Orville would wake the kids gently, leading them down to the lake to watch the sky bloom in pink and orange. He taught them to bait a hook, cast a line, and sit in stillness—lessons as rare and valuable as any inheritance.

Days passed in a kind of golden magic. We swam in cool water, grilled hot dogs over open flames, and listened to Orville’s stories—like how his father carried him three miles home after a bicycle crash. He taught the kids to whittle animals from sticks and to listen for loons calling across the lake. He told us about the war. How he used to pray to make it home alive. There was a tenderness in his voice, and the kids listened with wide, wondering eyes.

When storms rolled in, Orville taught them