There is not enough space on the internet or pages in the universe to express the loss of Jean Baulu. I am one of the fortunate ones to have considered him an Uncle. When I saw him in July this year, I had the pleasure of spending one-on-one time with him, fishing, a long-shared passion, along with SCUBA diving.

So many memories. From sitting in front of him on his motorcycle, with Kat holding on to him behind when we were five years old, riding through the cane fields of St. Kitts, to sitting on a tiny boat with an outboard motor while he brought up lobsters, cracked the small legs open, giving me the tiny round slivers which I devoured. I consider it my first introduction to lobster “sushi.”

So many stories. Like how he photographed (with a telescopic lens), my father mooning him from the swim platform out in the sea, printed it, and hung it in the bathroom where it hung for years leaving many to ask, “who is that?” Only to leave my father in many situations where those who had seen the picture and later met my father would say. “Oh. YOU’RE David Reed.”

And like the time we attended a reception at Kat’s school in Barbados in the 80’s and his pants hadn’t been tailored correctly, leaving him with pantlegs that bent inward at the knees. When I said, “Uncle Jean, you look like you’re the opposite of bow-legged,” he responded without skipping a beat, “Well, that’s because the horse was riding ME!”

Or when he and my father were on a small diving boat in St. Kitts that pulled alongside a large cruise ship, and Jean yelled up to the guys looking over the railing, “We’re here to take your wives,” to which many of the man yelled back “TAKE MINE! TAKE MINE!”

And, when he convinced my parents that it was okay to board the private, exclusive Windjammer cruiser, which pulled into port every few weeks in St. Kitts, intending to blend in to simply having a drink at the bar. The security staff, in no uncertain terms, turned them away. As the four descended the plank in having been caught, Suzanne, his steadfast supporter, yelled back up to the staff: “It’s okay, we’ve been thrown off of better ships!”

I will forever appreciate the life advice he could hand out without fail. Like when I was confused about what to do with my life even after 9 expensive years of education and two graduate degrees, he gave me the simplest, most informative direction: “Figure out what you want to DO, and the ENVIRONMENT you wish to do it in.” It wasn’t the answer to all my professional unhappiness at the time, but it guided me to where I’ve landed now: complete satisfaction with my life and work.

I am blessed to have spent several days with Jean just two months before he passed, not knowing it would be the last time we would see each other. But still, I was lucky enough to have spent those last days the same way I would have chosen had I known it was the last time. We fished, we cooked (he taught me to perfectly pan-fry a piece of haddock), we ate, we drank, and discussed all things science and nature.

But, the biggest blessing came after he passed. When Jean and Suzanne would stay at my home in Florida from time to time, they would leave me little gifts for my return. Once, they left me a beautiful book about Yellowstone National Park. After he passed, I took the book off the shelf to read a little before bed, and to my surprise, Jean had written a note inside the book years earlier that I had never seen. It was incredibly calming as if he was speaking to me from beyond with heartwarming words like “you are our adoptive daughter.” It calmed my extreme grief, a reminder that he was still here with us.

I miss him dearly. I miss his jokes, his funny mannerisms, his love expressed for his Kat, Cui, and Isabelle, and “my beautiful wife.” I miss his voice after he would listen to my stories, always saying “veeeeerrrry good.” I especially miss his knack for walking into a room and pictures falling off the walls along with the delicious mayhem that consistently followed him. He always came out smelling like a rose.

Jean, I look forward to diving and fishing with you again wherever you are, and fully anticipate being greeted with a tall rum punch and a flying fish cutter.

Love, Julie.

Treasured memories of adventures on the water and at the dinner table.

We met Jean in Maine through his love of fishing. Our friendship kicked off with a fishing trip on the Prime 8. We had many varied fishing adventures over the years, off the Coast of New England. Jean’s sense of adventure, curiosity and humor served him well on the water. Jean even broke the Maine State record for blue shark. Perhaps the special “holy water” he used to bless the baits had a little something to do with it?

We also had wonderful memories off the water. The fun conversations, a few mischievous adventures and always wonderful wine. Jean and Suzanne’s generosity and hospitality always made us feel like family, and in our hearts they are family.

Jean you are loved and missed beyond words.

Suzanne, Kat, Cui, Isabelle and your families our deep condolences. We send you much love and strength. On December 12th, we will raise a glass and celebrate Jean.