People attend a memorial service for Steve Browne at his Hilltowns farm.
A remarkable man passed away last week in a tragic accident on his farm in the Hilltowns. But there was nothing tragic about the life of Stephen Browne. Indeed, it was an extraordinary life that was celebrated by more than 300 guests in the garden meadow that he and his wife, Mary, lovingly created ? and which has been the site of numerous weddings, memorials and other celebrations over the years. In fact, the ashes of my mother, Estelle, were laid to rest in that same garden last summer, near the final resting place of her older sister, Mitzi.
News reports of Steve?s death gave an accounting of events without speaking to the quality of the life that had just passed. So I was especially pleased to be on hand, not because I work at the Times Union but because I?ve been lucky enough to have Steve and Mary as longtime friends.
Mary Browne speaks about her husband during the memorial service for Steve Browne.
As I arrived in Knox this morning, cars were parked up and down Pleasant Valley Road, filling a field on one side and what had been an enormous chicken coop alongside the barn on the other side. As I joined others walking up the long, curving drive, I looked around and saw the walls, gardens, and pond that Steve had constructed, turning the Browne farm into a popular gathering place for their large extended family and network of friends.? Just beyond the barn was the former house of a neighbor, which the Browne?s had purchased and turned into a spiritual retreat center. I have fond memories of the day buses brought schoolchildren from all over to join a ceremony with a group of Buddhist monks as they inaugurated a peace garden alongside the center.
I headed past the family home and the large tent set up for a post-memorial feast, and down across the bridge that leads to the garden. Rows and rows of chairs had been set up, and they quickly filled up, with many additional people standing along the sides and back of the forest meadow.
As Mary began the memorial, she asked all her children to stand. I counted at least 25 people who rose to their feet, and I recalled that Steve and Mary had fostered dozens of kids over the years and had unofficially ?adopted? many others in need. Many of them were on hand, some having flown in from Europe and beyond. A harpist had arrived from Ireland, as well, to honor his friend, Steve, with his music and join in the celebration.
Musicians perform during the memorial for Steve Browne.
Mary spoke to us from the heart, and she was followed by family and friends who sang, read poetry, or told heart-warming and extremely humorous stories of Steve, a wildlife biologist and farmer who was the epitome of the gentle giant. His family described him beautifully in his obituary (read obituary here):
?(Steve) is the father of four children, grandfather of six and a father figure and mentor to dozens of additional young people who were always welcome at the Brownes? home. Poppa Browne, a big bear of a man, is best remembered for his deep, resonant voice, gentle spirit and devoted stewardship of the nearly 500 acres of fields and forests at the family farm. He freely shared his love and knowledge of the natural world at every opportunity, including duck and goose banding trips, full-moon hikes and stories by the firelight.?
During the service, Mary read something she wrote last week while waiting for Steve to return home, not knowing that at that very moment he was passing beyond ? and not realizing until later that it came to her in spirit especially for him: ?I am not old, in spite of what you see. I am as young as tomorrow. I am a thought, an action, a heartbeat. I am reborn every second. I choose to be alive, present, full, happy, wise, silent. I choose to be.?
Cars are lined up alongside the barn at the Browne farm.
As I left the farm to head back to work, the party was still going strong, music filling the surrounding fields as celebrants headed toward the tent and the promise of good food and company ? a promise Steve and Mary always fulfilled, every time I have ever seen them. As I looked around and said a silent good-bye, I could feel Steve?s spirit spreading out across his beloved fields and forests and into my heart.
Source: http://blog.timesunion.com/guilderland/steve-browne-a-hilltowns-farewell/1864/
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