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Note: BROWN, EDITH MAY (DEE DEE / EDIE)
1927 - 2015
Mrs. Edith M. Brown of North Head Grand Manan Island passed away peacefully at the Grand Manan Hospital January 29, 2015.
She was born almost eighty-eight years ago March 26, 1927, the eldest of nine to John and Lois (Ingersoll) Brown of Deep Cove, Grand Manan, NB. She married Herman (Hi) Brown of North Head where they raised their nine children, six girls and three boys.
Edith is survived by five daughters; Sheila Wilson (Walter), Andrea Morse (the late Wellesley), Marlene Graham (Doug) from Sussex, Deborah Avery (Grant), Leola Ingalls (Joseph), three sons; Dale (Brenda), Dana (Denise), and Dwain Brown, all of Grand Manan. Two sisters; Marilyn Cary of Woodwards Cove, Selinda Ryder (Murray) of Moncton, four brothers; George Brown (Betty), Johnny Brown (Charmaine), of Grand Manan, Sherwin Brown (Jean) of Ontario, Bob Brown (Barb) of St. Stephen. Also will be missed by her eighteen grandchildren, twenty-nine great grandchildren, many nieces, nephews, and special friends.
Edith was predeceased by husband Herman (2000), ten year old daughter Wendy (1967), sisters Leola Monroe (1958), Deanna Russell (2009), and son in law Wellesley Morse (1989).
After graduating from high school Edith boned herring and did childcare. Children were her passion, joy, delight, and they were drawn to her. After marrying Whistle Roader Herman Brown and having nine children in eleven years she became a full time stay at home mom, a “born mother”. She loved playing with the kids, cooking, providing a warm loving home which was open to all, especially kids and teens. Edith encouraged her children to get an education and four went on to be teachers. The family was musical so sang in many Island music festivals as well as appearing on the TV program “It’s Time For Juniors”. Being an avid gardener her large yard was covered with beautiful flower gardens.
In later years she enjoyed watching the great variety of birds (some rare) at her feeders, reading and of course cooking. Edith loved her Savior the Lord Jesus Christ and her Church, North Head Wesleyan of which she was a member, and in younger years helped with children’s programs as well as Missionary Auxillary. As a child Edith spent several months at the TB Hospital in Saint John for several months and for the past seventeen years has confronted death many times. She has had a strong will to live due to her love for her family and all the family babies being born, but finally her body wore out and she left earth for eternal life in Heaven with Jesus and loved ones there.
Donations may be made to the North Head Wesleyan Church Building Fund, or to the charity of the Donor’s choice.
Visiting will take place at the North Head Wesleyan Church on Monday, February 2nd from 4 to 8 pm.
The funeral will be held Tuesday, February 3, 2015 at 1:00 pm from the church with Rev. Stephen Brown officiating, assisted by Rev. Ryan Farrell, and Rev. David Ingersoll.
Funeral arrangements are in the care of Ells Funeral Home Inc., 1199 Route 776, Grand Manan, NB E5G 1G2. Condolences, messages of sympathy also may be sent to www.ells.ca or (506)662-3116.
Source: Telegraph Journal January 31 2015
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A wonderful tribute to Edith from her granddaughter, Maridel Graham Farrell ...
My Wonderful DeeDee
My earliest memories of Grand Manan are of Brent and I climbing in bed with Papa and DeeDee early in the morning. "Shh! Come in here so you don't wake your mother," DeeDee would whisper. The three of us would peer over her headboard to look out the window as the Grand Manan boat sailed by Whale Cove, making its first trip to Blacks for the day, while poor Papa pulled the blankets higher and tried to sleep.
Mornings always began with freshly made fried dough. Papa liked his with molasses. Fresh white rolls rolled out of DeeDee's oven by lunchtime. Our first meal upon landing on the Island was always chop suey, accompanied by freshly baked rolls, and Sunday dinner consisted of the best roast beef ever known to mankind, accompanied by fresh vegetables from Papa's garden, and of course gravy. Many women in the family have tried and failed to replicate the greatness of DeeDee's roast. Brent once told me my roast was almost as good as DeeDee's, and I considered that a wonderful compliment. DeeDee packed picnics for the beach and picnics for the park and picnics for the yard. She made molasses candy, and taught us how to stretch it. Apparently, you couldn't bake a cake unless it was someone's birthday, so if no one had one in the family, DeeDee would make one up, just so she could bake a chocolate cake with 7-minute (boiled) frosting. Chocolate peanut butter frosting sandwiched between two graham crackers was never in short supply, along with various other desserts adorning her kitchen counter.
DeeDee's house was like Grand Central Station with people coming and going. All roads seemed to lead to DeeDee's house, and her children and grandchildren knew they were welcome to eat whatever they could find. Treats like fudge were hidden in the flour drawer or the drawer above it if DeeDee wanted to save some for later, or for someone in particular, but everyone knew this secret hiding place. When I was a kid, DeeDee always carried colored Chiclets in her purse. (Maybe she still does; it has been awhile since I've asked for one.) DeeDee used to send my brother, cousins, and I to the green Corner Store for treats. As we got older and ventured farther, we were given ice cream money, and eventually, she gave me gas money to drive my brother and cousins around. DeeDee passed on to us not only a love for eating food, but the ability to make it. When I was little, I was fascinated by the way DeeDee rolled her long, reddish hair into curls on top of her head, securing each one with a bobby pin. (I tried it once, and it's not as easy as she made it look.) I can still see her sitting at the end of the dining room table with her mirror in front of her.
As teenagers, Tralauna and I did a lot of walking around the island. "Did you see any boys?" DeeDee would ask. If we answered yes, she would ask, "Did you talk to them?" This is where things became complicated and a bit confusing. If we said, "No," she would respond with, "What?! Why not?!" and if we said, "Yes," she would say, "What?! You shouldn't be talking to those boys!" and thus, the interrogation would begin. We discussed it at great length, and we were never quite sure what the right answer was. We soon learned how to skillfully answer questions without arousing suspicion. lol
DeeDee was a strong woman, who endured a lot. As a child, she was sent away from the island with TB (tuberculosis), she survived inoperable cancer which the doctors were not sure could be eliminated, heart trouble (resulting from cancer treatments), a broken pelvis, a broken hip, the death of a young daughter, the loss of a son-in-law at sea, and more. She was often misunderstood because of her boldness in expressing strong opinions, and her stubbornness was second to none... and probably equal to mine. I didn't always agree with her opinions, and in my late teen years/early twenties, we went head-to-head a few times because neither of us would back down in a disagreement. I came to love her for that because I came to recognize we were so much alike in that way.
DeeDee welcomed Ryan, our four kids, and I to stay with her right up into her 80s, and even when we had to find a new lodging spot, she still wanted to see us every day. My kids will always remember making play-doh with DeeDee, playing Old Maid (DeeDee always made such a commotion when she got the Old Maid card), and playing with DeeDee's dress-up clothes.
It's amazing how one woman can inspire so many memories, and influence so many people. DeeDee was special. I could not have asked for a finer grandmother, and my heart aches knowing she is gone. As I told a friend recently, I do not love easily, but when I love, I love with my whole heart. I loved my DeeDee, and I love her still.
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Another tribute to Edith by her granddaughter Sarah Graham Canney.
Update: DeeDee went to be with the Lord peacefully while surrounded by 4 of her children on the evening of January 29, 2015. ----------------------
The meeting place is nestled along the Whistle Road on Grand Manan Island. It is a happily situated house, tall and white, with a little porch, a weeping willow tree, a babbling brook, and a garden that was once the talk of the island. Situated across from the North Head park, it is a place that holds many fond memories for me.
What has always made the meeting place special is my grandmother, Edith Brown, whom many of us refer to as “DeeDee.” She is the reason why there is a meeting place. No matter what season it is, one can always expect a warm welcome at the meeting place, where freshly baked goods and lively conversation take place.
During my “growing up” years, we visited the meeting place often. My mother, having been the only one of her siblings who moved off of the island to stay, would pack me and my brother and sister up for summer and other holiday vacations. We could always expect fresh chop suey and rolls when we arrived at the meeting place.
It was at the meeting place where I sat and watched DeeDee pin her long brown hair into curls. The meeting place is also where us children could expect to find a jar full of coins on the counter, awaiting our arrival so we could traipse off to the Corner store for a treat. When we ate at the meeting place, Papa had to eat too, even if he had just eaten lunch.
The meeting place is where DeeDee taught me about birds and how to bake rolls and other delicious treats. I can see her in the kitchen of the meeting place, packing a picnic of rolls, red juice, and other goodies for the beach. When she wasn’t cooking or bird watching at the meeting place, she was out in her garden, a place of pure personal delight for her. People would come to paint there. People would come to visit there. Children would stop in after playing at the park. For everyone was always welcome at the meeting place.
Life took on its different forms throughout my lifetime at the meeting place. I recall coming down the stairs of the meeting place for a cheery Christmas morning. I remember earnestly praying as a child by a bedside at the meeting place when a beloved uncle had gone missing at sea. Then there was the emptiness of what it was like once Papa was gone from the meeting place and how it didn’t quite seem the same without him sitting in the rocking chair. Seasons change, and after DeeDee fought and won a battle with cancer, her strength began to weaken. I went from watching her bake, to baking with her, to having her tell me how to bake while overseeing my efforts from her kitchen chair, to her being in another room and not able to come out (but for the occasional peek in the oven). Once in awhile, her telling me what to do would get on my nerves, and she knew it, but it was as though we always had this mutual understanding that it was okay. I was in her kitchen, and she was a far better cook than I could ever hope to be.
It was an odd feeling for me one morning when it dawned on me that instead of me hearing her banging pots and pans in the mornings to cook, I was the one in the kitchen, bright and early, cooking things for the meeting place. I don’t bake that often. In fact, the meeting place is my favourite place to bake. During a most recent visit, I remember seeing a pheasant in the yard while I was kneading bread, and I recall thinking, “This is why she loves the meeting place so much. It is surrounded by the beauty of God, and it is filled with so many lovely memories.” Baking at the meeting place reminds me of her bustling about in the kitchen, and I love for the family to gather around fresh baked goods for conversation like when I was a child. I love the meeting place. It is a home away from home.
They say that DeeDee is dying. She is in the hospital, and they don’t know whether the cancer that has returned will take her or whether her heart will give out first. It seems like such a cruel fate for a woman who was once so strong to be wilting away. I wish I could be there just to sit with her, to read to her, to sing to her. I wish I could’ve asked her more questions about what it was like to build the meeting place and to raise so many children there. I wish I could’ve found the words to tell her just how much she means to me and how she gave me such a wonderful collection of memories at the meeting place. But when I last left, I couldn’t find the words. Words seem so inadequate for such a wonderful legacy.
Sometimes I wish I could move into the meeting place to keep up the tradition of pudding Mondays and roast Sundays, but it seems as though my station is meant to be elsewhere. DeeDee worries about what will happen to the meeting place, and after having learned more about all of the work, heart and soul she put into it, it certainly is no wonder.
When I left the island in December, I remember hoping DeeDee would be around at Easter to sit in the yard of the meeting place and watch the Easter egg hunt at the park. That was wishful thinking I suppose, because she has always been there. I am grateful that God blessed me with a son during her lifetime so that he could experience the meeting place as it should be. I grieve that my other children will never get to know what it was.
Where will the meeting place be once DeeDee is gone? What will happen to the meeting place? Visits to Grand Manan will never be the same. Will I feel like a tourist where once I felt so at home? I may never get to bake at the meeting place again. I have always welcomed change, but change such as this is not the kind I wish to hold company with.
In my mind’s eye, I can see her, DeeDee, young and strong arriving on Heaven’s shore. She is running to meet her daughter Wendy, who died so young, her sister, who died in childbirth, and many of her other family members who have gone before. She is free from pain.
I don’t know what Heaven will be like, but I’m sure it’s bound to have many a meeting place. I like to envision myself strolling up a quaint country road where her mansion will be. Children will be giggling and playing in the yard, others will sit painting the flower gardens or watching the birds, chatting, and drinking a cup of tea.
When I arrive, she’ll come out onto the porch with her apron on. “Come on in dear. I’ve been waiting for you. Tell me what the latest is.” I will laugh, because knowing her, she’ll already know the latest. She’ll give me a warm embrace, and I’ll walk inside to the smell of freshly baked bread.
Then the family, all of us, will gather around the table at the meeting place. It will be as though I were a child again - carefree and not constrained by time - because in Heaven, the grandest meeting place of all, the visiting never needs to end.
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