~~~In loving memory of Harold Tibbs~~~
Cherished husband, dad, grandpa, great grandpa, friend and storyteller
*
Thoughts written by his granddaughter Laura from Samoa in Nov., 2003
I think probably all of us in the Tibbs family have similar stories to tell about Grandpa Harold—his love of animals; his ability to spin a story—but we keep emphasizing them because those things were just so impressive.
His connection with animals was almost mystical, like a Pied Piper of cats and dogs. It seems like there were always some barn cats that no one could get near, but that would follow him around devotedly. I remember him sitting in his chair with kittens that had lost their mom; I think it was in the winter. He just sat still with these tiny things in his lap, this somewhat gruff old man as gentle as you could imagine.
I will miss his stories, but more than that I think I will miss the sound of his voice. Somehow, when he started talking, I always just felt that I was home. Even if the story was one I’d heard many times, I loved hearing it again. Especially if it was one where he got the best of someone, because as you neared the end, his grin would just light up his face.
That same grin appeared a lot more often when his family was all together. Grandpa wasn’t one to get very gushy on you, but there was no question of his love for his kids and grandkids. When a fair number of us were in the house, he’d sit and listen to the chatter, roll one of his cigarettes, and usually put in some wry comment about what we were saying, with the most mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
One summer, I spent four months in Sandpoint working for the vet hospital and spending countless hours at Grandma and Grandpa’s house on Boyer. I had just finished my sophmore year as an animal science major, and was feeling pretty eager to show off my knowledge of livestock.
My cousin Annie and I were wandering around the livestock barn at the County Fair, and I was reading all the attributes of the young bulls for sale, when we ran into Grandpa. I had just finished a genetics course, and had picked out a Simmental bull that I thought was pretty quality. I took Grandpa over, and ran down the genetic attributes and all the reasons why this bull would be a good addition to his herd, even though it wasn’t a Hereford.
He gave one of his none-too-wordy responses that it seemed a pretty nice bull, and we parted ways. I was so proud and amazed the next day when I found out that he had bought that bull. I always thought that it was because I pitched such a good sale, and that Grandpa took my word as a newly trained livestock “expert” seriously, but I wonder now if it wasn’t Grandpa’s way of showing a little love and pride in his would-be veterinarian granddaughter. Either way, I thank him.
I will miss my grandfather very much.
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