My Dad

This is my favorite picture of my Dad. His friend, Herb Steeves, took it on a camping trip they took before Dad married Mom and Herb married Bertha. My Dad always loved the woods. When he wasn't traipsing through the woods, hiking, hunting or taking pictures, he was dreaming of being in the woods. Especially when he was in school. Day dreaming was what he did best in school. I inherited that from my Dad, I guess.

My Dad, Donald Malcolm Moore

1922 - 2005

Anyway, Herb was a funny kind of a fellow. Sometimes he got on Dad's nerves, even though they were great pals. Dad and Mom set their wedding date and sent out their invitations. Now you have to understand that Dad and Herb ran in the same social circle. So Herb and Bertha decided to get married too. On July 2, 1949, the same date that Dad and Mom were getting married. As the Moore wedding invitations went out first, not too many of their friends went to Herb and Bert's wedding. They were all up at the farm, at the wedding on the front lawn in Hillgrove.

Then, not only did Herb and Bertha get married the same day as Mom and Dad, Herb wanted my parents to go on their honeymoon with them. Out west, in a car. Not only did Dad and Mom want to go on their own little honeymoon together in Saint John, they couldn't afford to go out west or to miss time at work. Herb nagged and pestered, but Dad persevered. So Bert and Herb invited the two spinster McCready sisters,  somewhat older than themselves, to go on their honeymoon with them. They all drove out west and had a grand ole' honeymoon together. 

Anyway, Mom and Dad kept up their friendship with Bert and Herb, although it was mostly Christmas cards and blue moon visits until their family (me and my brother and sister) grew up and left the nest. Then they started having annual gatherings of the old bunch, and dropping in on each other occasionally. Bert makes the best pickled beans. Yum. After Bert and Mom go, there will be no more pickled beans for Peggy. 

So, gather round the campfire. Enjoy some s'moores and stories. Perchance the bones of an old Moore skeleton will dance around the fire, or some old ghost will tickle your fancy as he brushes by. 

My blogging tends to be pretty random. I don't really follow any outline or pattern, I just write whatever comes into my head, perhaps inspired by a photo I find or a story someone relates. You just never know. But perhaps, if you come back in a few days, you will find out how my Dad met his sister.