I first met Jon when he and Sarah started dating. Sarah and I were grad school classmates, and Jon was initially “the love interest.” He came over for dinner with Sarah and a few other classmates on a night that I was making homemade pizza. He was quiet, reserved, and said little but expressed his regard for the pizza I made that night, which-if recollection serves–was somehow better than most I had made up until then or since. Little did I know then–but would find out with time–that Jon was quite the pizzaiolo himself. I have vivid memories of him making pizza for us all on many an occasion–stretching the homemade dough carefully, placing the customized toppings for each of us, meticulously brushing each crust with olive oil using a pastry brush before placing each pizza on the huge cast iron pan/lid rig he had jiggered with cookware Gllda had gotten through a Winchester Facebook or freecycle group. I remember Jon lugging said cast iron (read: heavy!!) rig camping to the far sites at Rocky Woods and baking pizzas over the campfire (!!) in the rain (!!) for our entire group. Easily a third of my memories of Jon are food-related. Jon made exceptional ramen. I can picture him making each bowl of some of the most excellent vegetarian ramen I’ve ever had—crafting each bowl one-by-one with care–adding the tare (he taught me what tare is–I had never heard of it before then), ladling some fragrant homemade stock, nestling in a mass of noodles to each bowl. A few slices of roasted sweet potato came next. Then a homemade marinated egg, runny on the inside, carefully sliced. Jon topped it all off with a flurry of thinly sliced scallion and a drizzle of hot sesame oil. It was perfection. A few months later we all went to Blue Ginger in Wellesley, celebrity chef Ming Tsai’s restaurant. We ordered the ramen, and after a few bites in we all said in whispered voices, “It’s not as good as Jon’s!”
Jon also made killer no-knead bread, pop-overs, and veggie burgers of all stripes with homemade hamburger buns to boot. I have the recipe for his peach ice cream–the one he made after we went peach picking, the one that Sarah raved about—and his recipe for the blueberry pancakes he made for us all camping one time, somehow figuring out how to get the batter to still have enough leavening to make perfectly fluffy pancakes days after pre-mixing (seriously, how did he do that?). Fried dough, ghost peppers, super sweet roasted sugar squash from Nicewicz farm or elsewhere–these all make me think of Jon. As does apple picking, peach picking, blueberry picking. It wasn’t just that Jon was an excellent cook and baker, it was the fact that it was something he loved to do, something he took pride in, and that he imbued his food with love for those for whom he was cooking.
Another third of my memories of Jon are of Jon the nature and animal lover. I can picture him carrying around his small mirrorless Nikon or his binoculars in the woods, on a hike. His photos–a mushroom, a bee and flower are two that come to mind–were always on prominent display around Sarah and Jon’s apartment. Jon was a birder, clearly knowing more about birds than the rest of us. I remember asking him on one trip to Ipswich River Wildlife Sanctuary, “Hey Jon, what’s the name of that bird–it’s black and has a red stripe on its wing?” “It’s a red-winged blackbird,” said Jon, and we both laughed. I’ve seen a ton of red-winged blackbirds this summer, and they always make me think of Jon. We also still have the bird magnets from Sarah and Jon’s wedding on our fridge all these years later.
The last third of my memories of Jon are of Jon the dedicated husband and father. At their wedding, I remember Auntie Bennie telling us about how Jon was there for Sarah through Paula’s battle with breast cancer, how he’d just hold her and comfort her. Obviously those were not moments I was privy to, but this is entirely consistent with the mental image I have of Jon as a spouse and father. When Elodie was still an infant, I distinctly remember Jon remarking how hard it is being parents of an infant–”We’re both busting our asses, and it’s still really hard.” I found this super refreshing. Even in liberal Massachusetts and the progressive circles we find ourselves in, I feel that such dedicated co-parenting is still relatively uncommon. Jon was busting his ass–cooking for the family, spending quality time with Elodie, and at least from the outside seeming like he took on his fair share of the mental load. And he had such patience! That was also something quite remarkable about Jon. I’d often be out of patience with my own daughter who is slightly older than Elodie, and Jon would be working through any difficult behavior Elodie was displaying with perfect calm! It was a wonder to see. He’d do the same with all the kids (my kids affectionately called Jon “big Jon”). He’d give them endless rides in the wheelbarrow to and from our campsite. He’d play game after game of Crazy Eights or Go Fish with all the kids with infinitely more patience than I ever had.
There was only one time that I ever saw Jon get mad, and this is what I think of as Jon’s “Mama Grizzly” moment. We were camping at Rocky Woods, and we had gotten bagels and bagel sandwiches from a local shop. Some dog owner had let their big dog off-leash and was not supervising. Said big dog came for 3- or 4-year old Elodie’s bagel. She was justifiably terrified of the dog that was easily twice or three times her size coming at her. The dog knocked Elodie over and stole her bagel. Jon, furious, rushed over to rescue Elodie and had some harsh words for the dog owner who couldn’t have cared less and was a complete jerk. That image of Jon, swooping in to protect Elodie really sticks in my mind. Jon had so much love for his family–this was equally evident in his “Mama Grizzly” moment as it was in the moments he sweetly sang the silly zoo train song for Elodie over and over (I wish I could remember all the words!) or the banana song he sang with all the kids. It was evident when he was roasting pecans for Elodie or making that amazing peach ice cream for Sarah and Elodie that he couldn't even eat because peaches are a stone fruit, and he was allergic. It was also evident in all the everyday moments when Jon was quietly toiling in the background making food for his family and others or simply just cleaning up around the house.
Jon was a great friend and an all-around wonderful human being. I am proud to have been counted as one of his friends and am grateful to have had the opportunity to know such a kind, gracious, caring and gentle soul. I marvel at the fact that he was able to express joy and describe himself as happy in his last weeks. I felt at the time–and still feel–devastated and railed at the universe for the unfairness of it all, but meanwhile Jon was able to be at peace and be present with the love that he was surrounded with–love that he cultivated over his lifetime that those who knew him couldn’t help but return in kind. The grace Jon showed in those final weeks–well, that’s just the kind of guy Jon was. I still feel gutted when I think about how in the last conversation I had with him Jon thanked me. He thanked me “for everything.” There’s so much I wanted to say to him, to thank him for. Thank you, Jon, for everything. We miss you so, so much.
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