My Uncle Vern

I lost my Uncle Vern Baum on February 28th, just a little over two months ago.

In my mom's family, Vern was the baby, and I was the first grandchild.  We were only eight years apart, and we grew up more like siblings than uncle and niece.  When I was a baby, and my dad was overseas in the military, my mom and I spent some time living with my grandparents in Hanna.  Later on, when Vern was out of high school and started getting jobs in the city, he would often live with my family.  All of this time combined, I probably lived in the same house with Vern for more than half my life.  He taught me everything I know about being cool, and I know more about it than I let on!  ;)

Throughout the years, Vern was often my best friend.  He probably knew me better than anyone, because I knew I could trust him with my most tender feelings.  He would understand and he would love me no matter what.  I knew I could always count on Vern to support me.  Vern was part of a lot of peoples' lives, and a lot of them feel the same way.  He had a way of making you feel ten feet tall.

Naturally, I think of Vern a lot lately.  It seems that when you've lost someone, there are things about them that you suddenly notice or remember, things that you wouldn't have thought of while they were still here.  It seems odd, but one of the things that I remember most often when thinking of Vern is his hands.  I can picture his hands exactly, as if they were right here in mine.  Of course, being a Baum, Vern's hands were huge and strong.  Vern always moved his hands meticulously, though.  Despite their size, he could have been a clock maker.  He was always doing something with a pocketknife, trimming his cuticles or cutting a loose thread from the hem of his jeans.  I suppose I remember this sort of thing so vividly because I so desperately want to hang on to any memory of Vern that is tangible, something I can hold on to.  I don't ever want those memories to fade.  I miss him so dearly.

Barn Wood Headboard

My grandparents were gracious enough to let us have some barn wood that was taken off of my great-grandparents' barn (the "shaving shed" from their sawmill) when my grandpa replaced the roof a couple of years ago.  Patrick brought it home, sawed it down to size, and mounted it on our bedroom wall as a headboard!  I absolutely love it.  The color of the wood is gorgeous, and completely natural.  Patrick only used a clear sealant on the wood.  A lot of people buy furniture made from reclaimed barn wood, but I am so proud that this wood is from my own family's history, and untouched by anyone outside the family!  I plan to talk to my grandma about further history of the barn, but I suspect that the lumber was probably harvested by my own great-grandpa, since he was a logger, which just goes to make it even cooler and more special!  I am a lucky girl to have such a rich family history, and even luckier to have a husband who equally loves and appreciates it!