In memory of Pete Gaudry

Long time Lasqueti resident Pete Gaudry passed away recently. Here are a few words written in his memory.

While nursing a beer during a social visit, Pete let on about one moment that influenced his decision to move to Lasqueti. He was on a baseball team in Richmond, where he grew up, and was positioned in the outfield. It was a boring position, interrupted by moments of panic when the ball was hit into his zone. A few games in, he realized it was more enjoyable to lie on the grass and watch the clouds go by. His baseball career ended shortly after.

Pete moved to Lasqueti in the early eighties, choosing to live life on his terms. He succeeded in balancing the work/play challenges in life while avoiding the societal expectations of a large diverse community. Pete was not comfortable attending community events, joining committees, or going to meetings.  Rather, he was one of the quiet Lasquetians, in the background, below the radar. Small gatherings with just a few friends were his comfort zone, where he might open up and reveal another facet of his complex nature. 

He valued his privacy, and never had a landline, smartphone, computer or other modern means of communication. If you wanted to reach him, you would have to send a letter. Still, he would go to a neighbours' house to make calls wishing me a happy fathers day, or Lindsay a happy mothers day. He would check in on most holidays with greetings. He kept a list of other people he called in the same way.  Always sincere, thoughtful, friendly.

Pete would visit, usually unannounced, and open his pack on the table. He would lay out several items in the order he would present them.  A rock that he got from somewhere unlike any rock you've ever seen. Then a book on carving, his passion, which he would leaf through page by page and share the specifics he found most impressive. He would pull out his tiny digital camera, the only modern technology he carried, and point out his garden wonders on the 2" screen. Here was his dahlia bed in full bloom, which he would pick and place, anonymously of course, in various spots like the ferry ramp, a cookie stand, the free store..... One photo showed a tobacco plant he was growing, and he was impressed by the beauty of its leaves. The plant was huge, and when asked why he gave so much garden space to a plant he couldn't use (Pete was a non smoker), he said actually he was growing 10 of the plants! Why? Because he would harvest them, dry the leaves and shred them, then put the cured tobacco into baggies to bring with him to town when visiting his father during Christmas. He would then take the baggies to the lower east side in Vancouver to give to the down 'n outers who smoked but couldn't afford it.

Pete was tight with money. He was a regular at the Sally Ann and always came home with some great deal on an item he may or may not have actually needed. But when necessary, he took on all sorts of labourer jobs. He had a broad knowledge of the trades, and could tackle carpentry, building, mechanics, truck work, clearing, fencing and other work. He was a hard worker with high standards. 

Pete helped me with a boat launch project that took three weeks. He worked hard and smart. But when we misjudged the clearance needed to swing the stern into position, Pete worked two days straight on his stomach squeezed into a tight space to clear the bank a few feet back. He used a 4' pry bar and a mattock, both heavy tools, and worked like a man possessed. He got the job done, and without a scratch to the boat.

Pete was fastidious about his appearance, especially on ferry days. In preparation for the 8am ferry, he would rise at 5am to give himself time to take a bath, shave, put on a pressed shirt and black creased slacks, and then shine his shoes. His hair was in a neat ponytail that stretched halfway down his back. His ball cap was usually facing backward.

Death of the Raven
Pete had one goal he was most excited about, but didn't live long enough to reach.
It was a carving he had envisioned to be his great accomplishment: a life size carving in the round, a sculpture in the First Nations style, of a kneeling man with tears streaming down his face. With arms outstretched, he held a dead raven..

I think of Pete now, when seeing a Raven. The observer, the loner, one who lived life on his own terms.

In fond memory of Pete Gaudry.
Greg Seaman