In memory of Sam Fuchs
By GAIL CRAIG
How do you gracefully lose a brother who really loved you? Grieving seems so useless. He wouldn’t have recommended it either, but here it is.
Cancer, the no-way-out kind, had found this gentle soul. And it was in his last five years of life that I really got to know him. From that point on, he became more honestly himself than ever before.
Here is our Sam, beloved brother and husband of Janice, fellow botanist, and keeper of cute cats in the country acreage they shared together. He met his prognosis head on and took the reins of his journey in hand.
After all, this was the scrawny kid who was driving his uncle’s tractor when he was 11 and helping him farm at 12. What followed was an acute study of how things work, coupled with the ability to fix things. So much so, that I couldn’t believe that he wasn’t capable of fixing this, too.
So we hiked, we walked, we ambled. I learned the names of native plants and those that were not of such good character.
Constantly stooping down to examine a plant, as if he were checking on a child to see how it was growing and how life was treating it, was his way of trying to figure out what they would do next in their seemingly moody ways. The study of plants seems to be a precursor of how the world is going. There’s gonna be a change
coming.
At times when we were on hikes and ramblings in his favorite place called outdoors, we quietly thought of the upcoming, but mostly we preferred to imagine him as the mechanic who could fix anything.
Our lives have their own ideas how things will go; we can only hang on and suit up and show up. And so he did. He made friends with the oncology nurses and staff. I'm sure he didn’t know how his joking around made their hearts hurt less. After all, they have the kind of jobs that hurt the heart. Take a load off. Just as he did with
all of us.
I don’t think many know of Janice and Sam’s quiet yet consistent contributions to plant ecology, botany, and rare plant conservation on Craig Mountain, and the work of doing research by hiking up and down the steep terrain of Hells Canyon, in 100-degree heat trying to avoid rattlesnakes, cougars and bears. Staying in the woods. Coming home to rest, repairing and restocking the camper and truck and then doing the tedious work of recording the research findings that most would never read. The monetary gain was small, the contribution huge.
In his last year, in bad weather, we took to mall-walking. Humbling. But Sam made mall-walking friends and would tell me about the habits of this one or that one. We noticed when one was missing and wondered how they were doing. We discussed any new treatments his doctors were trying and the side effects he was having from them. We talked about how everyone these days—from the hairdresser to the checker behind the counter asked you —“what are you doing for fun the rest of the day?" He came up with some irreverent answers and we laughed some more. We walked by all the shops and never felt the need to shop.
I never got tired of seeing his tired face. I am a very lucky sister.