DETTWEILER, Herbert "Ward"
Passed away peacefully with his wife by his side at home on Wednesday September 17th, 2014 in his 89th year. Loving husband of 64 years to Beatrice (nee Rabe). Cherished dad to Paul and Candy, Carol and Ron Gedcke, David and Nancy, Bruce and Cathy, Coleen and Neil Snyder and Cindy Snyder. Forever remembered Grandpa to 14 grandchildren and 12 great grandchildren. Survived and missed by his brothers Harold and Margaret, Clarke; brother in law Silvin Roth and sister in law Joyce Dettweiler. Predeceased by Margaret and Laverne Good, Mary and John Sayer, Ruby Roth, Norma, Katherine, Ruth and Glen. Friends will be received on Friday September 19th, 2014 at Fairview Mennonite Home, 515 Langs Drive, Cambridge for visitation from2-4pm. Evening visitation will take place at Breslau Mennonite Church 226 Woolwich Street, Breslau from 7-9pm. Funeral Service will be held Saturday September 20, 2014 at Breslau Mennonite Church at 3pm. Visitation at 1pm until time of service. Burial to follow at Breslau Mennonite Church Cemetery. As an expression of sympathy, donations may be made to Fairview Mennonite Home, Breslau Mennonite Church or a charity of your choice. A special thank you to all the caring staff at Fairview Mennonite Home.
REMEMBERING DAD
Joy, yes joy. That was the word that came to me when I was thinking about my dad. Dad was someone who enjoyed his life – he found joy with his wife, his family, any child, his job, his garden and other people.
A few years ago, Coleen and I wrote our parents stories. It meant we spent a lot of time talking about dad’s life. One joy that brought dad great pleasure was mom, the love of his life. Dad loved to talk about that first skate he had with mom, how he fell in love with her that evening, took her out every weekend to make sure nobody else got her and has loved her ever since. Sometimes it embarrassed mom tremendously because he didn’t care who he told or how often. I think it was very fitting that dad died holding mom’s hand.
Dad also enjoyed being with his family. Whether we were camping or having a bonfire at his home, dad liked to be with each one of us. Time spent using his hands to make things that we enjoyed brought him joy. Growing up, we were the only family I knew who had a homemade slide and teeter totter. Also, my son Tim played for many hours with the shuffleboard game dad made for him. When I was a child, Dad took the time to make an ice rink on the lawn and for his grandchildren, he gladly did what he could to maintain the ice in the bush. He always took time to make his grandchildren laugh. He was delighted when Tim named his child Jude Herbert. In fact, for quite a while dad called him Herbie. Then he’d say, “he has another name too, can’t remember it.” Since he lives in Grande Prairie, little Herbie didn’t mind that. Even as dad’s health declined, he delighted in Avery, his youngest great grandchild.
Next on my list of dad’s joy is his woodworking talent. Dad started his career when he was just 13. He didn’t just have a job — he had a gift that he used and sometimes got paid for it. Either way, dad found joy in what he built. When telling his story he proudly stated that he had custom crafted kitchen cabinets in each of mom’s kitchens to suit her height. Dad’s quality craftmanship spoke for itself, people came to him to have something built or something renovated. He also used his abilities to bless his family. We used to say, “if mom can’t fix it with a needle and thread, dad will fix it with a nail or screw.” His grandchildren have many unique wooden gifts to remind them of their grandpa. In these last months, dad often looked at the furniture in his room that he made freehand, and talked about the wood, cherry from his bush, walnut from Mildred Nickel and ash.
Not only his grandchildren, but other children liked Ward. When telling his story, dad had very fond memories of the boys’ clubs he led, one at this church and because Wanners wanted to use power tools, our neighbour enlisted dad to work with their club. Dad even taught the boys what not to do when he accidently cut his hand on a saw. Dad loved the woodworking part and the social part. He laughed when he talked about the camping trips. Dad was able to combine his love of wood working with his love of children.
Mom said that she knew dad would be a good father because when they were dating, her younger brothers and sisters climbed all over this young man when he visited at her home. Later dad used this joy to team teach the ‘two years old’ Sunday School class with mom. Dad liked to talk about the fun they had in that class.
Dad’s garden brought him joy. Dad was raised on a farm and while he chose not to farm, he never lost his love for the land. Dad loved to grow vegetables. We all enjoyed the produce from dad’s gardens. One thing dad did not like was sharing his produce with rabbits, coons or ground hogs. He was creative. By surrounding his garden with human hair, shining a light on his vegetables, playing a radio and tv all night, animals were discouraged from entering his garden. I remember joking that the little bunnies and ground hogs were so busy watching tv and dancing to the music that they forgot to eat. Again, Dad also taught his grandchildren what not to do. At least I hope nobody will copy this. Dad discovered that a little gas poured down a ground hog hole followed by a match could cause quite a bang. I don’t know how many critters dad actually euthanized but he certainly had fun trying. I also must add—Nick and Jordan—do not try this at home—Great grandpa was lucky—it is a very dangerous thing to do.
Finally, dad took joy in people. He liked to help people. This was evident in the loving way he visited his sister every day, feeding her an orange and taking her for a walk. When she could no longer walk, he rubbed her back. I remember the joy he expressed when Norma responded to him. There were also tears when he empathized with her. Dad didn’t have to know someone to enjoy talking to them. He often talked to people he didn’t even know. Ron and I went to Grande Prairie for a baby dedication. Tim and Liz’s huge church include the whole extended family in such events. That meant that Tim introduced 15 Hubes and ourselves. Later I started talking to a lady who happened to be sitting close by. She realized I was one of the grandma’s. She suddenly said surprised, “You are the Grandma from Ontario. I assumed you were from Alberta because you are so friendly” I asked what she meant and she said that people from Ontario don’t usually talk to strangers. I just said, “wow, I have become my dad!”
In conclusion, Dad found joy in the things he did. Dad found joy in life. “Miraculous” wasn’t dad’s style. As Mother Teresa once said, “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”
That’s my dad. I believe he left us a legacy. He had an unconditional love for his wife, he found joy in his family, he used his gifts and his time freely to bless others, and he accepted any person he met. We can emulate dad’s actions. I believe dad is a light for future generations. I know I will tell my grandchildren about him. I love you dad.
By Carol Gedcke
My Poem About Grandpa
My grandpa was a man so fine
Glad that I could call him mine
Telling stories often he did
Of family, friends, or life as a kid.
He liked to tell the tale
Of a wonderful female
He took her on a fantastic skate
And decided she would be his life mate
Wanting more laughter and more fun
They added 3 daughters and 3 sons
Then they welcomed kids so grand
That he always had a joke at hand
You could laugh up your sleeve or slap your knee
That was his kind of fun, you see
And for those 7 girls and 7 boys
He would make some wooden toys
Jenga, hall tree or a bus
He has made it all for us
But making one thing was not enough
With his skill he did something more tough
Disguising one thing as another
Like a bench turned picnic table
Or ladder or ironing board into a chia
These things he made with great care
Of his family he was so fond
That he would invite us to his pond
For hockey or just for a skate
And after he would fill our plate
With peas, kohlrobi, or a beet
Getting these was no small feat
For in his garden these would grow
As I am sure most of you know
But before these veggies could reach our spoons
He first had to deal with those blank raccoons.
Crokinole was a go-to game
His skill could have brought him fame
Tim remembers a game one time
A competition that was so fine
Shots that game they were a plenty
Most of them were worth a twenty
Dominoes, rummikub, or rook
Games with grandkids, he could write a book
Just be sure to obey the rule
To avoid looking like a fool
He also made a long, long slide
It got us wet, but we had a good, good ride
This is the story of a man named Ward
Who has now gone to be with his Lord
We miss him here, but forever after
Heaven has a lot more laughter.
By Stephanie Gedcke
My Grandpa
1. It was a series of moments most can only dream of. In a high intensity battle of skill, wit, and mental endurance, time seemed to stand still. For one ten-year-old, a lifetime memory in the making. For one older-than-ten-year-old grandpa, the nervousness of being outdueled and dethroned by a grandkid. My turn: sweat forming on my only just-developing chest hairs (ok, hair). My shaky fingers grip the slender wooden stick and fire. 20! His turn: Hoping of a miss turns into despair as he calmly drops his piece into the middle indent. My turn, his turn, my turn, his turn. At stake: blowing our consecutive 20s streak. Whether it was roulette or crokinole is a bit fuzzy, but someone had to give. One lapse of concentration was all it would take. My turn, his turn, my turn. But as the consecutive streak grew into the mid teens (there are 24 shots in a game of crokinole) my allegiances changed, I was no longer his opponent, but his teammate! Thoughts of a perfect game with my grandpa were becoming realistic! 14, 15, 16, 17, 18!! 24 in a row would have been the fairytale ending to this story. My young mind does not remember exactly how high we made it (18 sounds like a good guess), nor who eventually missed; but for me it was perfect. A life-long memory of crokinole. It was a series of moments most can only dream of: I got to live it. And so did my grandpa.
2. My dad used to make me a rink in the backyard. I skated on it for several hours most days. But our backyard was not big enough to compete with Grandpa’s rink. Plus I enjoyed skating and playing hockey with all my cousins when we would make the drive to Kossuth Road some Sundays. That hockey rink must have been lots of work. We didn’t see that work, but we reaped the benefits of a great sheet of ice to play on. Thanks Grandpa.
3. It felt like I was actually there. I could imagine the white towels being waved in succession. I could picture the greatest closer of all time (well, maybe not yet in 2001) standing on the mound in the precarious position of possibly losing Game 7 of the World Series. I could picture some Arizona Diamondback named Luis Gonzalez blooping a pitch over the shortstop (some guy named Jeter) and winning the world in one of the best baseball moments of my lifetime. I could picture it, but I wasn’t in Arizona. I was in my small bed in Elmira, Ontario, Canada listening to it on my clock radio! This is significant because as I was listening, the squirrels and even the coons could have possibly been listening to Grandpa’s radio in his garden too. Grandpa used to put a tv and/or radio outside, I guess so the critters would get distracted and not eat his vegetables! Maybe some stripe-tailed garden villain was listening with me, in grandpas’ garden.
Closing note:
I’m one of 14 grandchildren of Herbert Ward, yet he made each of us feel like one in a million.
My son, Toby, never got to be held by his great grandpa, but I will tell him stories of how he played crokinole with me, made a hockey rink, and even loved racoons so much that he bought them a tv...
Tim Gedcke
Passed away peacefully with his wife by his side at home on Wednesday September 17th, 2014 in his 89th year. Loving husband of 64 years to Beatrice (nee Rabe). Cherished dad to Paul and Candy, Carol and Ron Gedcke, David and Nancy, Bruce and Cathy, Coleen and Neil Snyder and Cindy Snyder. Forever remembered Grandpa to 14 grandchildren and 12 great grandchildren. Survived and missed by his brothers Harold and Margaret, Clarke; brother in law Silvin Roth and sister in law Joyce Dettweiler. Predeceased by Margaret and Laverne Good, Mary and John Sayer, Ruby Roth, Norma, Katherine, Ruth and Glen. Friends will be received on Friday September 19th, 2014 at Fairview Mennonite Home, 515 Langs Drive, Cambridge for visitation from2-4pm. Evening visitation will take place at Breslau Mennonite Church 226 Woolwich Street, Breslau from 7-9pm. Funeral Service will be held Saturday September 20, 2014 at Breslau Mennonite Church at 3pm. Visitation at 1pm until time of service. Burial to follow at Breslau Mennonite Church Cemetery. As an expression of sympathy, donations may be made to Fairview Mennonite Home, Breslau Mennonite Church or a charity of your choice. A special thank you to all the caring staff at Fairview Mennonite Home.
REMEMBERING DAD
Joy, yes joy. That was the word that came to me when I was thinking about my dad. Dad was someone who enjoyed his life – he found joy with his wife, his family, any child, his job, his garden and other people.
A few years ago, Coleen and I wrote our parents stories. It meant we spent a lot of time talking about dad’s life. One joy that brought dad great pleasure was mom, the love of his life. Dad loved to talk about that first skate he had with mom, how he fell in love with her that evening, took her out every weekend to make sure nobody else got her and has loved her ever since. Sometimes it embarrassed mom tremendously because he didn’t care who he told or how often. I think it was very fitting that dad died holding mom’s hand.
Dad also enjoyed being with his family. Whether we were camping or having a bonfire at his home, dad liked to be with each one of us. Time spent using his hands to make things that we enjoyed brought him joy. Growing up, we were the only family I knew who had a homemade slide and teeter totter. Also, my son Tim played for many hours with the shuffleboard game dad made for him. When I was a child, Dad took the time to make an ice rink on the lawn and for his grandchildren, he gladly did what he could to maintain the ice in the bush. He always took time to make his grandchildren laugh. He was delighted when Tim named his child Jude Herbert. In fact, for quite a while dad called him Herbie. Then he’d say, “he has another name too, can’t remember it.” Since he lives in Grande Prairie, little Herbie didn’t mind that. Even as dad’s health declined, he delighted in Avery, his youngest great grandchild.
Next on my list of dad’s joy is his woodworking talent. Dad started his career when he was just 13. He didn’t just have a job — he had a gift that he used and sometimes got paid for it. Either way, dad found joy in what he built. When telling his story he proudly stated that he had custom crafted kitchen cabinets in each of mom’s kitchens to suit her height. Dad’s quality craftmanship spoke for itself, people came to him to have something built or something renovated. He also used his abilities to bless his family. We used to say, “if mom can’t fix it with a needle and thread, dad will fix it with a nail or screw.” His grandchildren have many unique wooden gifts to remind them of their grandpa. In these last months, dad often looked at the furniture in his room that he made freehand, and talked about the wood, cherry from his bush, walnut from Mildred Nickel and ash.
Not only his grandchildren, but other children liked Ward. When telling his story, dad had very fond memories of the boys’ clubs he led, one at this church and because Wanners wanted to use power tools, our neighbour enlisted dad to work with their club. Dad even taught the boys what not to do when he accidently cut his hand on a saw. Dad loved the woodworking part and the social part. He laughed when he talked about the camping trips. Dad was able to combine his love of wood working with his love of children.
Mom said that she knew dad would be a good father because when they were dating, her younger brothers and sisters climbed all over this young man when he visited at her home. Later dad used this joy to team teach the ‘two years old’ Sunday School class with mom. Dad liked to talk about the fun they had in that class.
Dad’s garden brought him joy. Dad was raised on a farm and while he chose not to farm, he never lost his love for the land. Dad loved to grow vegetables. We all enjoyed the produce from dad’s gardens. One thing dad did not like was sharing his produce with rabbits, coons or ground hogs. He was creative. By surrounding his garden with human hair, shining a light on his vegetables, playing a radio and tv all night, animals were discouraged from entering his garden. I remember joking that the little bunnies and ground hogs were so busy watching tv and dancing to the music that they forgot to eat. Again, Dad also taught his grandchildren what not to do. At least I hope nobody will copy this. Dad discovered that a little gas poured down a ground hog hole followed by a match could cause quite a bang. I don’t know how many critters dad actually euthanized but he certainly had fun trying. I also must add—Nick and Jordan—do not try this at home—Great grandpa was lucky—it is a very dangerous thing to do.
Finally, dad took joy in people. He liked to help people. This was evident in the loving way he visited his sister every day, feeding her an orange and taking her for a walk. When she could no longer walk, he rubbed her back. I remember the joy he expressed when Norma responded to him. There were also tears when he empathized with her. Dad didn’t have to know someone to enjoy talking to them. He often talked to people he didn’t even know. Ron and I went to Grande Prairie for a baby dedication. Tim and Liz’s huge church include the whole extended family in such events. That meant that Tim introduced 15 Hubes and ourselves. Later I started talking to a lady who happened to be sitting close by. She realized I was one of the grandma’s. She suddenly said surprised, “You are the Grandma from Ontario. I assumed you were from Alberta because you are so friendly” I asked what she meant and she said that people from Ontario don’t usually talk to strangers. I just said, “wow, I have become my dad!”
In conclusion, Dad found joy in the things he did. Dad found joy in life. “Miraculous” wasn’t dad’s style. As Mother Teresa once said, “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”
That’s my dad. I believe he left us a legacy. He had an unconditional love for his wife, he found joy in his family, he used his gifts and his time freely to bless others, and he accepted any person he met. We can emulate dad’s actions. I believe dad is a light for future generations. I know I will tell my grandchildren about him. I love you dad.
By Carol Gedcke
My Poem About Grandpa
My grandpa was a man so fine
Glad that I could call him mine
Telling stories often he did
Of family, friends, or life as a kid.
He liked to tell the tale
Of a wonderful female
He took her on a fantastic skate
And decided she would be his life mate
Wanting more laughter and more fun
They added 3 daughters and 3 sons
Then they welcomed kids so grand
That he always had a joke at hand
You could laugh up your sleeve or slap your knee
That was his kind of fun, you see
And for those 7 girls and 7 boys
He would make some wooden toys
Jenga, hall tree or a bus
He has made it all for us
But making one thing was not enough
With his skill he did something more tough
Disguising one thing as another
Like a bench turned picnic table
Or ladder or ironing board into a chia
These things he made with great care
Of his family he was so fond
That he would invite us to his pond
For hockey or just for a skate
And after he would fill our plate
With peas, kohlrobi, or a beet
Getting these was no small feat
For in his garden these would grow
As I am sure most of you know
But before these veggies could reach our spoons
He first had to deal with those blank raccoons.
Crokinole was a go-to game
His skill could have brought him fame
Tim remembers a game one time
A competition that was so fine
Shots that game they were a plenty
Most of them were worth a twenty
Dominoes, rummikub, or rook
Games with grandkids, he could write a book
Just be sure to obey the rule
To avoid looking like a fool
He also made a long, long slide
It got us wet, but we had a good, good ride
This is the story of a man named Ward
Who has now gone to be with his Lord
We miss him here, but forever after
Heaven has a lot more laughter.
By Stephanie Gedcke
My Grandpa
1. It was a series of moments most can only dream of. In a high intensity battle of skill, wit, and mental endurance, time seemed to stand still. For one ten-year-old, a lifetime memory in the making. For one older-than-ten-year-old grandpa, the nervousness of being outdueled and dethroned by a grandkid. My turn: sweat forming on my only just-developing chest hairs (ok, hair). My shaky fingers grip the slender wooden stick and fire. 20! His turn: Hoping of a miss turns into despair as he calmly drops his piece into the middle indent. My turn, his turn, my turn, his turn. At stake: blowing our consecutive 20s streak. Whether it was roulette or crokinole is a bit fuzzy, but someone had to give. One lapse of concentration was all it would take. My turn, his turn, my turn. But as the consecutive streak grew into the mid teens (there are 24 shots in a game of crokinole) my allegiances changed, I was no longer his opponent, but his teammate! Thoughts of a perfect game with my grandpa were becoming realistic! 14, 15, 16, 17, 18!! 24 in a row would have been the fairytale ending to this story. My young mind does not remember exactly how high we made it (18 sounds like a good guess), nor who eventually missed; but for me it was perfect. A life-long memory of crokinole. It was a series of moments most can only dream of: I got to live it. And so did my grandpa.
2. My dad used to make me a rink in the backyard. I skated on it for several hours most days. But our backyard was not big enough to compete with Grandpa’s rink. Plus I enjoyed skating and playing hockey with all my cousins when we would make the drive to Kossuth Road some Sundays. That hockey rink must have been lots of work. We didn’t see that work, but we reaped the benefits of a great sheet of ice to play on. Thanks Grandpa.
3. It felt like I was actually there. I could imagine the white towels being waved in succession. I could picture the greatest closer of all time (well, maybe not yet in 2001) standing on the mound in the precarious position of possibly losing Game 7 of the World Series. I could picture some Arizona Diamondback named Luis Gonzalez blooping a pitch over the shortstop (some guy named Jeter) and winning the world in one of the best baseball moments of my lifetime. I could picture it, but I wasn’t in Arizona. I was in my small bed in Elmira, Ontario, Canada listening to it on my clock radio! This is significant because as I was listening, the squirrels and even the coons could have possibly been listening to Grandpa’s radio in his garden too. Grandpa used to put a tv and/or radio outside, I guess so the critters would get distracted and not eat his vegetables! Maybe some stripe-tailed garden villain was listening with me, in grandpas’ garden.
Closing note:
I’m one of 14 grandchildren of Herbert Ward, yet he made each of us feel like one in a million.
My son, Toby, never got to be held by his great grandpa, but I will tell him stories of how he played crokinole with me, made a hockey rink, and even loved racoons so much that he bought them a tv...
Tim Gedcke
DETTWEILER, Herbert "Ward"
Passed away peacefully with his wife by his side at home on Wednesday September 17th, 2014 in his 89th year. Loving husband of 64 years to Beatrice (nee Rabe). Cherished dad to Paul and Candy, Carol and Ron Gedcke, David and Nancy, Bruce and Cathy, Coleen and Neil Snyder and Cindy Snyder. Forever remembered Grandpa to 14 grandchildren and 12 great grandchildren. Survived and missed by his brothers Harold and Margaret, Clarke; brother in law Silvin Roth and sister in law Joyce Dettweiler. Predeceased by Margaret and Laverne Good, Mary and John Sayer, Ruby Roth, Norma, Katherine, Ruth and Glen. Friends will be received on Friday September 19th, 2014 at Fairview Mennonite Home, 515 Langs Drive, Cambridge for visitation from2-4pm. Evening visitation will take place at Breslau Mennonite Church 226 Woolwich Street, Breslau from 7-9pm. Funeral Service will be held Saturday September 20, 2014 at Breslau Mennonite Church at 3pm. Visitation at 1pm until time of service. Burial to follow at Breslau Mennonite Church Cemetery. As an expression of sympathy, donations may be made to Fairview Mennonite Home, Breslau Mennonite Church or a charity of your choice. A special thank you to all the caring staff at Fairview Mennonite Home.
REMEMBERING DAD
Joy, yes joy. That was the word that came to me when I was thinking about my dad. Dad was someone who enjoyed his life – he found joy with his wife, his family, any child, his job, his garden and other people.
A few years ago, Coleen and I wrote our parents stories. It meant we spent a lot of time talking about dad’s life. One joy that brought dad great pleasure was mom, the love of his life. Dad loved to talk about that first skate he had with mom, how he fell in love with her that evening, took her out every weekend to make sure nobody else got her and has loved her ever since. Sometimes it embarrassed mom tremendously because he didn’t care who he told or how often. I think it was very fitting that dad died holding mom’s hand.
Dad also enjoyed being with his family. Whether we were camping or having a bonfire at his home, dad liked to be with each one of us. Time spent using his hands to make things that we enjoyed brought him joy. Growing up, we were the only family I knew who had a homemade slide and teeter totter. Also, my son Tim played for many hours with the shuffleboard game dad made for him. When I was a child, Dad took the time to make an ice rink on the lawn and for his grandchildren, he gladly did what he could to maintain the ice in the bush. He always took time to make his grandchildren laugh. He was delighted when Tim named his child Jude Herbert. In fact, for quite a while dad called him Herbie. Then he’d say, “he has another name too, can’t remember it.” Since he lives in Grande Prairie, little Herbie didn’t mind that. Even as dad’s health declined, he delighted in Avery, his youngest great grandchild.
Next on my list of dad’s joy is his woodworking talent. Dad started his career when he was just 13. He didn’t just have a job — he had a gift that he used and sometimes got paid for it. Either way, dad found joy in what he built. When telling his story he proudly stated that he had custom crafted kitchen cabinets in each of mom’s kitchens to suit her height. Dad’s quality craftmanship spoke for itself, people came to him to have something built or something renovated. He also used his abilities to bless his family. We used to say, “if mom can’t fix it with a needle and thread, dad will fix it with a nail or screw.” His grandchildren have many unique wooden gifts to remind them of their grandpa. In these last months, dad often looked at the furniture in his room that he made freehand, and talked about the wood, cherry from his bush, walnut from Mildred Nickel and ash.
Not only his grandchildren, but other children liked Ward. When telling his story, dad had very fond memories of the boys’ clubs he led, one at this church and because Wanners wanted to use power tools, our neighbour enlisted dad to work with their club. Dad even taught the boys what not to do when he accidently cut his hand on a saw. Dad loved the woodworking part and the social part. He laughed when he talked about the camping trips. Dad was able to combine his love of wood working with his love of children.
Mom said that she knew dad would be a good father because when they were dating, her younger brothers and sisters climbed all over this young man when he visited at her home. Later dad used this joy to team teach the ‘two years old’ Sunday School class with mom. Dad liked to talk about the fun they had in that class.
Dad’s garden brought him joy. Dad was raised on a farm and while he chose not to farm, he never lost his love for the land. Dad loved to grow vegetables. We all enjoyed the produce from dad’s gardens. One thing dad did not like was sharing his produce with rabbits, coons or ground hogs. He was creative. By surrounding his garden with human hair, shining a light on his vegetables, playing a radio and tv all night, animals were discouraged from entering his garden. I remember joking that the little bunnies and ground hogs were so busy watching tv and dancing to the music that they forgot to eat. Again, Dad also taught his grandchildren what not to do. At least I hope nobody will copy this. Dad discovered that a little gas poured down a ground hog hole followed by a match could cause quite a bang. I don’t know how many critters dad actually euthanized but he certainly had fun trying. I also must add—Nick and Jordan—do not try this at home—Great grandpa was lucky—it is a very dangerous thing to do.
Finally, dad took joy in people. He liked to help people. This was evident in the loving way he visited his sister every day, feeding her an orange and taking her for a walk. When she could no longer walk, he rubbed her back. I remember the joy he expressed when Norma responded to him. There were also tears when he empathized with her. Dad didn’t have to know someone to enjoy talking to them. He often talked to people he didn’t even know. Ron and I went to Grande Prairie for a baby dedication. Tim and Liz’s huge church include the whole extended family in such events. That meant that Tim introduced 15 Hubes and ourselves. Later I started talking to a lady who happened to be sitting close by. She realized I was one of the grandma’s. She suddenly said surprised, “You are the Grandma from Ontario. I assumed you were from Alberta because you are so friendly” I asked what she meant and she said that people from Ontario don’t usually talk to strangers. I just said, “wow, I have become my dad!”
In conclusion, Dad found joy in the things he did. Dad found joy in life. “Miraculous” wasn’t dad’s style. As Mother Teresa once said, “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”
That’s my dad. I believe he left us a legacy. He had an unconditional love for his wife, he found joy in his family, he used his gifts and his time freely to bless others, and he accepted any person he met. We can emulate dad’s actions. I believe dad is a light for future generations. I know I will tell my grandchildren about him. I love you dad.
By Carol Gedcke
My Poem About Grandpa
My grandpa was a man so fine
Glad that I could call him mine
Telling stories often he did
Of family, friends, or life as a kid.
He liked to tell the tale
Of a wonderful female
He took her on a fantastic skate
And decided she would be his life mate
Wanting more laughter and more fun
They added 3 daughters and 3 sons
Then they welcomed kids so grand
That he always had a joke at hand
You could laugh up your sleeve or slap your knee
That was his kind of fun, you see
And for those 7 girls and 7 boys
He would make some wooden toys
Jenga, hall tree or a bus
He has made it all for us
But making one thing was not enough
With his skill he did something more tough
Disguising one thing as another
Like a bench turned picnic table
Or ladder or ironing board into a chia
These things he made with great care
Of his family he was so fond
That he would invite us to his pond
For hockey or just for a skate
And after he would fill our plate
With peas, kohlrobi, or a beet
Getting these was no small feat
For in his garden these would grow
As I am sure most of you know
But before these veggies could reach our spoons
He first had to deal with those blank raccoons.
Crokinole was a go-to game
His skill could have brought him fame
Tim remembers a game one time
A competition that was so fine
Shots that game they were a plenty
Most of them were worth a twenty
Dominoes, rummikub, or rook
Games with grandkids, he could write a book
Just be sure to obey the rule
To avoid looking like a fool
He also made a long, long slide
It got us wet, but we had a good, good ride
This is the story of a man named Ward
Who has now gone to be with his Lord
We miss him here, but forever after
Heaven has a lot more laughter.
By Stephanie Gedcke
My Grandpa
1. It was a series of moments most can only dream of. In a high intensity battle of skill, wit, and mental endurance, time seemed to stand still. For one ten-year-old, a lifetime memory in the making. For one older-than-ten-year-old grandpa, the nervousness of being outdueled and dethroned by a grandkid. My turn: sweat forming on my only just-developing chest hairs (ok, hair). My shaky fingers grip the slender wooden stick and fire. 20! His turn: Hoping of a miss turns into despair as he calmly drops his piece into the middle indent. My turn, his turn, my turn, his turn. At stake: blowing our consecutive 20s streak. Whether it was roulette or crokinole is a bit fuzzy, but someone had to give. One lapse of concentration was all it would take. My turn, his turn, my turn. But as the consecutive streak grew into the mid teens (there are 24 shots in a game of crokinole) my allegiances changed, I was no longer his opponent, but his teammate! Thoughts of a perfect game with my grandpa were becoming realistic! 14, 15, 16, 17, 18!! 24 in a row would have been the fairytale ending to this story. My young mind does not remember exactly how high we made it (18 sounds like a good guess), nor who eventually missed; but for me it was perfect. A life-long memory of crokinole. It was a series of moments most can only dream of: I got to live it. And so did my grandpa.
2. My dad used to make me a rink in the backyard. I skated on it for several hours most days. But our backyard was not big enough to compete with Grandpa’s rink. Plus I enjoyed skating and playing hockey with all my cousins when we would make the drive to Kossuth Road some Sundays. That hockey rink must have been lots of work. We didn’t see that work, but we reaped the benefits of a great sheet of ice to play on. Thanks Grandpa.
3. It felt like I was actually there. I could imagine the white towels being waved in succession. I could picture the greatest closer of all time (well, maybe not yet in 2001) standing on the mound in the precarious position of possibly losing Game 7 of the World Series. I could picture some Arizona Diamondback named Luis Gonzalez blooping a pitch over the shortstop (some guy named Jeter) and winning the world in one of the best baseball moments of my lifetime. I could picture it, but I wasn’t in Arizona. I was in my small bed in Elmira, Ontario, Canada listening to it on my clock radio! This is significant because as I was listening, the squirrels and even the coons could have possibly been listening to Grandpa’s radio in his garden too. Grandpa used to put a tv and/or radio outside, I guess so the critters would get distracted and not eat his vegetables! Maybe some stripe-tailed garden villain was listening with me, in grandpas’ garden.
Closing note:
I’m one of 14 grandchildren of Herbert Ward, yet he made each of us feel like one in a million.
My son, Toby, never got to be held by his great grandpa, but I will tell him stories of how he played crokinole with me, made a hockey rink, and even loved racoons so much that he bought them a tv...
Tim Gedcke
Passed away peacefully with his wife by his side at home on Wednesday September 17th, 2014 in his 89th year. Loving husband of 64 years to Beatrice (nee Rabe). Cherished dad to Paul and Candy, Carol and Ron Gedcke, David and Nancy, Bruce and Cathy, Coleen and Neil Snyder and Cindy Snyder. Forever remembered Grandpa to 14 grandchildren and 12 great grandchildren. Survived and missed by his brothers Harold and Margaret, Clarke; brother in law Silvin Roth and sister in law Joyce Dettweiler. Predeceased by Margaret and Laverne Good, Mary and John Sayer, Ruby Roth, Norma, Katherine, Ruth and Glen. Friends will be received on Friday September 19th, 2014 at Fairview Mennonite Home, 515 Langs Drive, Cambridge for visitation from2-4pm. Evening visitation will take place at Breslau Mennonite Church 226 Woolwich Street, Breslau from 7-9pm. Funeral Service will be held Saturday September 20, 2014 at Breslau Mennonite Church at 3pm. Visitation at 1pm until time of service. Burial to follow at Breslau Mennonite Church Cemetery. As an expression of sympathy, donations may be made to Fairview Mennonite Home, Breslau Mennonite Church or a charity of your choice. A special thank you to all the caring staff at Fairview Mennonite Home.
REMEMBERING DAD
Joy, yes joy. That was the word that came to me when I was thinking about my dad. Dad was someone who enjoyed his life – he found joy with his wife, his family, any child, his job, his garden and other people.
A few years ago, Coleen and I wrote our parents stories. It meant we spent a lot of time talking about dad’s life. One joy that brought dad great pleasure was mom, the love of his life. Dad loved to talk about that first skate he had with mom, how he fell in love with her that evening, took her out every weekend to make sure nobody else got her and has loved her ever since. Sometimes it embarrassed mom tremendously because he didn’t care who he told or how often. I think it was very fitting that dad died holding mom’s hand.
Dad also enjoyed being with his family. Whether we were camping or having a bonfire at his home, dad liked to be with each one of us. Time spent using his hands to make things that we enjoyed brought him joy. Growing up, we were the only family I knew who had a homemade slide and teeter totter. Also, my son Tim played for many hours with the shuffleboard game dad made for him. When I was a child, Dad took the time to make an ice rink on the lawn and for his grandchildren, he gladly did what he could to maintain the ice in the bush. He always took time to make his grandchildren laugh. He was delighted when Tim named his child Jude Herbert. In fact, for quite a while dad called him Herbie. Then he’d say, “he has another name too, can’t remember it.” Since he lives in Grande Prairie, little Herbie didn’t mind that. Even as dad’s health declined, he delighted in Avery, his youngest great grandchild.
Next on my list of dad’s joy is his woodworking talent. Dad started his career when he was just 13. He didn’t just have a job — he had a gift that he used and sometimes got paid for it. Either way, dad found joy in what he built. When telling his story he proudly stated that he had custom crafted kitchen cabinets in each of mom’s kitchens to suit her height. Dad’s quality craftmanship spoke for itself, people came to him to have something built or something renovated. He also used his abilities to bless his family. We used to say, “if mom can’t fix it with a needle and thread, dad will fix it with a nail or screw.” His grandchildren have many unique wooden gifts to remind them of their grandpa. In these last months, dad often looked at the furniture in his room that he made freehand, and talked about the wood, cherry from his bush, walnut from Mildred Nickel and ash.
Not only his grandchildren, but other children liked Ward. When telling his story, dad had very fond memories of the boys’ clubs he led, one at this church and because Wanners wanted to use power tools, our neighbour enlisted dad to work with their club. Dad even taught the boys what not to do when he accidently cut his hand on a saw. Dad loved the woodworking part and the social part. He laughed when he talked about the camping trips. Dad was able to combine his love of wood working with his love of children.
Mom said that she knew dad would be a good father because when they were dating, her younger brothers and sisters climbed all over this young man when he visited at her home. Later dad used this joy to team teach the ‘two years old’ Sunday School class with mom. Dad liked to talk about the fun they had in that class.
Dad’s garden brought him joy. Dad was raised on a farm and while he chose not to farm, he never lost his love for the land. Dad loved to grow vegetables. We all enjoyed the produce from dad’s gardens. One thing dad did not like was sharing his produce with rabbits, coons or ground hogs. He was creative. By surrounding his garden with human hair, shining a light on his vegetables, playing a radio and tv all night, animals were discouraged from entering his garden. I remember joking that the little bunnies and ground hogs were so busy watching tv and dancing to the music that they forgot to eat. Again, Dad also taught his grandchildren what not to do. At least I hope nobody will copy this. Dad discovered that a little gas poured down a ground hog hole followed by a match could cause quite a bang. I don’t know how many critters dad actually euthanized but he certainly had fun trying. I also must add—Nick and Jordan—do not try this at home—Great grandpa was lucky—it is a very dangerous thing to do.
Finally, dad took joy in people. He liked to help people. This was evident in the loving way he visited his sister every day, feeding her an orange and taking her for a walk. When she could no longer walk, he rubbed her back. I remember the joy he expressed when Norma responded to him. There were also tears when he empathized with her. Dad didn’t have to know someone to enjoy talking to them. He often talked to people he didn’t even know. Ron and I went to Grande Prairie for a baby dedication. Tim and Liz’s huge church include the whole extended family in such events. That meant that Tim introduced 15 Hubes and ourselves. Later I started talking to a lady who happened to be sitting close by. She realized I was one of the grandma’s. She suddenly said surprised, “You are the Grandma from Ontario. I assumed you were from Alberta because you are so friendly” I asked what she meant and she said that people from Ontario don’t usually talk to strangers. I just said, “wow, I have become my dad!”
In conclusion, Dad found joy in the things he did. Dad found joy in life. “Miraculous” wasn’t dad’s style. As Mother Teresa once said, “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”
That’s my dad. I believe he left us a legacy. He had an unconditional love for his wife, he found joy in his family, he used his gifts and his time freely to bless others, and he accepted any person he met. We can emulate dad’s actions. I believe dad is a light for future generations. I know I will tell my grandchildren about him. I love you dad.
By Carol Gedcke
My Poem About Grandpa
My grandpa was a man so fine
Glad that I could call him mine
Telling stories often he did
Of family, friends, or life as a kid.
He liked to tell the tale
Of a wonderful female
He took her on a fantastic skate
And decided she would be his life mate
Wanting more laughter and more fun
They added 3 daughters and 3 sons
Then they welcomed kids so grand
That he always had a joke at hand
You could laugh up your sleeve or slap your knee
That was his kind of fun, you see
And for those 7 girls and 7 boys
He would make some wooden toys
Jenga, hall tree or a bus
He has made it all for us
But making one thing was not enough
With his skill he did something more tough
Disguising one thing as another
Like a bench turned picnic table
Or ladder or ironing board into a chia
These things he made with great care
Of his family he was so fond
That he would invite us to his pond
For hockey or just for a skate
And after he would fill our plate
With peas, kohlrobi, or a beet
Getting these was no small feat
For in his garden these would grow
As I am sure most of you know
But before these veggies could reach our spoons
He first had to deal with those blank raccoons.
Crokinole was a go-to game
His skill could have brought him fame
Tim remembers a game one time
A competition that was so fine
Shots that game they were a plenty
Most of them were worth a twenty
Dominoes, rummikub, or rook
Games with grandkids, he could write a book
Just be sure to obey the rule
To avoid looking like a fool
He also made a long, long slide
It got us wet, but we had a good, good ride
This is the story of a man named Ward
Who has now gone to be with his Lord
We miss him here, but forever after
Heaven has a lot more laughter.
By Stephanie Gedcke
My Grandpa
1. It was a series of moments most can only dream of. In a high intensity battle of skill, wit, and mental endurance, time seemed to stand still. For one ten-year-old, a lifetime memory in the making. For one older-than-ten-year-old grandpa, the nervousness of being outdueled and dethroned by a grandkid. My turn: sweat forming on my only just-developing chest hairs (ok, hair). My shaky fingers grip the slender wooden stick and fire. 20! His turn: Hoping of a miss turns into despair as he calmly drops his piece into the middle indent. My turn, his turn, my turn, his turn. At stake: blowing our consecutive 20s streak. Whether it was roulette or crokinole is a bit fuzzy, but someone had to give. One lapse of concentration was all it would take. My turn, his turn, my turn. But as the consecutive streak grew into the mid teens (there are 24 shots in a game of crokinole) my allegiances changed, I was no longer his opponent, but his teammate! Thoughts of a perfect game with my grandpa were becoming realistic! 14, 15, 16, 17, 18!! 24 in a row would have been the fairytale ending to this story. My young mind does not remember exactly how high we made it (18 sounds like a good guess), nor who eventually missed; but for me it was perfect. A life-long memory of crokinole. It was a series of moments most can only dream of: I got to live it. And so did my grandpa.
2. My dad used to make me a rink in the backyard. I skated on it for several hours most days. But our backyard was not big enough to compete with Grandpa’s rink. Plus I enjoyed skating and playing hockey with all my cousins when we would make the drive to Kossuth Road some Sundays. That hockey rink must have been lots of work. We didn’t see that work, but we reaped the benefits of a great sheet of ice to play on. Thanks Grandpa.
3. It felt like I was actually there. I could imagine the white towels being waved in succession. I could picture the greatest closer of all time (well, maybe not yet in 2001) standing on the mound in the precarious position of possibly losing Game 7 of the World Series. I could picture some Arizona Diamondback named Luis Gonzalez blooping a pitch over the shortstop (some guy named Jeter) and winning the world in one of the best baseball moments of my lifetime. I could picture it, but I wasn’t in Arizona. I was in my small bed in Elmira, Ontario, Canada listening to it on my clock radio! This is significant because as I was listening, the squirrels and even the coons could have possibly been listening to Grandpa’s radio in his garden too. Grandpa used to put a tv and/or radio outside, I guess so the critters would get distracted and not eat his vegetables! Maybe some stripe-tailed garden villain was listening with me, in grandpas’ garden.
Closing note:
I’m one of 14 grandchildren of Herbert Ward, yet he made each of us feel like one in a million.
My son, Toby, never got to be held by his great grandpa, but I will tell him stories of how he played crokinole with me, made a hockey rink, and even loved racoons so much that he bought them a tv...
Tim Gedcke
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