REMEMBRANCES OF KATHIE:

As a fellow LDS Millpond Ward member, I first met Kathy around the time we built our home down the street from the Benson Grist Mill in 2002. Our new Fieldstone subdivision was just the latest installment in the surrounding growth of Stansbury Park, and I'm sure that by then Kathy was indifferent to being pulled into, once again, a newly reorganized congregation of newcomers. And it wasn't long before the ward learned to value and appreciate her seasoned menu of gifts and abilities.  

Each Sunday, through a combination of scriptorian scholar, historical citations, and personal anecdotes, Kathy could validate principles of doctrine in a way that left us enlightened and edified. Not a Sunday lesson went by without her raising a hand for comment. Someone who speaks with such frequency in class can typically come across as pretentious and even self-serving. But to the contrary, Kathy's hand raise invariably caused everyone to listen more intently to what insight they were about to receive. Kathy had a deeply rooted gift of knowledge.

Kathy was the LDS Stake authority on emergency preparedness and self reliance, whose personal initiative to teach a new generation of families the wisdom of provident living led to the creation of the Stansbury Park Community Garden. On a recent Saturday, she was in charge of a community-wide preparedness fair held at the local school. That evening on the phone, I asked her whether she thought the event was a success. Physically and emotionally drained, her reply to me was that it was successful on more than one level. In addition to a better-than-expected turnout, she paused and added, "For decades I've felt that I alone have shouldered the burden of teaching self-reliance to stake members. But after today I feel the mantle of responsibility has finally lifted off my shoulders. A select few sisters in the stake have risen to the occasion and appear to have caught the full vision that our church leaders have implored of us for so many years. And for the first time in my life, I finally feel like I can pass the torch and not worry about who will carry on the work. I am so greatly relieved, I cannot put it into words." Kathy was the ultimate authority on self-reliance.

Kathy also immersed herself in countless service projects, humanitarian efforts, and loving acts of kindness. On more than one occasion, she sought opportunities to express her admiration and confidence for my wife and I as young parents of disabled children. Knowing just a portion of the challenges she had faced and continued to face in her life, these small expressions of support fostered even greater love for our dear Sister Shepherd. Kathy possessed a keen sense of purpose.

But above all of these contributions given to us by Kathy, perhaps none was more valued - certainly none more visible - than her innate gift of music. Kathy had a very deep love and appreciation for the hymns of the church. Sunday mornings were predictable in knowing that Sister Shepherd would be sitting on the organ bench dancing her feet across the bass pedals as the congregation listened to prelude and sang the hymns. And yes, Kathy sang, too. After so many decades of providing the accompaniment, the verses literally became ingrained in her memory to the extent that she could easily sing along at the top of her soprano lungs while playing the organ with both hands and feet. A consumate ward and stake choir member, she also provided us on occasion with performances of the flute. Talented, to say the very least.

As time went by, the ward split, and she became the default organist for the new ward. In February of 2009, that ward split yet again - and Kathy was moved back into our Millpond Ward boundaries. She had made it known to the Stake President that the church calling of her choice would not have anything to do with music - only because she had served in that capacity for decades already. But within a few weeks, much to everyone's surprise, Kathy was called to lead the music in Sacrament meetings as ward chorister. In a subsequent conversation, I asked her what had happened that she was given a music calling against her known wishes. She held up her hand and showed me some scars. She began to list broken, fractured, and shattered bones up and down both elbows, forearms, wrists, hands, and fingers. She listed accidents, surgeries, and miraculous recoveries. She said, "Steve, I told my Heavenly Father that if he would bless me with a full recovery, I would never, ever turn down a music calling. He healed me. As a result, I never have turned down a music calling and I'm not about to start now." Enough said.

In the few short months that she led the music in our ward, I loved - and I mean loved! - watching her direct the hymns. Her eyes twinkled as she smiled and sang and moved her arms energetically the beat of the tempo. She kept us engaged as we followed her baton linger just a bit longer on fermatas that gave emphasis to her interpretation of the words being sung. And the effervescent smile she wore on her face provided incentive for those singing in the congregation to attempt a deeper appreciation for the words being sung.

Within the last two months, she was asked to speak in our ward about the role music has played in her life. She delivered a very eloquent, heartfelt talk, interspersed with singing from the pulpit some of her favorite primary tunes from when she was young. We gained a small window into her childhood as she explained that the hymns and primary songs of the church provided her comfort, courage, and strength to confront and endure the challenges she encountered early in life. She learned the piano against great odds and was self-taught on a cardboard cutout of piano keys. The details of her talk elude me, but if there is a copy of it available in her files, it would be well worth the read.

For her, singing hymns was a manifestation, and literally an extension, of her testiomony of the restored Gospel. And the musical connection she made with the congregation each Sunday was a joy to be a part of. Three weeks before her passing, she filled in for organ on short notice while I filled in for her as chorister. As I stood up to prepare for the first song, she whispered loudly to me over the top of the organ, "Now, Steve, I have a heart that beats faster than most, so try to keep pace."

At her funeral earlier today, I directed the congregation in singing two of her favorite hymns, "How Great Thou Art," and "God Be With You Til We Meet Again" - two hymns that have a notorious tendency to "drag." I deliberately held the congregation to a faster tempo, in a direct effort to pay tribute to Kathy.

Thank you, Kathy, for the spiritual growth and edification you've allowed us to make in your midst. Your contributions were so appreciated and will be greatly missed in this life. I can only imagine the contributions you are now making in the next.

Sincerely your friend,

Stephen Garrard

KATHIE'S EULOGY: --by Becky Bartholomew (her sister)

We all know, and Kathie would be first to agree, that I am the least worthy person to do this.  Preston, Stewart, and the rest of the family have allowed me to speak because I'm Kathie's longest living sibling, and her oldest and shabbiest friend.  We weren't very close the last ten years.  Life got too hard; in large famlies STUFF is always happening.  But it would be better if I had made a little more room in my heart for a hurting sister.  How hard would it have been to pick up the phone and insist on a visit?  If not for some cards and emails, I'd be inconsolable. I figured we had 10 or 15 years left to be widows together and go on trips like when we were children.  I don't question the Lord's timetable.  I just ask Him for consolation, for forgiveness, and that he negotiate with Kathie to forgive me, because Kathie could be a tough nut to crack.

Still, I'm probably in the best position of anyone but Gogi and Butch to testify in Kathie's behalf and hope that sometime in the not-too-distant future she'll do the same for me.  That's my main purpose today, tell things as they were.  And the way things were with Kathie and me was: Cats and dogs.  Oil and water.  Night and day.  I did some things Kathie felt to the core of her being were Wrong.  She couldn't understand how I could believe in Jesus and do those things.  She did some things I profoundly believe to be wrong.  And being sisters, we let each other know!

But when we were children it wasn't like that.  She was my big sister, marvelously smarter and wiser.  I patterned myself after her.  At home she was my buffer.  Kathie and all of us endured things children shouldn't have to, certainly not in a religious home.  There were causes -- we're all responsible for our sins, but as you get older you understand things better.  Life is hard.  As the oldest Kathie took the brunt of it.  And because she was there to hide behind, I escaped a lot of it. At school too, she was my advocate and protector.  She was also a surrogate mother -- I remember our attic bedroom in that pretty little house in Suitland Park outside Washington, D.C.  We defied Dad's order to go to sleep!  so we could whisper back and forth as Kathie taught me how to count to a hundred!  She was in kindergarten, which seemed like college at the time.  And I was humble in those days so she could teach me something.

And-then-we-grew-up.  And out typical interaction was like this: Kathie might phone to wish me a happy birthday and we'd chat a few minutes about children and work, and thenshe'd ask if I was attending ReLIEF Socity.  And I'd say, I really don't enjoy going to RS, and she'd remind me how wonderful and necessary it is, that it is God's Plan for Women and how could I disobey God?  So then I'd have no choice but to throw a good cussword at her. And we'd hurl scriptures at each other until one of us would say "I love you" and we'd hang up and not speak again until her birthday when I'd try to return the favor.

But also Kathie committed constant,notable acts of love.  One Saturday night ny first husband Ken and I were sitting at home bored when the doorbell rang and there were Kathie and Ray with a carton of gourmet ice cream.  We talked and laughed and ate ice cream together and had a great time.  When our baby was stillborn, Kathie brought a beautiful christening dress she had sewn, embroidered, and intended as an heirloom for a grandchild bur sacrificed to bury our baby in.  Every year for over 10 years Kathie hand-sewed, knitted and crocheted Xmas gifts for everysibling, sibling-in-law, niece, and nephew until finally there were too many and it became impossible.  She cared.  She cared even when it hurt her.

Kathie's life began so beautifully.  I don't mean sex.  I mean, at the time she was born Mom lived with Dad's folks, Arthur and LeNora, at Saltair.  Everyone fell in love with her instantly; Mom said the whole household revolved around her.  They'd hurry home from work and school just go get a chance to holdher.  Kathie was adored by both sets of grandparents and great-grandparents--Mom and Pop Thomas--and she actually remembered visiting our tiny Mennonite great-grandma Catherine Getz Foster who at age 80 (70?) could wrestle any one of her sons to the ground.  Perhaps because of this early sheltering andlove, Kathie treasured family ties and worked all her life to preserve them.

I just realized Great-granddad Daniel Foster died Sept 1943.  The second raid on Schweinfurt, Black Thursday, took place Oct. 14.  So who pulled Dad's ripcord?

Kathie was a year old when Dad came home from war.  He loved and adored her.  And from the very beginning expected his little genius to act with the wisdom and swiftness of an adult.  Mom said many times she remonstrated with Dad to go easier on Kathie, but for awhile he convinced Mom she needed to demand more of Kathie too, so Mom started a reform campaign, criticizing every mistake Kathie made.  Finally one day this little toddler looked up with the most forlorn expression that said, "Can't I do anything right?" and Mom's heart melted and that was the end of that campaign.

Kathie would think and plan imaginative activities for us younger siblings.  One play she devised was based on a Raggedy Ann storybook.  She directed Gogi and me in hanging blankets from a card table for stage curtains and finding props.  Butch was on of our props.

Later I suspect the role of surrogate mother soured just a bit.  In Alaska, Mom and Dad often went grovery chopping on Saturday mornings.  As they walked out the door, Dad would say, "I want the house picked up before we get back"--like we could pick up a house--and he'd put poor Kathie in charge-- Of seven younger siblings.  She'd try to get us to work and we'd say "You're not the boss of me" and she'd get exasperated because it was her neck on the line if Dad got back and the house wasn't clean, so she'd holler and Butch or I would holler back and somebody would swat somebody and somebody else would start swinging--you know, like this, so nobody could get in a lick.  I mean, we were savages.  And Kathie 10 years old was supposed to govern us. Life isn't fair.

If Kathie couldn't please her father she sure pleased her teachers.  In every grade, she was her teacher's pet.  And no wonder--she was exceptionally gifted, sweet, cooperative, and helpful and popular with other students.  I did not even try to compete with Kathie in school.  Fortunately, not much was expected of me, as Kathie shone enough for both of us.  She earned straight A's from kindergarten through high school.  She graduated from Lompoc High with honors and was a Sterling scholar in math.

You'd think Kathie would have rebelled, but she fully adopted her parents' ethics.  It's an understatement to say she was a self-driver.  She worked fulltime most of the years she was bearing and raising Nine Children.  She wasn't afraid of working 2 or 3 jobs if that's what it took to help her children or have her beautiful pioneer home.  Kathie could do any-thing-she-set-out-to-do.  Her obituary--which is one of the loveliest we'll ever read--Ray wrote it--caught Kathie perfectly, he really nailed it, so much so that I then had to rewrite my whole talk because it already says it--describes her superbness as a thesis editor.  She could have been one of those incomparable, now extinct, copy editors for any large metropolitan newspaper  or publishing house.

When you think about it, Kathie was born just as women's roles began to change cecause of the war, but before the historical shift really tookhold. If she'd come along 20 years later, with her really remarkable academic abilty and more options open to her not just in the workplace but in her own mind, she would have become a prominent attorney, professor, or the first lady executive to break the glass ceiling.  And she would have done it while still being a wife and mother, because that's what she did do, before it became feasible.

Now I'd like to read a poem to Kathie.  It's not a very good poem, it doesn't even rhyme, and when I tried to make it rhyme itno longer said what I needed.  It is in iambic pentameter.  Please excuse there being so much of me in it.  Just think of yourself in place of me.

KATHIE, FREE

She was born in the traces. On her converged

the hopes, the dreams, the yearnings of generations—

the doe-eyed determined young mother,

the scratchy redheaded father, the petite

grandmother with large ambitions for her own,

the grandfather of bull-like German stock,

even a great-grandmother, doting, anxious

as to religion, and great-grandfather whose

wooden leg thwarted a huge career.

Grand-aunts and –uncles looked on in their way.

Into this circle entered Kathie,

a curly, bright-eyed thoroughbred who took

up her burden eagerly, never doubting

her trainers’ love or trust nor her own aptitude

to please— in her very DNA deft-footed,

adroit and inexhaustible in the reins,

a seasoned runner right out the gate.

Initially their demands were light

and tenderly dispensed, perhaps her fallback

for later when the exactitudes stiffened.

For her mother sought for nothing short of heaven

and her father was the triple whammy— stern

officer, old-school patriarch

sparing no rod, and veteran

whose foreign wars returned to him by night

and he visited upon his children by day,

foremostly on her. He merely required

perfection— flawless conformation—

of her, his firstborn, and this she very

nearly delivered.   

     I was the secondborn,

slower, timider. Even they could see

I couldn’t keep step with her, so they

consented to my trotting in her shadow. 

She was my leader, protector, my spokesman

with that lithe quickness and, even more,

that miraculous backbone nearly matching

her father’s, frail though she looked,

a full-grown spirit in a girl’s body.

She bore the brunt of my childhood.

I hid behind her and plotted deliverance.

It was a long time coming, and not before

she’d mature into a spirited, dark-haired

beauty. At twelve she gave her first show

of rebellion, though it proved outward only,

she by then having made their expectations

hers. I still borrowed from her light as she

raced gamely on, with more regard

to the elders’ teachings than the elders

themselves. At nineteen it seemed she might

jump the rope, leaving school to elope— 

yet it was no liberation, rather

a coming of age, a transfer.

FOSTER SISTERS (BECKY, GOGI, MARSHA, ADRIENNE (EGG), TRUDY, MARALEE.

DUANE SHEPHERD FAMILY

ABOVE; STEWART SHEPHERD

BELOW: DUANE SHEPHERD

BECKY BARTHOLOMEW

 DUANE SHEPHERD FAMILY

WARREN FOSTER FAMILY: Scott, Marty, Warren, Kaye, April, and Devan (Levi and Sarah are missing from this photo)

BECKY AND GOGI

THE DICK AND BEVERLY LOWERY AND MARALEE