley (with some of us sliding). We didn’t know where the hut was located, but were able to spot it while still high, so we had a general idea of our next destination. Then as we descended, the clouds evaporated and we had a beautiful sunny alpine valley garden all to ourselves. We were delighted by the alpine flowers and stopped repeatedly to examine the fresh and colorful bouquets. Dan & Nancy, Jessica and Daniel were all there in the moment & I loved their enthusiasm and joy and was part of it myself. Each new flower or formation was a major discovery, another dimension of perfection. We moved very slowly savoring it all. Further down the valley we found ourselves boulder hopping. I was using a hiking stick, something I had just taken up due to a back injury, feeling insecure with my balance. Dan watched how I moved with the stick, and observed that my posture changed to more bent and tentative when I used the stick, and he suggested that I put it aside as he thought I would do better without it. I listened, tried it, and found that he was right, and that I didn’t really need the stick. We came to the newly built Moose Pass Hut with rocky ridges above it and flowered carpet below, enjoyed another night out, then another leisurely start to our final day. We continued down the valley, then up a rocky crumbly ridge. I recall Dan, Jessica & Daniel running up the loose rock and steep slopes with the greatest of ease. Nancy & I were more cautious and deliberate, but were assisted in our ascent by ropes dropped for us. It was so enjoyable to climb the rest of the way up with the safety of a belay. At the top there was some ridge walking and then side winding along scree to the final ridge above Eska Falls. It was already getting towards evening. The rest of the trip I recall as sheer beauty and joy as we descended in the fading light from the very headwaters of Eska—some glaciated snow at the top-- around some glacial lakes, to the broad runway which was an easy hike down, then descending more sharply into the Valley of Waterfalls. It was getting quite dusky by then, and I couldn’t see as clearly, but I remember the sound of water falling all around us as we were surrounded by falls. Further down the Valley we came to the main Eska Falls, still wild and natural. As I recall the last part of the trail was still the unimproved trail that Lynn Wood & Nancy had blazed, still so pristine and jungle-like before the 4 wheelers ground it up & grooved it. As we were hiking out about 3 am, I remember thinking “yes, we will make it out in time to work today”. I was driven home as Dan or Nancy went to retrieve the car at Hatcher Pass. Although tired, I was utterly happy and enlivened to have shared another adventure with the Drydens.

Dan, I am going to miss your passion for living fully, your strong embrace, and smile, your wonderful conversations with serious and open inquiry into the nature of all kinds of things, your explorations for truth and contemplation of mystery, your instruction and advice, your promotion of kindness and cooperation, your sense of justice, and concern for the environment, your pleasure in your family and your wide and warm extension of family, your enjoyment of the arts and small flowers, your love of a good keg of beer and a party, your big truck, your adventures. However I am going to affirm that we cannot not be robbed of the brightness you have brought to our lives and inasmuch as we continue to live in the moment without separation, you are with us. Quianaq-puk.

Nancy, Jessica & Brian, Dan & Renee, Ale. Thank you for sharing so honestly and beautifully with us from Guatamala. You have been an inspiration to me through all your pain and struggles. You exemplify how much stronger we are when we share the burdens and support each other. I love you all very much and look forward to seeing you again.

Linda

These last two weeks have seemed like twenty years as all the memories of Dan have flowed through my heart and mind. These memories of course bring up many others so the time is very long. These B&W photos, taken by me, were on George Lustig's homestead in Wasilla. It was 1970 and Dan had set up a giant circular canvas Army tent on the property. I don't recall if he was working or just helping George or just being stoned. He was exceptional company and we seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time debating everything. We formed an unspoken bond and I always felt, over the years and no matter what else had transpired, that we were the dearest of friends. He and Nancy and the kids came to see me in Vermont, at my family's place in Jamaica, and lived in that motor home for a summer. They visited several times at my schoolhouse in Marlboro --- once enjoying a bitter New Year's Day skiing the empty mountain at Mt Snow. Jessica took a February vacation here once from school. I was able to visit them in Sutton when I made a return trip to Alaska after a 21 year hiatus. Whenever my son Ben told me that he ran into the Drydens or visited them, I would be delighted that Dan and Ben would be talking, that Dan would see the boy grown up, that Ben might learn from him.

I'm not being very eloquent here but this site has meant a great deal to me -- connecting me to the grief and the joy; feeling the vast, unending ripples of love for this great and lovely soul. Dan could drop into your life every five years or so and no time at all had passed, an unending conversation continued. He was 'briefly lent for our delight and hallowed by our love'.

Thank you, Dan.
Callie B Newton



The first meeting of Dan was on George & Callie's homestead, arriving on Number One, an Hippie schoolbus of some friend's who had just arrived here a few weeks after I had, the summer of '70. Mike and I were taking them to a real Alaska place. It was the rainiest of summers so it was inconceivable that here was a man who was living in a (10 man) tent for the third year. Siim Hanja, Anne, Moustache the dog, Tom, of the bus and I, strangers to Dan, and others, were back in the woods sitting around in the 10-man w/ Dan, talking &etc. for an while, when we heard a voice calling my name (I probably looked surprised as I was not expecting anyone else).

[Apparently Callie had directed friend Jim Wigton (fresh off a monkey island, fresh off the gravel AlCan, who somehow incredibly, had tracked us to this homestead), how to find the tent, after determining he was "o.k."].

An unidentified stranger was coming on the path and Dan's immediate reaction to the approach was to jump for his rifle and the door. He hadn't known us for that long, but we were under his roof, and therefore his protection no matter who or for what purpose someone was approaching for me.

And that's what the pirates encountered.

R.I.P. Loyal friend, Scott Semans.
.


In December 1976 Nancy and Dan’s wedding plans evolved by the hour in the kitchen of the big Korns Glenmont house on the Hudson south of Albany. Nancy would wear her mother’s ethereal 1930s lace gown, pictured in your website. What would Dan wear? I offered—I could maybe sew what he might like –he and Nancy wanted an old-time look, another century maybe. It was the bicentennial year and patterns featured 18th century shirts— would Dan like that? Even though I had learned to sew less than a year before, Dan and Nancy trusted me enough to let me make the right shirt. In heavy snow at twilight, Dan and I rushed to a tiny sewing store on the main street of the closest town. Dan made straight for the formal fabrics and pointed with absolute certainty at a copper-colored high gloss satin. That makes it sound like paint, but it really was as bright and metallic as a new Mercedes. It gave off light.


At Esther’s Korns’ sewing machine, I had the joy of knowing I could do something for the family who had been so kind to me. Through my hours of cutting and sewing, Dan and Nancy continued creating and editing their wedding vows. They were so intent that I hated to interrupt Dan for his fittings, but he was always willing, holding his arms straight out, euphoric, grinning in that bright cloth.

Dan glowed with love.

Dan could listen with a rare concentration, and listen with another listener. In Alaska, in 2002, we listened together to bluegrass and Ralph Stanley singing “O Death.” Both of us silent, lost in the music, yet sharing the mystery of death and one artist’s way to show it.

Dan could listen.

That same 2002 summer, Dan with my sons in his kitchen, helping them make their toast (Dan’s bread) and take care of themselves—the true job of a parent, I think, teaching our kids to take care of themselves. Dan did the job, and the world can see it now.

Long before that, in the spring of 1978, Boston, Dan gave me my first lesson in parenting. Before our long walk to the Boston harbor, Dan strapped baby Jessica in her brown corduroy snugli onto my shoulders and told me, “You’ll feel a certain dampness, but don’t worry about that.” I used this as my motto through raising my boys: A certain dampness, but don’t worry about that. I thought of telling that story at Jessica’s wedding, but it might not have been pleasing to the bride.

Dan was a father.

In 2004, Nancy and Dan stayed with us in Bordeaux, France and took in the Bay of Biscay, where further offshore are some of the biggest waves in the world. And we climbed le Dune du Pilat, the highest sand dune in Europe. Le Dune du Pilat is revered enough to have painted eggcups and tea towels in its image.

And Dan was irreverent enough to sled down the sand dune and entice my son to do the same.

Dan’s irreverence was a joy.

The day Dan and Nancy were attacked, I swam all day in the northern end of Lake Michigan with five dear women friends, out of touch with the world for 4 days in a 1910 cottage. On Tuesday August 12 I drove solo 5 hours south to my home, and when I stopped for a break I phoned my mother Mary Korns, just to pass the time as we often do. By then Mary knew all about your family’s loss. Yet Mary, knowing I had 3 more hours of solo freeway driving ahead of me, was able to chat easily of my lake retreat, my sons, her day, and hide her sadness, certain that once I learned about Dan I would be too grief-shattered to drive the rest of those miles. My mother protected me.

Dan protected those he loved. I’ll miss him every day.

Liza, Jeremy, Evan and Graham Taylor in Ann Arbor, Michigan