Farewell, Warren Fernald

They buried Warren Fernald yesterday. Family and friends gathered at the Stanley cemetery on Little Cranberry Island for the graveside ceremony. Mr. Fernald was devout in his own way, but he didn’t go to church and didn’t want his funeral in the church. He said he didn’t want to be a hypocrite. He left $5,000 for a big community lobster bake in July. He said he didn’t do it before he died because he hated crowds.

Mr. Fernald’s sturdy independence of mind was a model for the island village of Islesford, with its winter population of 80 that swells to around 400 with summer residents and renters. His and his wife Anna’s cozy kitchen for many years has been a haven and hangout for their six children, their spouses, grandchildren and friends and strangers, including young people who seemed at loose ends.

A lifetime lobsterman, he rode his bicycle down to the dock most days to haul traps on his old wooden boat, “Mother Ann.” Other days he spent in his “office” on the dock, repairing traps and gear and always ready for a chat, a funny story or a salty comment about community, national or world affairs. He lobstered frequently and continued to split his own firewood until two weeks ago, when, at 77, he finally was losing his two-year fight with cancer. He died last Tuesday.

Warren and Anna, with their fine mixture of generosity and frugality, inspired their island community with their example of hard work, hospitality and tolerance. Islesford may be unique in its close relationship of natives and summer people. Intermarriage is part of the explanation, and two of the six Warren children have married spouses “from away.” And one of their two daughters, Kelly, found loving acceptance when she told them she was gay and brought home her partner, Betsy. Just two weeks ago, Betsy asked Warren what he thought when she arrived on a visit.

He told her it took some getting used to but he soon loved her like a daughter and considered her the best stern man he ever had. He said, “Getting another daughter is better than losing a daughter.”

His frugality came up at yesterday’s service. Son Bruce, also a lobsterman, told of a time when he complained at breakfast that Warren had saved money by buying some small eggs, which were hard to open. They had quite an argument and both went off mad to haul traps on their separate boats. By and by, Bruce saw “Mother Ann” sailing over near him. Warren hailed him and said, “Chicken eggs are nothing to fight about.”

Among other fine qualities, Warren never held a grudge.