Warren Spicer

“It’s time for me to go,” he said.

Two days later before midnight on Saturday, August 26, 2023 our beloved husband, father, grandpa and great-grandpa passed away peacefully with family by his side.

“I could write a book!” he once said of his many experiences. Instead, he told stories. Had they been written down, countless pages would have been bound in strength and titled Family, Friends and Farming.

CHAPTER 1-THE EARLY YEARS

Robert Warren Spicer was born February 12, 1931, on the family farm in Davyroyd. He was #9 in a family of 13. Life there shaped who he became and resulted in his strong character traits. Dad liked to recount that as a child he was once referred to as “… that saucy Warren Spicer!” He was also extremely stubborn.

His earliest memories were of times spent with siblings, harsh weather conditions, rural school and hard work. He liked to recall games of baseball and summers spent picking saskatoons and gooseberries. One year the saskatoons hung like grapes and Dad and his siblings picked cream cans and flour sacks full of them.

“Ma put up 200 jars of saskatoons,” he’d say. But as time passed the number changed to 187 then, “Maybe it was only 87.”

He shared stories of long, cold treks or rides with a team to Davyroyd School. He also took pride in remembering a poem he recited as a little boy at a Christmas Concert:

“I’m just a little gentleman getting up to speak.

I’m getting kind of shaky so I guess I’ll take my seat!”

He remembered the birth and early years of the Dionne Quintuplets (1934) and that they were delivered by Dr. Dafoe. He talked of the Dirty thirties and how wind, dust and grasshoppers made life challenging. On a particularly dry year armyworms turned the ground green. The winter of 1946 was extremely harsh.

“Ma never left the house from October to April.”

His first truck was a 1927 with a plywood cab. He also owned a Model A. The only dog him and Mother owned was a little one named Whiskey.

He was very social and often out and about with his Davyroyd buddies. He told many stories of their antics that continued for years. One of his favorites was the time four of them were getting into Dad’s car after an evening at the Royal Hotel in Moose Jaw. Just then a police cruiser drove up. When the officer opened the passenger door one of the men fell to the sidewalk.

“The police asked where he thought we were going,” Dad would say with a grin, “and I told him

‘I’m taking these guys home.’ The officer said that was a good thing.”

He learned to work hard at a young age, an ethic that would continue throughout his life.

“I was 6 years old when Ma and Dad sent me down to the neighbors to get eggs. They gave me a dime for a dozen. Now you’d have to be 18.”

He began farming on his own in 1953.

CHAPTER 2-THE MIDDLE YEARS

He married our mother on October 31,1956 after meeting her at a dance three years earlier. Us kids arrived in 1961, 1963 and 1965. The first house we lived in was built by his father and a neighbor. He bought a new one for the home quarter in 1974.

Dad was a true farmer. He raised cattle, pigs (at one time over 500), geese, ducks, chickens and turkeys while seeding and harvesting his crops. He was particularly proud of his bulls and kept pictures of Charlie and Big John. He did his best to ensure all the animals thrived. It was not uncommon for him to bring weak calves and piglets into the house (we often followed suit with injured birds). He also planted gardens. One year his zucchini crop filled an entire livestock trough.

At the end of the day he would smell of oil and was covered in chaff, dust and grease.

“Take off the boots,” he would say as he settled into a chair.

We would unlace the leather foundations he stood on every day then he’d get washed up while telling us to do the same. He would enjoy a standard, favorite meal of two pieces of buttered bread, meat and potatoes. He relaxed by watching TV and reading The Western Producer, National Enquirer (he truly believed in UFOs!), Readers’ Digest and Assiniboia Times. He would also doodle pictures of farm animals on pieces of white paper.

Despite only having a grade 10 education Dad successfully managed the family farm for decades and, until his final year, calculated his GST submissions by hand. He would keep every receipt and for years ironed bags of them in the spring.

He also taught us to work hard by taking us to haul bales, move cattle, pick rocks and put granaries together in stifling heat. When he wasn’t working he looked forward to going to Assiniboia on weekends, the annual Davyroyd Picnic, auction sales and driving around the district and nearby communities of Zenith, Crane Valley, Readlyn and Limerick to check crops and visit friends and family.

CHAPTER 3-THE LATER YEARS

In 2000 Dad and Mother moved to Assiniboia. He bought their house without showing her and maintained it was the best one in town.

“I can see everything from here!” he would say while sitting on his deck. During his stay in hospital before accepting he had to transfer to long term care he demanded to return there.

“It’s my home!”

Long before we realized our mother’s health was failing Dad took over daily household tasks. He was a very capable cook, having perfected fried eggs, potatoes, eggplant, tomatoes and sausage in his younger days (a standard meal when our mother was nursing at the hospital). He also made the best homemade oyster soup. Dad preferred his meat well-done (similar to shoe leather!) and wasn’t a fan of trying new foods.

He became a regular at coffee row, looking forward to daily news and visits with good friends. When our mother’s health deteriorated in 2014 he adjusted his time to ensure he was home throughout the day. He stood alone at the kitchen sink to wash and dry dishes, a task they previously shared.

Dad would have continued to do so but in 2017 our mother entered long term care and he began life on his own. Before Covid he made the almost daily trek to the Nursing Home, taking her Cheezies, cookies, grapes and cherry tomatoes. This was followed by trips to the post office and grocery store. Whether he fully grasped that Mother’s memory had faded is unknown; what mattered was that he didn’t forget her.

“I went over to the Home today; everything was good there,” he would say during nightly phone calls. “Did you see Ma?” he asked every time we visited and later when they lived a hallway apart.

Dad was an avid reader throughout his life and enjoyed the many magazines and books he was given over the years. His favorites were those about farming and new versions of Ripley’s Believe It or Not. He also thoroughly enjoyed hearing and telling jokes, grinning even more if they contained, as Mother would say, “…filth…!” Dad also became a Dr. Phil fan, often recounting what the show was about and shaking his head.

While still at home Dad was blessed to have family with him, either in person or by phone, on a daily, weekly or monthly basis and on holidays where he always carved the turkey until recent years. Time spent with them included Kentucky Fried Chicken lunches with pie, cheesecake or donuts for dessert, visits to our mother, driving around to check crops or see the countryside, stops for coffee, a sundae or restaurant lunches of chicken strips or fish with mashed potatoes. When he entered long term care in January, 2023, that family presence continued with visits, phone calls and get-togethers in the Activity Room. While he looked forward to company with everyone, his face lit up the most when seeing his great-grandchild, “...the young one…”

EPILOGUE

“I didn’t think about going until a few days ago, then it got to be too much.”

He wanted to live until his 92nd birthday and surpassed that by six months. Despite ailing physical health the past eight his mind remained sharp until his final hours. We often marveled at his forearms: strong and firm after all the years of physical labor. That he seldom went to a doctor, never to a dentist, continued to live on his own after a stroke in 2018, recovered from Covid and rallied through hospitalization at 91 was testament to Dad’s inner strength as well. We realize, despite how long he lived, the time with our father, “Gibney”, “Gramps,” was not enough. We are grateful for what we did have and the legacy he has left behind. He was a humble man who never complained or boasted. His standard attire of long johns, blue jeans, undershirt, checkered shirt, suspenders and hankie were testament to his satisfaction with simple things in life.

As a farmer he realized his livelihood was dependent on the weather and each new season. As such, he was an optimist.

When asked if it was going to rain a couple years ago, he replied “Well certainly! We just don’t know when!”

He will be remembered for his sense of humor, keen memory and many stories; giving his grandchildren knee lifts, bounces and asking how the animals were; eating pie almost every day and his fondness for Sprite, bacon and Family Feud; silent laughs, knee slaps and sly kicks under the table when he didn’t want to do something; naming a seagull Sam and missing it when it left for the winter; buying Cheerios for the birds when he didn’t have enough scraps; not wanting to get rid of things that one day might be useful; growing tomatoes on the deck and of course, his many sayings:

“Every time I turn that TV on there’s tragic!”

We will remember all he taught us: to always travel with enough gas in the car, don’t get too close to the curb and don’t hit the pole at the end of the driveway; as long as you have a $2.00 bill you’ll never be broke; you’re never too old to hand out Halloween candy; duct tape and nails will fix almost anything; the floor isn’t dirty; the fridge can be empty as long you have porridge for breakfast; the value and promise of four words: “See you next week”; few things are more beautiful than a Saskatchewan sunset; sitting on a deck is time well-spent.

Of the many gifts Dad gave us, life on the farm was the greatest. We were blessed to awaken to blue sky and the sound of birds; breathe fresh air and play in sunshine; be sustained on farm-raised food; watch the sun set on waist-high wheat and pristine snow drifts; to hold, nurture and love all animals; make our own way in life and accept responsibility; experience the seasons in their purest form and accept as each one passes, life and death go hand in hand.

Dad was predeceased by his parents Gordon and Robina (Noble), siblings/their spouses Alice (Ken) Buchanan, Cecil (Ann) Spicer, Evelyn Salander, Earl “Mick” (Chris) Spicer, George (Ede) Spicer, John Spicer, Mary (Ralph) Pryce, Ruth (Art) McCann, Shirley (Doug) Harvey, Vera (Bruce) Willis, brother-in-law Don Livingstone, sister-in-law Steph (Bill) Yates, sister-in-law Loretta Mattus. Left to cherish his memory are his wife Ann (nee Mattus) of 66 years; Carol Ann Spicer and her two sons Cody (Sheena)-Cailyn and Ally; Logan (Sara)-Calvin; Janice (Ken) Koch and their children Kodie; Kenneth (Yuliia); Jade (Tyler); Ken “Skip” Spicer and his two daughters Leah (Kevin); Emily (Caitlyn); sister Verna Livingstone and her family; brother Lloyd (Edna) and their family; sister-in-law Rose Spicer and her family; Kirk Salandar and his family; sister-in-law Liz Ellerby and her family; brother-in-law George Mattus (Hope) and their family; brother-in-law John Mattus and his family; Willy Yates, numerous nieces, nephews, neighbors and friends.

While out for a final drive a couple years ago he raised his hand to acknowledge a man in an oncoming truck who, in turn, did the same.

When asked who it was, he said “I don’t know. I wave at everybody!”

Dad spent hours watching, listening to and feeding birds. In return, on the beautiful summer day that was his last at Ross Payant Nursing Home, they danced and sang outside his window until sunset.

In keeping with our father’s wishes there will be no public service.

To honor his memory, please wave at others and spend time with birds…

Immortality

Do not stand

By my grave, and weep.

I am not there,

I do not sleep—

I am the thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glints in snow

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle, autumn rain.

As you awake with morning’s hush,

I am the swift, up-flinging rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight,

I am the day transcending night.

Do not stand

By my grave, and cry—

I am not there,

I did not die.

— CLARE HARNER, Topeka, Kan. Published for the first time in the above form in The Gypsy, (page16) December 1934

Until we meet again:

You take care now…

Love you…

Bye…

Fond memories and expressions of sympathy for the Spicer family may be shared at www.rossfuneralservice.com. Arrangements entrusted to Ross Funeral Service, Assiniboia, SK