Where to begin...
So many things I got from him, my love for the beauty of highways & infrastructure.
He taught me how to use a chisel for the first time when I was in second grade and my bunny "Jeff" died. In one fell swoop he started a lifelong love of woodworking and mourning rituals and monuments when he taught me to make a lap joint wooden cross in the basement (ah, the magical realm of Dad) to put at Jeff's grave.
He also learned me on picking up roadkill and then skin it when we ran across a beautiful red fox when we found one while driving home to The Farm one afternoon. When I picked this one up last spring and brought it home to skin it, it was Dad who's sage tutelage I hearkened back to during the entire process.
I truly feel ill equipped to do justice to the subject of my Dad in writing. If you know me, you're well aware of my deep love and respect for him. He has been so amazing, loving and supportive my whole life, now just as much as when I was little.
Smokejumper, artist, writer, philosopher, outdoorsman, entrepreneur, renaissance man, animal lover, independent thinker, masterful story teller, musician and general bad ass, he is a better Dad than anyone could ever ask for.
There are few things in the world sweeter to me than sharing a tear inducing belly laugh, or a deeply philosophical discussion on spirituality and cosmology with him; either flows just as easily between us as the other.
You know how people always say girls grow up to marry their Dads? Well somebody point me to an equivalent to Dennis Pearson-you can't-they don't makee 'em like that anymore!
Often imitated, never duplicated, my Dad is one of a kind and there aren't enough words to explain why.
Maybe for his birthday next year I will have improved in my writing ability enough to take another crack at it but for now, happy birthday Dad, I love you!
