I’m not sure which story about Pappy I should tell—there’s a lot of good ones. I remember sitting on pappy’s lap and taking a ride on his tractor. I was way younger, maybe 2 or 3. It was a warm and sunny day and it was either spring or summer. We went through the fields. I had a smile on my face and I was wearing kitty sunglasses.

I liked it when pappy would tease me and pinch me. It was playful and fun. Pappy made me feel happy. He would sit in his recliner chair and I remember he was wearing a hat and a yellow shirt with stripes and jeans. Pappy liked to be funny. He liked to make me laugh.

He also liked to give me string cheese for a snack. We ate salad and soup for dinner together. He made me a sandwich one day that was really good. One day I walked out on the porch and he helped me with one of those popsicles that you have to push up. He wanted to help me so I didn’t get all sticky.

I love pappy and I will miss him very much.

-Chloe (6)

At some point, my father, Todd Owens, became very interested in jumping up and down as we entered a household for family celebration.

I believe the first time Dad began this tradition, it was going to his parents' house for Easter dinner. Ben, Jess, and I were all relatively young... I may have been in my early teens, which meant Ben was a little shrimpy kid at just 2-3 years old. We got out of the car and Dad suggest that we all "hop" to the door and continue to hop until Grammy (Jane) came to the door to invite us inside.  We tried not to laugh as we were doing this but frankly, we looked completely ridiculous and were trying our best to keep a straight face for our unsuspecting host.

You can just imagine the look on Grammy's face as she opened the door to find all of us jumping around her porch. Puzzled, then laughing, she invited our little rabbit family inside.  And thus, a tradition was made.

While this Bunny Hop tradition began on Easter, it was repeated on demand for other holidays. I'm fairly certain I had to Bunny Hop onto a porch for several Christmas celebrations and a Mother's Day, maybe even for New Years morning. Sometimes we had to have fake ears (aka our pointer fingers sticking up at the sides of our heads) and sometimes we just let our hands dangle in front of our bodies so they bounced when we hopped. And frequently, Dad wasn't satisfied with just one person seeing the Hop... we had to hop around through the house until all the guests could see that we were nuts.

Long live the Bunny Hop on this Easter Sunday!  I'm still ready to jump around with the best of them. 

I met Todd in 1984 at Phase One in Sunbury, PA and he quickly became my mentor, along with some other great people there. I was new to the area and his friendship was very important to me at that time.

Part I: Morning Surprise
"Morning Surprise" happened when I was between 5-6 years old, so my memories are faint. I went camping with Dad, somewhere along the Penns Creek near the speck of village known as Weikert. I carried my sleeping bag in a pack on my back for the first time. I remember the thrilling experience of crossing the creek on that summer evening and plunging deep into the woods as the evening arrived. Darkness crept up and we built a nice fire, had a foil-wrapped feast cooked on the hot coals, and tucked inside our tent with the intention of early trout fishing. 

I woke up to rivulets of water near my face and the sound of driving rain against the tent. My sleeping bag was wet and water droplets were dripping off of ceiling of the tent onto my face. It was raining too hard to fish and I was wet and miserable, so we packed up our soggy stuff and trudged off. I started to cry because it was hard for me to walk in the high brush along with creek and carry my soaked things, plus the creek had risen and was rushing along. Somehow, Dad managed to pick me up, perch me on his shoulders, and carry his pack, my pack, and the fishing gear. He juggled me and this mass of stuff all the way back across the creek to the cleared trail, where I could easily walk again.

We got in the car and immediately stopped in the Weikert gas station for our ritual Tastycake feast: he, with his black coffee, Tandycakes, and newspaper; me, with my orange juice and Butterscotch Krimpets. With sugar coursing through my body and the heater on my wet feet, I forgot all about the thorns, rapids, and soaked sleeping bag. We managed to get home just in time to catch The Smurfs and have a lovely brunch of hot pancakes and bacon.

Part II: The Wet Weather That Will Live in Infamy
As some of you may recall, Dad liked to recant stories about himself and his children, particularly embarrassing ones. The story title references the fact that this particular tale was told by him to anyone that would listen (particularly young men who attempted to date me), and often told more than one time.  Importantly, every time Dad told this story, he cracked himself up.

We decided to do a canoe camping trip one evening - probably in August. I was older, maybe 12, and had been on shorter canoeing excursions with Dad that summer. We packed up a fancy steak dinner and potatoes, tied the canoe onto the Audi, went off into the summer afternoon. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.  We drove over Jack's Mountain into Millheim and took a tiny road to the town of Coburn, where the Penns Creek takes horseshoe curve.  There, we put pushed off with our sights on camping at Weikert, several miles downstream.

I was the front paddler with the job of warning Dad about upcoming rocks, trees, or other potential dangers. Stronger and very experienced, he was the muscle and the rudder in the back, powering us along. We glided along through the clear water, occasionally scraping along rocks because the river was low and I was too busy gawking to catch all the obstacles.

With the sun was at our backs, we paddled for at least an hour, enjoying the serenity, wildflowers, and fleeting glimpses of fish. The light started to fade from the bright dazzle of day. It took another mile of paddling to realize that it was too early for dusk. We finally turned around to notice dark, menacing clouds that were quickly overtaking the sun. We paddled faster and hoped we'd make it to our destination and pitch the tent before the clouds overtook us.

No luck; a light patter began to fall, making a soothing sound on the trees around us. We continued on, as the rain became steadier and steadier. By the time we rolled up to Weikert, it was pouring rain punctuated by hail. We had to dump out the water we'd collected in the canoe and drag it far away from the rising creek. We hiked in silently and pitched the tent as thunder crashed around us and the rain and wind grew violent. 

Dad had me stay inside the tent with my growling stomach in the dark as he went to look for firewood with our little flashlight. He gathered what he could and put it under a tarp. We sat inside the tent and waited for what seemed like AGES as the rain gradually slowed enough for a campfire attempt. After a few false starts, Dad managed to get a smokey orange flame and I cheered. I came out of the tent as he was starting to put our steak into his little cooking tin. My stomach took over. I announced quickly, "Looks done to me, Dad."  According to Dad's legend, the steak was still raw and bloody, and I took some convincing about its need for further cooking. 

Our little dinner took quite a long time to cook on the fire that evening, but I don't remember a meal ever tasting so good. Even as a vegetarian for 15 years, I can still recall the taste of that late night campfire steak. In fact, I probably consumed the most steak I have ever eaten in my life that evening, and it was thanks to the true outdoorsmanship of my dad.

There are so many memories and laughs. I remember how whenever I came over he would ask me to play some piano for him, simply because he loved to listen. I wasn't often very good but he still wanted to hear. He always called me “kiddo” and I loved it. One of my favorite memories of him is when I was hanging out with Izzy one day when we were in elementary school and we all had a tickle fight. We laughed so hard. Todd always made me feel loved and welcomed in their home even if he was having a bad day. He was an amazing cook. Some of the best meals I’ve ever had were at the Owens’ house where Wendy and Todd would cook us up a fantastic dinner and we’d all sit down and talk. He always was interested in what was happening in my life and genuinely was interested in my silly stories. Todd will forever hold a special place in my heart. I love you and Izzy and Wendy. You are all my adopted family and wherever you are is home. 

I won't lie-Todd and I had a strained, rough and tumble relationship while growing up. And being that I was four years younger, I took the brunt of our many fights. But at some point, I made peace with all that; I realized that what happened was no different than what happened in about a zillion other families.

Everyone probably knows the stereotype of the middle child; "the problem child" and Todd did not disappoint in that regard! I don't recall anything really terrible that he ever did, but he was a real "test" for mom and dad for awhile. If there was trouble anywhere, Todd would be the Marco Polo to discover it!

There is one story that exemplified Todd's misadventures while growing up, and it was humorously repeated many times over the family's holiday table. In 1969, we all trekked cross country in a van that dad had converted into a camper. Todd would have been 15 at the time.

On one of our many visits that summer, we stopped at a tar pit which supposedly had held dinosaur bones for viewing. If there were bones to see, that part of the visit was completely snuffed out by Todd's misdeed. He had just been given new white sneakers and was warned NOT to go near that tar lake. The very next thing that I knew (seemingly moments later), dad was hunched over those new sneakers. He was muttering to himself while furiously scrubbing them with a gasoline soaked rag.

In thinking about Todd, there are three wonderful things that I learned through his example. The first was to find the humorous side of life. The second was to be interested in people-he had a way of asking questions of me, that drew me out. I deeply enjoyed that and I try to interact that way with others.The third thing I learned from Todd is to try doing new things, even when they are outside my comfort zone. I was the natural one at fixing and building things, but Todd accomplished a lot with his hands. Building two houses is no small feat!

Realizing all this now, I am sad because I never told him of those things that he inspired in me-its too late now. But its not too late to acknowledge others in my life who are still living. So, in an indirect way, I guess Todd taught me four important things.

Rest in peace, Bro. And belated thanks.

Love, Jon

Todd and I always seemed to have memorable times when we fished together. One day we went bass fishing near the old WPA dam on the Susquehanna River. Todd wanted to get to a good spot on an island. The river was high but we managed to wade across. Todd was 8 inches taller than me so he had an easier time. I struggled and worried about getting back the whole time we fished. The sun was going down so we headed back across the river. I held Tood’s hand but about halfway across I got swept downriver through concrete pylons of the ruined dam.  Todd had given me advice to face downriver and make sure my feet were up in case I smashed into a pylon. Very comforting.  I managed to swim to another island. Todd yelled “Swim, swim” from the shore and I yelled “Boat, boat” from the island. After carrying on with this “conversation” for sometime, Todd disappeared for what seemed to be hours. I was shivering in the dark in my wet clothes and wondering where Todd was. He appeared with boat cushions, swam over to the island and rescued me.  From then on we usuallygreeted each other with  “Swim, swim, boat, boat.”

Todd and I were as close as a brother and sister could be. His was so loving, giving and kind. He was quirky, witty and soulful. I will miss him the rest of my life

Mr. Owens was a man unlike any I’ve met before. As we all know, he loved to tell his stories. I had the pleasure of listening to a few. However, he also enjoyed listening. He would ask all sorts of questions, and genuinely listen to the answer that you would produce. He loved to learn about people and their stories, and was a great man to have a conversation with; he was a very intelligent man. 

Mr. Owens and I talked a lot about fishing. I believe that every time I saw him he would tell a story of a trip he made, and I would do the same. He loved and appreciated nature, and with age I have gained that love that he had. 

Mr. Owens raised a great family. Every one of his children that I had the chance to meet were all Class-A individuals. All being very respectful, friendly, and easy to get along with. He did a great job. 

Most individuals look to leave their mark on the world before their time is up. It is safe to say that Mr. Owens did that and then some. I am thankful for the time that we had together, and he will never be forgotten.  

Rest Easy Mr. Owens

Every time I ever left to go to Isabels I was always greeted by Todd. Either on the porch or in his Lazy-Boy, he’d always turn to me jokingly and say “not you again.” It always gave me a good laugh as I was usually there daily. When introduced to other friends of Isabels, Todd occasionally struggled to recall their names, however he always seemed to remember me, probably because he had to since I basically lived there over the summer. Whenever Todd was curious about any situation involving Isabel he would always come to me for my opinion on it. He often relied on my opinions and experiences to help Isabel with hers which always meant a lot to me. Also Todd always made great steaks. 

Thanks for the great memories Todd,

Rachel

Most of the stories about Todd have been told to me over the years by Deb and the rest of his family. Yet I’ve been a character in a few as well. Some can be told and some are better left untold, as I’m sure he would hate to be remembered for walking through a rest stop parking lot with his pants off and a coat wrapped around him! ;)

One that stands out to me was the time Todd offered to take Deb and I to the airport for a flight to Spain. We were heading south, relying on Siri to show us the way. At some point, Todd thought Siri’s directions were off and convinced us that he knew a better route. So off we go, chatting away, confident that Todd would get us to the airport with plenty of time to spare.

After an hour or two on the road, we found ourselves in bumper-to-bumper, rush hour traffic feeling a little nervous but Todd reassured us that we were getting close to BWI and would be just fine.

BWI we shouted. We were going to Dulles. Somehow, in spite of the tension from that point on, we arrived at the right airport just in time to catch our flight and end this story on a happy note.

Todd was on a road of his own, following a drumbeat that was one of a kind. He was weird and wacky at times but mostly wonderful. I enjoyed being in his company and always felt that conversations with him were engaging and thought provoking. I was not ready for those conversations to end, even those held in a car on the way to the wrong airport.

I didn't know Todd long. I only had a few interactions with him. But the day I sat around the fire with him and a portion of his family, he did something that most people never do in my presence. He asked me about me and waited until I told the story. It felt awkward at first, because I rarely talk about myself. I didn't know if my story would be interesting enough for these people that I didn't really know. But I told it, and he laughed and we kept talking. And I learned something. It felt great that someone was actually interested in hearing a portion of my story. 

I'm thankful that I spent that portion of my day with Todd and his beautiful family. What amazing and accepting people they all are. Todd, I wish you peace within your soul.

Wednesday, Nov. 21, 2018: A final goodbye

Mid-afternoon, Dad was about to head up the road and asked if I wanted any food from Hilsher’s. I declined, but he insisted, so I compromised for some mac-n-cheese. When he returned, he handed me my mac-n-cheese upon request, along with two chicken legs and two mozzarella sticks: a meal of champions as he joked. After scarfing that down, we decided to set up some targets, a few half-filled water bottles and a giant pumpkin, and fire his pistol a few rounds. We didn’t have much luck, which is kinda’ embarrassing since we were aiming at a huge bright-orange pumpkin, but we still got a kick out of it. Long story short, I am beyond grateful for that last interaction with him, as he went above and beyond per usual. 

From playing mind games on the way to pre-k, camping, canoeing, boating in Canada, playing miniature golf, riding on the tractor, wading for minnies, our last fishing trip on Penn’s Creek, to our unofficial last goodbye and everything in between, I’ll hope to cherish these memories and always live up to being his little girl. 

Love always, 

Squirrel

"Can I tell you a story? Which version would you like? ...The short, medium, or full-length version? I'll try not to make it too long."

Both on the phone and in person, that's how conversations with Dad many times began. He was always eager to share...an amusing encounter with a stranger, a frustration from the day or a memory from long ago. You'd never know what kind of story you'd be getting. But, it was always captivating and sprinkled with humor, which came in many varieties including those that were sometimes absurd.   

So... Can I tell you a story? You might get the long version this time. I'll try not to make it too long.

My earliest memories of Dad were him coming home after work. He'd sit down on the couch to relax for a little while, and watch MASH or Cheers, and I'd sit with him, snuggled up, as Mom made dinner. I remember him spending a lot of time outside, and teaching me to love the outdoors and everything about nature. I can picture him in his red bandanna and jeans on the tractor on a spring day, the smell of the freshly mowed field and warmth of the sun on his white t-shirt as I crawled up onto his lap. I can remember making foil packets of vegetables, potatoes and steak--food to cook while we would go camping at a lean-two. One of the many days he took me fishing, his real passion, he entrusted me to carry his Thermos and made me promise that I wouldn't drop it in creek as we crossed the old suspension bridge along the Penns. Naturally, being 5 or 6, I accidentally dropped the Thermos into the creek, so Dad had to chase it. He ran fast enough to recover it, fortunately, but always reminded me of the story--including in our conversation during my last time with him.

Dad always said he was my number one fan. I believe he was, and probably still is. He taught me so much that has made me who I am today. He had the patience to help me with my writing assignments in school; I learned a great deal from his constructive feedback, delivered succinctly and with love. I had an appreciation for his ability to write creative content for marketing, and developed a love for reading and writing through observing the creativity and passion that fueled his work. He would take me to horseback riding lessons on my weekends with him, knowing how much I loved it, and photographed me riding my Quarter horse, Lonni, for my 4-H project. (I still have and cherish the photos.) 

He taught me to drive. I learned on his black Audi A4 on the back roads when I was 15. The pungent smell of fishy creek water from his creel and hip waiters often wafted from his car upon opening its doors. And it was a stick shift that I stalled many times while he patiently told me to "listen to the engine," as I attempted to take off in first gear. He'd always turn the damn seat warmer on in the middle of the summer, too, and act like he had no idea what was going on when you'd scold him for burning your butt. I can hear him laughing...how clever. He also forced me to guess every classic rock song that came on the radio, a game I came to love so much that I gave him a run for his money! 

I love the memories of Canada with Dad. The annual trip to Charleston Lake in Ontario was a family tradition that began six or more decades ago, and one that Dad continued and shared with my siblings and I. He loved taking the boat (pronounced "boot" if we were headed north) out and giving us all a good spin before killing the engine and casting our lines. And of course the fish fry that would follow, with beer-battered bass, homemade tarter sauce, coleslaw and crisp, fresh-cut fries. Having an entire week to fish on the lake was a real treat for him...and Wendy, Deb, Ellen, Ben, Izzy, and I were more than happy to spend our days relaxing there with him.

Dad taught me to be a great parent. He was a good listener when I was growing up (even when I was in hot water). On tough days, he taught me that laughter is sometimes the best medicine. He also encouraged me to pursue the things that bring me the greatest happiness, and to never hang my head when something (or a lot of things) aren't going well...that confidence and perseverance are the only way. I'm able to show my daughter what strong means, thanks to his example. And he was one hell of a grandparent. There wasn't a time that we gathered that he didn't immediately have Chloe on his lap, deviling her and making her giggle. She has said many times that she really wishes that Pappy Owens could “get her belly” one more time.

This is about the time in his story, Dad would say, "Shit Jess, I was going to tell you the medium-length story and I really got carried away. You gotta learn when to tell me I'm getting carried away." 

Dad, I never wanted to cut your stories short. I could have listened to them all day. You have given me so many of my own stories to cherish, stories which I will forever share with those who are willing to listen.Thank you for all that you passed on to me: my spirited personality (which, coincidentally, you never owned up to gifting), an affinity for nature and passion to protect it, a knack for writing (I hope I've done you justice here), the ability to drive my six-speed manual without stalling it, and the strength to be an incredible parent to my daughter.

May your soul be free. I promise to make you proud. I love you forever,

Jessica

When I was young Ben and I were very close. My fondest memories of Todd were made when Ben and I spentweekends at their home in Newport in the midst of renovating. The amount of love you could fit in the upstairs of their soon-to-be new home still warms my heart to this day. Todd was a wonderful father and will forever reside in my heart.  

My memories of Todd are all professional..... he was the most delightful man. Always made it a point to greet me before I even made eye contact with him. The thing I remember most  though is how highly he spoke of his son, Ben. Mind you, Ben was a mutual interest point for us both.... but he brought him up frequently .... and how proud he was of him. Those are the best memories because they were filled with happiness and glow in his eyes. 

Alisha Boyer

Dear Todd,

What can I write? You were the half with the words, the half with the literary flare. How can I pick just one story? So many memories, sweet memories, life-challenging memories, hilarious memories, memories filled with passion and laughter ... and tears. 

Do you remember watching old reruns of Star Trek? Do you remember our trip to Mexico? Do you remember the "gila monster" in the creek? Do you remember when we all went to Canada, year after year? Do you remember camping with the kids on an island in the middle of the Susquehanna River, or riding bike on the Isle of Q, or miniature golfing at the Ferry Boat Campsites? Do you remember? So many memories...

Todd, you were a force of nature, unstoppable, resourceful, exotic, eccentric, intelligent, and the kindest and gentlest soul I've ever known. We danced, we clashed, we lived, we created. I miss you, I wish you were here… and yet, I know you are free.

Love, Wendy