I wonder how different things could have been if I hadn’t waded into everything so unequipped — so completely naive.

I have learned this family is like most which has, over the generations, experienced many dysfunctions, heartbreaks, and tragic losses of family members. There is also the loss, so to speak, of myself not getting to know extended family who have been there all along.

Regardless, judging from the many apologetic calls and texts I later received from both this dude’s trucking boss and the gravel supplier, the Bad Day had quickly become a Worse Day.

Judging by the number of times Dad brought up his fieldwork, it was clearly a special time for him. He would have loved living in the outdoors, surrounded by the beauty of the foothills, practicing his geological profession, travelling by horseback and being close to nature for extended periods.

This is an essay I wrote in memory of Endla, which was published in the The Globe and Mail’s “Lives Lived” column in July, 2002.