George Skutelnik December 15, 1948-June 17, 2020 Eulogy Uncle George died on June 17, 2020. Although he battled cancer for the last few years, his death was unexpected—a stoke and complications ended a life lived quietly but well. To say that this farm was George’s life is an understatement. He loved it here and there was no better place in the world for him. George attended Willow Glen School until it closed in the early 1960’s then he caught the bus to Kelvington. Dianne Rennie remembers the handsome kid who instantly gained the attention of all the girls. She said, “We all had nicknames—most of which were hated and so George probably hated his as well. We called himOgo Pogo. We sang, Georgie Porgie puddin’ and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry. We all had a crush on him.” Nevertheless, George did not let any of these admirations go to his head, and a bachelor he remained. George didn’t have a wife to keep him accountable and so afternoons spent in the bar at Kelvington playing pool with his buddies went unchallenged. After a few beers his shyness was shoved aside. Lorne and Diane Rennie remember his giggles after a New Year’s Eve steak supper at Lintlaw. Returning to Rennie’s afterwards, George had more and more trouble getting his cowboy boots on and off as he traipsed outside for each smoke—each stagger created another round of chuckles. One by one all his brothers left but George chose to stay and farm with Grandpa. In 1972, after Mom died, Dad and I joined Grandpa, Grandma and George on the farm. Grandpa stepped back as much as he could and Dad and George took over most of the farm work. A year or so later, Lavonne joined us to make the family complete. While he was alive and able Grandpa was boss and after that Grandma usually got the last word. George didn’t step in with Lavonne and me unless he thought it necessary and he was fast. George could run us down if he needed to. Lavonne remembers being caught by the leg like a chicken. The words, “I’m going to tell your dad,” from George’s mouth was a joke. Dad was always way easier to deal with than Grandma. I got to borrow George’s vehicles once in a while but he didn’t trust “women drivers” so Lavonne was out of luck. One time I borrowed George’s little Corolla. After working at Tom and Diane Mottram’s I was in a hurry to get home and was driving too fast on their curvy lane. I hit the ditch and rolled George’s car. Luckily I rolled right over and landed back on all four. I drove home, parked the car and didn’t tell George. Of course, George noticed the dents. We pounded them out, and life in the Corolla continued at a slower, safer pace. George and Dad farmed together for about 25 years. There was always plenty of work to get done. Bailing hay seemed like a back breaking endless job. We hayed and hayed and hayed. It all became easier when they finally bought an automatic bale wagon. I think George died still having hay for sale. When the land was rented out George had time for things he really liked. Most farmers enjoy a farm auction and George was no different. He didn’t come home with pails of useless things. Instead his purchases were old tractors, trailers, vehicles, or three wheelers—things that always needed fixing. His idea was buy two—make one. He restored a Fordson Major, a Farm All and lots of Masseys. The old bodies joined the rest of the 80 year junk that accumulated around the yard. Crushers were called and it was all cleaned up and the process started over again. The music from George’s old radio blaring in the shop could be heard all over the yard as he tinkered and fixed. He was a fair mechanic and stubborn as hell. He never quit until he had the job finished. My favourite George restoration was the 1958 Dodge Custom that had sat in the bush for 40 years when he decided he should fix it. All that was okay were the transmission and the frame—no motor, no doors, no seats, no anything. He rebuilt the motor and to test it he zoomed around the yard sitting on an overturned five gallon pail. Then he started on the body. I have no idea how many hours he spent perfecting that car just like I have no idea how he could sell it after all that time and money, but he did. With all the time George spent in the shop, trailing afterhim was often made up of, “Hand me the pliers. Find the crescent wrench, get me the hammer,” and on and on. The list of tools was as endless as the list of projects. He’d finish one and start another. I can’t remember how old we were the day Lavonne and I were helping George fence. I was holding the post while George, perched on an overturned five gallon pail pounded them in with the post mall. Lavonne was watching from a safe distance. Just as George wound up, I let the post slip. George missed the post but not the pail he was standing on. He went flying but not as fast as Lavonne and me. I ran for the house. Lavonne headed for the dugout because she knew George couldn’t swim. Throughout his life George remained a Ford man. One of his favourite vehicles was a 1976 ford truck with a 460 gas guzzling motor that could hardly make it to town and back on a tank. Nevertheless George loved it. Back then fuel was cheap. The gas guzzler wasn’t George’s only folly as a farmer. When Grandpa was alive we always milked a barn full of cows. George always milked. He was wise with his money and looked for ways to make it grow. He reasoned that if we are selling cream, we should make the most of our cow herd so George bought a fancy Brown Swiss milk cow. Feed one good cow get the same amount of milk as from two poorer milkers. What could go wrong? Besides he got a real good deal on her. George was very proud of his purchase until the first time he sat down to milk her. Apparently, she had been a bargain because she kicked like a mule. No matter what George tried, she kicked. He could not break her of the habit and was forced to use kicking chains every single time. As soon as possible, she went down the road. Although life on the farm was mostly work filled, a large family of fun loving boys could not go without the odd practical joke. Mac Rennie lived across the road and always roared by the lane going what seemed like 100 miles per hour. Lavonne and I as little kids waved and waved. Sometimes we even jumped up and down trying to get Mac’s attention. No matter what we did, he never looked. We’re not sure who came up with the plan to make Mac look. The boys rigged a blow horn to a battery and watched for Mac. How long the whole thing took is lost in time but eventually the signal was sounded, “Here he comes.” As Mac passed the driveway, they connected the blow horn. He was so startled that he almost ran in the ditch and the yard erupted in song, “Mac, Mac we made you look, you dirty crook.” Grandma lived on the farm, with George’s help, until she was 95 when she moved to Kelvindell Lodge in Kelvington. When she was no longer able to make George his favourites, she taught him how to make cabbage and beet rolls. So when George was on his own for the first time in his life he had a few cooking skills but still relied on old standbys, bacon and eggs, porridge and potatoes. George loved gardening and like Grandma grew most of his own vegetables. He liked the yard trimmed and maintained and he had his own ideas as to what a beautiful, well-kept yard should be. In 2018 when Lavonne came for a visit she found George doing poorly. By April she decided to move back to look after him. Lavonne’s landscaping ideas—flowering shrubs and short season flowers did not suit George. “Plant petunias—they last all year.” He challenged. He loved his garden and maintained Grandma’s standard of long straight rows with no weeds. He picked and preserved peas and raspberries—giving most of his garden produce away. Living for George meant keeping busy. Ten days before his death he went fencing. His homecare worker laid the law down about that. After Lavonne and I grew up and moved away, there was never an excuse for us not to visit the farm. When it was time for us to leave Grandma filled our cars with food from her garden, George filled our gas tanks and always slipped a bit of cash into our pockets on the way out—just in case... We think there are probably a few restored three wheelers, long-ago outlawed because of safety concerns, in the sheds out back. They and countless other odds and ends—hammers, post malls, drills and such will keep George in our memories. I won’t be shocked if when I enter the shop his old radio starts blaring and his voice tells me to hand him a 7/8th wrench. George Skutelnik's Memorial Service - Link to Kelvington Cremation & Family Center's Facebook Page Please Click here Service Link Funeral Service 2:00 p.m. Saturday, September 19, 2020 Skutelnik Farm Which is located when traveling from Kelvington to Kuroki heading south, on highway 38, turn right at the Ross Common Road (West) and follow it 3km down the gravel to the first farm on the right side of the road. Funeral Service will be live streamed on Kelvington Cremation Center's Facebook Page. Please practise social distancing and bring a mask if you desire COVID-19 Regulations will be followed Bring a lawn chair