50 years ago, dad owned a bright yellow Harley Davison that he loved. I was five or six. He would occasionally take me on a ride. I do not remember wearing a helmet, but I’m sure I did. I remember holding very tightly around his waist while I sat behind him. One time we were riding next to a river on a dirt road. The road was 20 feet above the water below. Dad was paying attention to the water instead of the road ( I believe), because we started going down the embankment unexpectedly. I  heard dad start to panic trying to reassure me we were okay. I was able to step off the motorcycle and stand up immediately as Dad laid the bike on  it’s side. He recovered the motorcycle and got it back on the road. He was so amazed that I stepped off the bike and did not get hurt. He praised me up and down, but I think he was just happy we were both okay.  He told me to keep this story between him and I, but later found out that he had shared the story with mom. 

Later, on the same motorcycle, dad would try to teach mom how to ride at our house in the country. Dad showed mom where to brake and where to accelerate the bike. When he was sure she understood this, he let here go expecting her to drive around the house or the field in a circle. She opened the throttle and had a hard time steering. Dad ran after her as she drove right through the chicken coop causing chickens to fly everywhere and escape. At the time he did not think it was funny, but after a few years he would tell the story and laugh about it every time.

He will be  missed everyday. I hope he is telling everyone his stories up in heaven sitting right next to mom and the rest of the family. 

Dad lived to hunt. He would take anyone who would go along. My husband Chris went hunting several times together and they loved it. Both would come home talking about their adventures in the woods even if they didn’t see anything. Dad had a favorite place in Anderson Valley on his friend’s Sam’s land.  Dad took his little trailer with him which he named “The Mouse House.” Dad spent so much time up there, the locals and other yearly hunters deemed Dad , “Mayor Dave.”

Chris got his first buck hunting with Dad. Dad and Chris were so proud. Dad could not stop talking about the hunt.  They field striped it and the brought it home to finish the job. They continued to talk about their hunting adventures up until Dad died. They were even planning a trip up to the mountains to drive around a couple weeks before he died. 

I knew Dad loved documenting his hunting trips by photographs and video taping, and that he wrapped his deer antlers with the dear tag, which makes them legal to harvest. But what I discovered after his death when getting a set of horns to include in a flower arrangement was how meticulous he was about documenting everything about the hunt of the animals he harvested. He included the date, place, and time, along with any other information he deemed important. I believe if Dad could use modern day technology, he would have made professional documentaries about the mountains and his hunts.  The mountains and anyone who would share them with him was his passion in life. 

We all will miss his stories but remember him every time we go to the mountains… and everyday. 



Visitation

Funeral Service

Charlene L. Rocha (Randy)

Brenda Madsen (Christopher)

Linda Lollich

Leslie Lollich

Elizabeth Lollich

James Lollich

Mernon Lollich

David Rost Lollich leaves behind seven grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren to honor his memory.

OBITUARIO

David Rost Lollich

16 noviembre, 1936 – 10 septiembre, 2021

Whitehurst-Norton-Dias Funeral Service

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