Stories of my father to keep his memory alive.
Obituary
Joseph “Joe” S. Collins, 85 of Keswick, VA passed away on December 29, 2020. Originally from Rockbridge VA, Joe spent most of his life in Keswick. He was preceded in death by parents Emma and Woodrow Collins, wife of 59 years, Shirley Collins, daughter Carolyn Scott and siblings, Mary Collins, Lucy Cash and Roy Collins.
Joe is survived by son Joseph C. Collins and partner Cherie Murray, daughter Crystal Piercy and her husband Will, granddaughter Jessica Waters and husband Johnny, great-grandchildren Alex and Ariel Waters, stepgrandson Liam Piercy, sisters Gladys Sanner and Mary Ertel.
The most exciting moments of his life happened (usually on horseback) while working for the Keswick Hunt Club as Huntsman and Kennel Huntsman, 1963-1985. A keen fox-hunter since childhood, he learned about hounds and horses early on from previous Keswick huntsmen Richard Hall and Andrew Branham. Joe’s best hunting horse was Royal Chaos, a tall chestnut thoroughbred ex-timber racer. Two of his best hunting hounds were Nana and Keswick. Joe called his hounds with a cow horn and cheered them on with a voice that could shake the mountain. Joe enthusiastically encouraged dozens of junior fox-hunters to enjoy and perpetuate the sport. His stories and memories of his best hunts live on, including in the book The 100-Year History of the Keswick Hunt Club by historian Barclay Rives.
Early in life, he served 6 years in the National Guard. He was also a founding member of the East Rivanna Fire Company, earning Volunteer Firefighter of the Year, 1974. He danced at the Keswick Moose Lodge regularly. Joe retired from Luck Stone Quarry as a heavy machine operator in 1999.
Even with all of that excitement, Joe was most proud of his family. He married his childhood sweetheart, Shirley. He was by her side until her passing in 2014, just shy of their 60th anniversary. He would tell anyone who asked that he married up, because to him, she was the sunshine. Together they raised three children whom they adored, Joseph “Calvin”, Carolyn and Crystal. He instilled a love of fixing things in Calvin, who became a mechanic. His love of animals he passed on to Carolyn. His love of people he passed onto Crystal, who was always his sidekick.
Joe was a family man, never living more than a mile from one relative or another. Family gardens were a yearly event and he always made sure to share the bounty with his neighbors. He never met a stranger and could make a friend for life in the grocery check out. He would help anyone in need and always had a toolbox, a handkerchief and a smile handy.
The world was a brighter place with Joe in it.
Special thanks go out to Bernice Gibson and Tami Black who helped in his care while he was at home. In lieu of flowers, please donate to Hospice of the Piedmont.
In Your Shoes In your giant boots Up to your knees, You fought fires, Selflessly protecting neighbors. In your fire boots Up to my hips I pretended to be you While watering the flowers. In your bedroom slippers You rescued me, In the middle of the night Without a second thought. In your slippers As mine grew too small I sat across from you at breakfast, Sad to see you leave for work. In my sneakers I paced Outside the operating room, Praying you would be fine And always would be. In my sneakers You took long walks, Recuperating from surgery Strengthening your heart. In your cowboy boots You glide Mom Across the dance floor, Unaware of others. In your cowboy boots I dance alone in the kitchen To songs that remind me of you When I miss you.
Dad’s Boots Were Made for…
Dad wore many boots.
Fireman’s Boots: As a little girl, I remember walking around with his fireman boots taking up the entire length of my leg. I walked stiff-legged around the yard with his boots up to my thighs and the safety hat covering my eyes. He no longer had the coat, so I wore Granny’s black raincoat with the combo as I hosed down Mom’s petunias, pretending the blossoms were on fire.
Then there were the riding boots: He gave his away after leaving the Keswick Hunt Club, vowing to never ride another horse. I was a little sore about that when I became a teenager and riding boots were all the rage. I wore the same size shoes as Dad, so vintage boots would have been so cool!
There were the work boots: Steel-toed and always covered in blue dust from Luck Stone quarry. Sometimes there was a layer of mud if we were out in the woods. As I grew up and became Dad’s shadow it became clear that I needed my own boots. My feet had outgrown the rest of me, I could trudge around in his old boots by 8 or 9. At 12 I remember helping with wood splitting before the winter. A log rolled off of the splitter and rolled right onto my foot, but I was fine and Dad was proud that his helper didn’t cry or get hurt.
My favorite was his dancing boots: They were officially retired at the time of my adoption, Dad’s old chestnut brown boots were completely worn out. The leather is soft and faded. The soles were worn thin. The tops were worn from the friction of his Wrangler’s as he moved across the floor with Mom in his arms. As a little girl, he would put them on and play the radio loudly, dancing around the kitchen with me standing on his feet, laughing hysterically as we spun around. Occasionally when I am home alone, I put on some George (Jones, Straight or Thoroughgood), put on those worn boots, take a shot of Whiskey, and dance around the kitchen with his memory. Mostly they sit on a shelf in my office. His fox horn is draped across the pair, which is guarded by his flask. The flask that always held Kentucky Bourbon on a night meant for dancing.
100th Anniversary Keswick Hunt Club Horse Show
Going anywhere with Dad was an event. A task as simple as going to the grocery store could take an hour to buy milk and bread; around every corner was a friendly face and a story to be told. There was one event that was rarely missed in my lifetime and that was the annual trip to the Keswick Horse Show. The 100th annual Keswick Horse Show would put all of the other years to shame! I was given instructions by my mother to wear something pretty, but don’t forget that I would be doing a lot of walking. This opportunity would only happen once in my lifetime. She also thanked me for going in her stead because “I’ve been to 22 years of those horse shows, that was plenty enough for me.” I always felt like I stood out like a sore thumb in Keswick. I never popped my collar or wore pearls. I had a strong disdain for makeup because no one taught me how to use it and I ended up feeling like a clown when I tried. Dad gave me a wink and said just wear whatever. I tried though! I donned my freshly ironed, cute blue top, and my favorite sandals; back home to Keswick I went.
Our first stop after parking down the road in a friend’s driveway was the refreshment stand. Dad had to have a burger. He never made it to the refreshment stand because he was greeted by a dozen handshakes and hugs on the way. Mind you the refreshment stand is just inside the gate. I quietly snuck off and got us each a burger and a Diet Coke which I brought back for him. He disapproved of my being stealthy but appreciated the food. Dad made sure to brag about me to everyone he spoke to. Many of the people we talked to made sure to mention how they hadn’t seen me since I was in diapers, galloping around the club with a broom in my hands pretending it was a horse. (Why do they say that every year?!?) It didn’t matter how rich or poor anyone was around him, he treated them all in the same joking manner. He made sure they treated me like a princess because, in his world, I was. In my world, he was the King of Keswick and I was just along to watch the spectacle of his celebrity status.
We made sure to find his favorite people in the sea of excitement. The Coles family was always our first stop. They were easy to find, parked ringside for the High Jumper Classic. Next to them was the Wheelers. Everyone wanted to feed us or offer a pull-off of their flask. Even though we didn’t have donor status or paid seats in the stands, we were offered someone else’s tickets for the main event. I was tired from standing so Dad gladly accepted. Our neighbor from my childhood brought us boxed dinners of fried chicken and all the fixings. Dad’s best friend Jake made sure we both had the limited quantity swag bags. We were there for the better part of the day and until the final event ended for the night.
I carried my keys on a Keswick 100th anniversary keychain from my swag bag for more than a decade until it was too tattered to resemble the level of respect it deserved; I still have it. Last week, nearly 17 years later, tucked away by Dad above a wardrobe I found both of our programs from the event. I flipped through to bring back all of the nearly forgotten memories and halfway through those pristine pages was a photo of Dad from his days working at the horseshow. Somehow I had missed it all those years ago, but it brought back a flood of memories, smells and emotions from the day. Even back then, I knew that day was beyond special!
If you asked me to…
In 2018 Dad was very repetitive. One day I was driving him home from JABA Adult Daycare and I played a song for him by Waylon Jennings. It was a fluke that I even knew the song, as I had just discovered it earlier that day. Dad started patting his knee and a smile spread across his face. He was transported back to a time when lyrics made sense. He sang every word. I played the song on repeat and enjoyed the time where he could remind me of healthier times.
Tennessee Whiskey
When Chris Stapleton came out with Tennessee Whiskey I played it on headphones and sang along in the kitchen while making dinner. Dad immediately recognized the tune I was singing quietly and asked me “When did you start listening to George Jones?” I took my headphones out and played the song through my phone speaker with Chris Stapleton singing. I also looked up the version with George Jones playing. We listened to music for the rest of the night and it was a really good evening. Dad thought that Chris Stapleton was nice, but said George Jones was better.
Sick days
Being sick was a pretty constant state for me as a kid. Dad raised me to be tough and always keep going. Mom would let me stay home from school if I really pushed her about it, but I usually just went to school. During a particularly bad sick day that happened to fall on a weekend day, I really wanted my Daddy. I needed comfort and I could not find it. I was set up to watch Rescuers Down Under and Cinderella on VHS in my parents’ room so that I could rest. Dad brought me juice and snacks. We snuggled all day. We watched both movies on repeat. I remember laying next to him, head on his belly with a Cabbage Patch tucked under my arm. I felt safe and comfortable. Dad made me feel like him just being there that particular day could cure whatever ailed me.
All that matters…