Fare Well Dad. A Life Well Lived.

Vitty A. Mattus. 1914 – 2014. My dad’s self portrait from 1960, when he was my age.

My dear friends and readers, I am sad to announce that my father passed away this past Monday. I’ll be taking a few days to deal with plans and family matters, but obviously, at one hundred years old, this is both a life loss, and a life celebration.

Many of you have been following his life on this blog, as he we were so blessed to have had him for such a long time. He died peacefully, but the past few weeks have been difficult, as he suddenly began fading. His memory and sight getting worse, but not his appetite!. He had some fresh strawberry shortcake and rhubarb from the garden Saturday night, (as well as a double scotch!), but we had made plans to place him in a nursing facility on Sunday  because we simply could not care for him in a safe manner anymore.

He died 12 hours later at the home, which is so sad, as we are still trying to wrap our heads around that, but he simply didn’t know who we were anymore, and he kept choking on water and liquids ( we assume that he chocked, which stopped his breathing, but we’ll never be sure). I’m glad that he did not suffer, but this was the only glitch.  He remained remarkably healthy right up until the very the end. What an amazing life he had. Attached are a few images from some of his sketch books and projects over the years – clearly, he was a bit of a documenter, as I am! But he would have illustrated his blog!

I may not be posting for a while, but I am sure that you all understand. I may share a few photo essays here and there, as the garden is really blooming like crazy right now – almost as if it knew.

We are focusing on preparing for his service and memorial on Saturday, June 14 here in the  same home and garden where he was raised as a child which is pretty cool. I keep telling people that my dad and I were not that close, (what ever ‘close’ means, today), but I am realizing that our relationship could better be described as ‘brothers’ — we have many similar interests and passions, and that kept us closer than most father/son relationships. I am probably over-sharing here, but my other brothers and my dad could always talk about sports, but it was with dad that I could get excited about discovering some painted trillium or a yellow lady slipper with, and he would share stories with me about his discoveries.

I realize now, that I have many memories of plants and my dad. Everything from him showing me my first trillium when I was very young, to picking winter greens to make wreaths and garlands for the holidays. From hunting for Mayflowers in the early spring, to foraging for wild nuts, mushrooms and berries ( which we all felt was just child labor!). Just this week, I thought about helping dad plant tomato plants, tearing neat pages of old Life magazines, and folding them into cut-worm collars, to helping him peel sweet corn, pick buckets of string beans or digging potatoes.

It now seems that all my early memories flow along the cycle of the four seasons, with each one involving the garden or plant life in some, unique and deep way. Pussy Willows had to be picked on March 4th, and we would load the station wagon with long whips that he would force in the cellar, and in October, apples would fill the car with bushels that would last the entire winter in our storeroom.

Growing up, dad kept us entertained with things like this – home made postcards, this is one he sent to my brother John when he was at summer camp circa 1959 – it seems we liked that corn that he grew, and that he missed. Yes, that’s me on the end.

Blueberries? Don’t even get me started. For three weeks in late April, he would have us kids picking wild blueberries from sunrise to sunset, with canning jars tied to our belts. He knew that 8 quarts was about our limit, and he could tell if I, or more likely, my sister, under-delivered to home base. This was serious foraging. I could not do it now, but when I was 9 years old, it was fun.

He taught me my first botanical Latin name – Uvularia perfoliata, when I was about 5 years old, and he would take me bird watching every warbler migration when I was young, letting me skip school just so that I could spy a Scarlet Tanager or a Chestnut Sided warbler during that single, short week of migration in mid May. All this,  simply because he felt that it was more important than fractions and Math (I still consider it so).

Fishing for ‘Kivers and Hornpout” ( local slang for blue gills and catfish) to making sure that we cut the lawn in neat plaid patterns, because after all, he was an artist, and at one time, a part-time greenskeeper. Help us boys build a love/hate relationship with summer, as once June came along and school was out, most of our time was spent weeding, and hoeing. We did know that at the end of everyday, we could go jump in the nearby lake and then down a few dozen ears of sweet corn for dinner.

There are secrets about my dad that only the closest of my friends know….but it may be his secret to long life. He liked to sunbathe nude – I mean, right up until two weeks ago. ‘Nuf said. But he did believe that the secret to a long life is wild blueberries, sardines everyday, sun where the sun don’t shine, and a double scotch and soda every day. He had his last ear of corn last saturday, and his last Scotch on Sunday. Not bad.

So,  yeah… Enough said. And although he may have been deficient with the more ‘traditional’ fatherly advice, he sure made up for it by inspiring me so much – as I can thank him for my deep love of plants, birds, and my true lifelong appreciation for the arts and the beauty of the natural world.

Thanks dad, for being you.

Godspeed, Pops.

A gardening article my dad illustrated for our local newspaper.

I am finding so many of my dad’s Feature Parade covers in his files. Many are just beautiful pieces from the 1930’s and 1940’s. I literally have hundreds – up to 600 so far.

In WWII, his professional art career basically ended, but that didn’t mean that the US ARMY didn’t overlook his talents.

Also during the war, he created a few hundred posts like this. A little more racy, for the ‘boys’ of WWII.

Most people and curators are familiar with his watercolors, and WPA work as an American Regionalist working between 1935 to 1942. This early work from Hawaii, shows a classic 1940’s color palette. It reminds me of Tibor Gergely, an contemporary of his. I have about 20 of these Hawaiian pieces, the rest are in private collections.

I particularly like this watercolor from the early 40’s in Honolulu – the Royal Hawaiian Hotel – alone on Waikiki beach!

These are from some full page sketch articles that my dad used to do for our local newspaper in the 1940’s.

I discovered this today in one of his scrapbooks. Dad actually had a pet woodchuck named Capoosty!

I guess Kapoosty didn’t’ live that long, so along came Kilbahsee the Woodchuck. Now I know what we can do with those pesky woodchucks!