Sometimes a face jumps out at you from the obituary page, bringing back years of memories and influence. That hit me again and again in recent days.
But the sadness or shock that comes with news of a person’s passing often turns to quiet gratitude for the influence they had.
Sometimes it also comes with a humble realization of how much bigger their impact was on our community and even our world than you thought when you simply knew them as quiet folks who get their job done with quality and have a kind word when you need it.
So here’s an appreciation for a few men I was privileged to know, at least a little. Two were longtime agricultural and social leaders, men who were gentle giants in their support for foundational parts of our rural heritage. And one was a teacher and music-maker.
Dairy legacy
Anton “Tony” Schilter was a lifetime dairyman who had one foot firmly on the farm and one foot in the business side of production.
Tony, 84, and his wife of 60 years, Sunny, were proud dairy farmers on Bunker Creek Road, where a huge Swiss flag overlooked the fields and holstein herds in their productive valley above Adna. They carried the love of farming on to new generations. I went to school with one of their sons, Monty, who followed and strengthened his father’s work on the processing and marking side of dairy production.
And their son Lonny, with wife Michelle, continues working the fourth-generation Sun-Ton Farms as part of a family that continues to tell the story of how living with and from the land sustains our communities and economy — not to mention putting food on our kitchen tables.
I’ll always remember seeing Tony and Sunny dancing at Swiss Hall in Frances, gliding across the wooden floors with longtime friends all around. Seeing them reminded me of the good life we can have when we come together in ease for relaxation and fun as part of a life dedicated to working hard on something that matters.
Frozen foods, warm heart
Arthur “Art” Symons, 96, also helped bring food from the field to the table in a life dedicated to sustaining bodies and souls. He started his own frozen food business in 1957. At its peak, Symons Frozen Foods had several facilities operating locally.
I worked briefly at one, packing frozen peas, corns and cubes of carrots. Many other people fed their families through this good work feeding our community. His late daughter Meg Gregory carried on the farming tradition at Black Sheep Creamery (just a mile and a half down the road from Tony Schilter’s Sun-Ton Farms, coincidentally).
Art was a state and national leader in his industry. He also was dedicated to his Christian faith. He was a lifelong supporter of Whitworth University and served as a trustee. I knew him when we both attended First Presbyterian Church. At his encouragement, I strongly considered attending Whitworth. Although I ended up making a different choice, Art was endlessly supportive and enthusiastic. I never saw him without a smile. He was an encourager and an optimist with a heart for guiding the young people of our community toward Jesus.
His obituary is a moving testament to his life of faith and support: “Bedbound, he remained faithful to prayer. His delight in his last days were the calls and visits he received. He’d been praying for each one and wanted to know how they were doing so that he could continue to pray.”
Music man
Speaking of church fathers, I also was moved to meaningful memory by the news that Kenneth “Ken” Kruger had passed at 79. Like Art Symons, Ken was also a reliably beaming face at First Presbyterian.
A lifelong musician and public school music teacher, he was a stalwart in our church bell choir. He and his beloved wife of 54 years, Gwen, were also frequently in front of the church sharing special music. They inspired me to do the same.
They raised a fine family and added music to my life. Ken loved his 12-string guitar (as I do mine.) I’ll remember Ken with appreciation and I’ll work to continue his life’s legacy of singing “psalms, hymns and songs of the spirit.”
Thank you to Tony, Art and Ken for feeding our bodies and souls. The work goes on. We’ll remember you and our many other neighbors of old as we labor and celebrate together.
This shared life we all have makes a sweet song. You sang your verses well. We will remember the tune and keep the music going, dancing along the way.
Brian Mittge is a community enthusiast who has written for The Chronicle since 2000 as a reporter, editor and columnist. He can be reached at brianmittge@hotmail.com.
