Remembering Iris...

What can you say about Iris, a woman who was more a force of nature than a mere human being? Words seem inadequate when we try to describe who she was to the Village. You can boil it down to the hard facts found in her obituary, but that doesn't begin to fully define Iris, a woman who dedicated herself to Log Cabin Village for more than forty years. But she deserves that we try, so here goes nothing.

Iris had a laugh that immediately engaged those around her, both visitors and coworkers. She was pushy...but that kind of grandmotherly pushy that made you know that every action she took was because she loved you. She might have only known you for a moment, but she loved you. Even the numerous Village guests who she gently forced to sign "her book" (our guest register) knew that.

Iris had a way of making everyone who passed through the front gates of the Village feel like they were her special guests, like she'd been waiting all day just for their arrival. She sometimes lacked physical grace (resulting in numerous unfortunate accidents/injuries), but she would take each incident in stride, pushing aside help and taking on life with a fierce determination. Her spiritual grace more than made up for her misteps. She never blamed anyone or grumbled when misfortune struck. And her smile...no matter what the circumstance, Iris had a smile on her face that would light up a room.

Did I mention that Iris' broccoli cornbread was legendary? (Recipe coming soon)

We could go on and on for pages, and still the words would be inadequate. She was our teacher. She was our gift shop attendant. She was a seamstress, an embroiderer, a chandler, a weaver, and a bookkeeper. She was a mother and grandmother, even if not by blood. She was the heart of the Village. She was a friend. She was Iris. And we loved her more than we can express.

We miss you, Iris.