It happened sometime on Friday in the afternoon. He went down into the cellar to make on a fire just to take the chill off the old house, spring days can feel damp and cold in the Maritimes.

He got it all ready. Just like he had done thousands of times before. Showing the same care and patience, I am sure. Crumpling the paper, spliting the kindling, picking out a few choice pieces of well dried maple - the same maple he himself had cut and split and ranked in long straight rows just the spring before.

Just before lighting, he took a rest. At 92 he sat his bones down on a round end and leaned against the woodpile. He has not ceased to rest.

He was one of the greats.
You too would have been richer had you known him.

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately,

to front only the essential facts of life,

and see if I could not learn what it had to teach,

and not, when I came to die,

discover that I have not lived.”
Henry David Thoreau