Frank Edward Strong

Frank Edward Strong (Turvy)

Feb 4, 1930 – Dec 10, 2007

WHAT A MAN!

My Dad, the “Renaissance Man”. A brilliant man who lived his dreams every single day of his life. A hopelessly romantic, adoring husband to my Mom, Annie; an awe-inspiring, ferociously loving father to Curt, Ward, Aaron, and myself, Ellen. For fifteen years, a professor of Entomology in California, with a love of research, and a passion for lecturing mesmerized grad students. In his spare time, he was a musician – thick sausage fingers lingering over “Moonlight Sonata” on the piano; an airplane pilot; an expert outdoorsman; a wooden boat builder; a kindly trainer of Black Lab hunting dogs; a razor-sharp mechanic who often invented and built his own tools when there just wasn’t the right one on the market to do the job. Dad was the kind of man who would (and did) quit his tenured job at the university, sell everything, buy a farm, and move his family to Canada. For Dad, farming was heaven: a soul-feeding combination of scientific problem-solving and age-old basic rhythms. Then, a phone call came in the middle of potato harvest – a job offer from the United Nations. Wow! A new adventure! The farm rented, we moved to Greece, and then Italy, where Dad led insect pest-management projects in developing countries all over the world. After several years it was time to go home – Dad was ready to put on the gum boots and Stanfield again. He began to slow down, and he and Mom finally sold the farm and moved to a gorgeous waterfront home on Quadra Island. In 2001 Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. This would be Dad’s most challenging and intense trip, but just as she had done with all his crazy adventures, Mom traveled right along with him. She cared for him for three years, and then Dad moved to his final home – Yuculta Lodge in Campbell River. There, he enchanted all the ladies with his gallant ways, movie-star good looks, and unfailing sense of humour. On December 10, with Mom’s arms around him, Dad took his last breath. The end of an era. As my brother says, “they just don’t make ‘em like that any more!”

There will be a private service for family only, but we’d all love to hear from anyone wishing to send their regards.