Everett L. Brown

May 03, 1944
- March 13, 2011

SEBEC - May 3, 1944. (One Mile, comin' up). Born in Dover-Foxcroft to Ruel and Mildred (St. Louis) Brown, Everett was a student easily distracted (Round Turn, comin' up), but football and track allowed him to shine. Handsome, in good health and excellent shape, at 15 he worked pulling treated hides from vats in the local tannery and hooking four-foot pulp for his father. (Powerhouse Hill, comin' up). May 22, 1965. Marriage was quickly followed by Kim and Dan and increased his responsibilities but he took his fatherhood in stride. (Bull Dog Corner, comin' up). His love of hunting and fishing dominated his hobbies, but four-wheelers, snowmobiles and horses were also special activities for him. (Caribou Cove, comin'up). Did anything ever taste better than hot dogs burned on a stick over an open fire on a snowmobile trail - or a fresh trout fried in bacon grease on the woodstove at Third Buttermilk? (Pine Stream, comin' up). Everett was quick to make friends, slow to anger and congenial to everyone. He could walk into a room full of strangers and strike up a conversation with anyone. (Just ask Lois!). We rarely traveled a road that didn't intersect with someone he knew from some job site, some garage, some area through which he had been. (Lobster Camps, comin' up). He didn't go much for bragging or calling attention to himself - unless he was discussing the current load behind his 425 CAT Peterbilt. When the "Bogey Pounder" was replaced, it was with a 550 CAT Western Star. (Load of popcorn, comin' down). He liked to keep up with the younger drivers; he enjoyed going by younger drivers and he relished staying ahead of the younger drivers. (HAH! Loop Road, comin' down). Everett found life's pleasures in small things: a baby's smile, scratching the ears of a good dog, a juicy steak and a cold beer (or two or three), hanging out with "the boys," helping a friend. He didn't need much, didn't ask for much, never expected much to be handed to him. (Gilbert Curve, comin' down). Everett enjoyed the companionship of young men trying to learn truck driving and he sat many of them behind the wheel of his own truck to get their Class "A" licenses. For almost 46 years he protected, cared for and provided for the family. For five years he worked steadily to finish the little gray house in Sebec, which should have been called "The Golden Road House" but is affectionately known as "Field of Oaks." He reached that goal in December 2010. After 50 years of double clutching, gear-jamming, tossing cables, hooking tire chains, applying fifth-wheel grease, replacing broken springs and changing blown tires, Everett parked his "bunk on wheels," his log truck that he named "The Last Ride." (O.P. one, comin' down). On March 13, 2011, just as the sun was rising, a kind and gentle soul, a dedicated man who was solid and dependable, was snatched away from us. (Ambe Jack, comin' down). I lost my husband, we lost our father, our Bumpa, our brother, our friend. (Pumpin Patch, comin' down). We know he loved us; he showed us through his actions. But we never told him enough, how much we loved him. (One-a-Day), comin' down), how proud we were of him, (Barnett Flat, comin' down), how much we admired his accomplishments. (Millinocket Lake, comin' down). If tears, sleepless nights and heartache are a sign, he knows now. ("S" Turn, comin' down). The heart and soul of our family has ventured down new roads without us. (Huber Road, comin' down). God, if you are listening, please show Everett the full moon through tall, spired fir trees, or a splendid sunset on the waterfall at Ragged Stream Bridge. Against the deep blue of Your cloudless sky, let him watch that eagle circle and soar and climb. Let him once again see the fox pup stealing potato chips at the camps, the Mile 53 "Head Quarters." Allow him please, to roam amongst the moose, the land, the mountains he so loved, we beg You, so he will not be lost. For he felt his own private heaven was the sights and sounds of "The Golden Road" and without them, he will be as adrift as we are without him. "Wrap up the cables, boys, and blow off the trailers. That's all she wrote." ... Let me live where the great trees lend, Grace and beauty to the river's bend. Let me live with nature's things, The song of birds and the whirr of wings ... ...I'd like to leave an echo ... Whispering softly down the ways, Of happy times and laughing times And bright and sunny days ... ... And think of him as living in The hearts of those he touched ... For nothing loved is ever lost And he was loved so much ...

Published in Bangor Daily News on March 29, 2011

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