A Farmers’ Farmer
Walter Marwin Fossum was born on September 4, 1926, in the Naco Hospital. He was the only child of John and Esther Fossum. He was the son of a Blacksmith; a Tool and Die maker. He said, “My Father could fix just about anything”, and so could he. This skill was no small part of the reason he never needed to call anywhere but Consort his home. His words on being a child of the Great Depression, the Dust Bowl ‘30s: “We never considered ourselves poor because nobody had any money. We never went hungry.” Being an only child could be lonely and what he liked most was visiting family and neighbours. That never changed. Riding horses and playing softball at school were favorite childhood activities. His last school year was at Roland, which he later turned into a museum with the Smiths and Sansregrets. He contracted pleurisy in 1942 and was hospitalized for 52 days. His lungs were his Achilles heel, a cross he bore with so little complaint you wouldn’t even know the hardship it added to his life.. As a young man, visiting and dances were his greatest pleasures. And he had made himself into a fine musician as well, violin in particular. He had his great adventure once he could get his own car, a ‘51 Ford, in ‘56. In ‘57 he drove to North Dakota with his mother and Hildus Fossum and had a great time with his cousins. Probably his only unrealized ambition was to be a Radio Announcer. His proudest achievement was “building up an attractive farm yard with good buildings”. He did. “I wanted to get married, so I could have a life's companion.” That was Doreen Osmond. He met this sweet piano teacher while visiting his cousin Glenn Haugen. They were married in six months, and inseparable during 46 years of marriage until his beloved wife went ahead, to ready a place for him, in 2013. They raised two children, and really, many more, at least in part. His happiest time was “seeing all the newborn calves in the pasture running around”. The most interesting times were “the bus tours we took”, mostly with their dear friends, Rose and Jack MacDonald. They had a firm belief and faith, in and of, the Lord Jesus Christ, and lived what they loved. And he farmed. He farmed and farmed. Many years with the finest friends, neighbours, partners you could ever have, the Martin Friesen family. At 88 he would still knock off the odd field of hay. He loved his grandchildren, his relatives, his friends. Everybody liked him, respected him. He was a real man. We’re going to miss him.
~ A Farmers’ Farmer. RIP ~
Written by Les Fossum, son
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