William Fischer

William Charles Fischer (AKA Bill, W.C., Bud, Pop, Himself, grumpy old bear) died in Kalispell, Montana on December 10, 2018. The official cause of death was 0.D.T.A.A (one damn thing after another).

He was born in Glenns Ferry, Idaho in 1935, to Eugene and Frances Fischer. He had an older sister, Helen, and eventually a younger brother, Robert. The two-story brick house up above the Snake River was always his home, until he left after graduating from high school.

After receiving a Bachelor's degree in Engineering at the University of Idaho in 1959, he joined the U.S. Navy. From 1961-1964, he served in the U.S. Naval Construction Battalion, acting as the Officer-in-charge of construction at the U.S. Marine Corps Air Station in lwakuni, Japan. His time in Japan gave him an appreciation for Kabuki theater, Geisha girls, sushi, stereophonic music, and food grilled on a hibachi. Ever the consummate engineer, he learned how to use an abacus, in addition to his trusty slide rule.

After being honorably discharged with the rank of Lieutenant in 1965, he came back to the U.S., and took a job with the U.S. Forest Service in Salmon, Idaho, working as a civil engineer.

He met Amaryllis (Marda) Warner in 1966, and they married the next year. It was clear that he loved her deeply, instantly becoming a father to her four children from her previous marriage: Wendy (16 years old), Pete (15 years old), Ern (14 years old), and Paul (4 years old).

He requested and received a transfer to the Forest Service office in Council, Idaho, and the family moved there later that same year. For many years, holidays were split with Marda's family in Salmon, and Bill's family in Glenns Ferry, or in Council. He was strict but fair with the teenagers and child, enduring a wrecked family car, disciplinary proceedings from the high school, and trips to the emergency room for broken bones and cuts. Through it all, he maintained a stoic and reasoned outlook on life, never getting angry, just doing what needed to be done for his wife and children. Without any previous experience or training, he was a good husband and Father.

In 1973, he transferred to the Forest Service office in Eureka, California. He, Marda, and Paul lived in a house with a view of the Pacific Ocean, and spent weekends beachcombing and camping in the National Forests. Bill was moving up in the Forest Service hierarchy, and even though much of his work was now confined to a desk, he relished every opportunity to get into the woods, and do actual field work. His ability to accurately measure any distance with just a glance, from a few yards to hundreds of yards, was uncanny. His freehand drawings of plots, buildings and roads were rendered with a sparsely precise reality, using his favorite mechanical pencil. In 1979 Bill transferred once more, and for the last time, to the Forest Service office in Kalispell, Montana.

Bill honestly believed that Montana was the last great place, and the family moved into what would become known as the "Two Bucket Farm", on Crane Mountain road in Ferndale, Montana. For a man that had never really farmed, he took to it with a driven passion. In addition to working full-time in the Forest Service office in Kalispell, he developed the Two Bucket into a productive farm. He bought milk cows (Brown Swiss), chickens, geese, and pigs. He would get up early to feed the animals, milk the cows, and gather the eggs, before driving to Kalispell to his 'real' job. Then he would come home in the evening and do it again. It was hard work, but he was a pragmatic man, and enjoyed seeing his labor and sweat turned into milk and hand-churned butter, and meat and eggs and vegetables for the table.

Of course, Marda and Paul helped on the farm. Marda had grown up in a small Idaho town, in a big family with a strong work ethic during hard times. She planted and maintained a large garden, canned jars and jars of vegetables, cooked the family meals, and looked after the place during the day. Paul helped with the chores before he went to school in the morning, and helped Bill fix fences, tend the animals, and bring in the firewood they used for winter warmth. It was as close to a perfect life as any of them could imagine.

Bill set up a milking machine in the barn, and began to sell eggs and milk to neighbors out of the garage/ shop. For probably the first time in his life, he was truly content. He loved the farm, and the animals (especially the cows). Paul remembers those years on Two Bucket: "I didn't really know it at the time, but I think the reason Dad moved us to Montana was to get me away from city life, which was just a bunch of trouble for me. It was the biggest `wake-up!' I'd ever had in my life. I worked on the farm, sure, but I also started backpacking and fly fishing and climbing, and totally fell in love with that place. It changed my life for the better. And his and Mom's too."

While there were years filled with happiness, there were hard times as well. Bill experienced the loss of his Father and Mother, and then his siblings, Helen and Robert. He took these losses as he always did, realistically and with a private and succinct grief. If there was ever a person on this Earth that accepted the inevitability of death, Bill was that person. Then, on July 12, 1987, Marda died. The loss was devastating. He was 52 years old, and suddenly the farm seemed like a big lonely place. He was surrounded by the echoes of Marda's life.

He plodded on, taking care of the farm and animals and his job at the Forest Service, diligently going to work every day, burying himself in mundane but necessary tasks.

It took a while, but eventually he started breaking out of his self-imposed exile and sadness. One evening, he went into Bigfork, had dinner at the Bigfork Inn, and his life was once again changed irrevocably, for the better. He ended up dancing with Jeanie Frazer, and after a proper courtship, they were married in June 1991. The ceremony took place on the Two Bucket Farm, with games, and food,

and fireworks, and a bunch of fun and good times for a large and extended group of family and friends. It was an epic, joyful wedding. He and Jeanie lived on the farm for many years, and they were happy. In a very real way, Jean saved Bill from a life of sadness and isolation.

Bill refired from the Forest Service after 30 years of dedicated service, and bought an RV. He and Jeanie traveled the United States, working with Canine Companions to help initial training of companion dogs, and helping Habitat For Humanity build houses for people in need. Bill and Jeanie actually met Jimmy Carter and his wife during these travels/work and went to church with them. Even though he was getting older, he didn't let it slow him down, and continued to use his engineering knowledge and expertise to help people where he could. He continued to be a selfless and giving person. Although he had no biological children of his own, Bill loved kids (as long as they were somewhat well-behaved, and if not, well, that was probably the parent's fault, and he would just roll with it), and would buy toys and design games that would make them laugh, and he would laugh, too, and he would be silly and goofy and funny with them.

Because of their travelling and increasing age, Bill and Jeanie had to give up the care of the Two Bucket Farm and moved to a modest house in Kalispell. Even up until the end of his life at 83 years old, he kept a small garden plot with tomatoes, strawberries, and chives.

W. C. Fischer was honest, smart, hard-working, kind, fair, strong, giving, and funny. He had integrity, and you could trust him at his word. He embraced the joys of his life, and endured the hardships in his life, and constantly adapted for the betterment of his family/tribe, every time, no matter what it meant to him personally. He was truly and honestly a good man. He will be missed and remembered.

How can anyone completely encapsulate another person's life in an obituary, or elucidate the sum total of their existence in just a few sentences? It isn't possible. If you really knew Bill, it is given that you respected and/or loved him. That's the way he was. The world is a better place for his life, and worse off for his passing. So raise a glass, and salute him. Say "Farewell" to a good man. But don't cry, or gnash your teeth in lamentation of his passing. He was imminently practical, and wouldn't approve of it. He died the same way he lived. On his own terms, exactly the way he wanted, without looking back.

If you want to honor him, live your life in the exact same way.

In observance with his wishes, a private gathering to inter his ashes at the Two Bucket farm will take place in early summer 2019.