If I spread out five random pictures of my grandfather on a table and said to a total stranger, “This is Fred Turner. Can you guess his favorite hobbies?” they’d guess hunting and fishing in no time flat. In most of our family pictures, he’s proudly holding up a fish or posing with his latest kill. Fred was an avid outdoorsman, and the perfect subject for Week 27 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge: The Great Outdoors.
Fred loved spending time at his grandparents’ farm in Mount Vernon, Maine. Even after his family moved to Massachusetts when he was small, he visited his grandparents frequently. While there, he roamed their acres of woodland, hunting, fishing, and exploring. He loved Mount Vernon so much that his grandmother left him the property in her will. Surprisingly, he later sold the farm he loved, as well as an adjacent parcel of property that was home to his small hunting camp. Even factoring in inflation, he asked very little for the property, which is confusing. Why he didn’t choose to live there is a complete mystery.
Always one for the side-hustle, Fred had a couple of hunting-adjacent businesses. For a short time in the 1950s, he bred beagles for hunting and sold the puppies for $10 and up. That was in line with what others advertised puppies for in the newspaper. At one point, he owned a mink farm. I may be mistaken, but I believe he also trapped animals and sold their hides.
When Fred first saw his future wife, Helen, at a dance hall, he was taken by her beautiful smile, flirtatious nature, and abundant energy. They both enjoyed dancing, but to the older man’s surprise, young Helen was also quite the angler. In several pictures of her that pre-date her relationship with Fred, she’s in a boat or holding up a fish. It was one more passion the unlikely couple had in common, and maybe it was that more than dancing that caused Fred to pursue her so relentlessly. A woman who was fun, gorgeous, a hell of a dancer, and loved to fish? No way was he letting her go!
Fred wasn’t demonstrative when it came to emotions. Those who knew him would never describe him as a warm and fuzzy person. He was older when he had children and found connecting with them difficult. Maybe a little girl would have softened him up and wrapped the gruff man around her finger, but he didn’t have one – he had three boys instead. He didn’t know how to be gentle or compassionate with sons because in his mind, boys were meant to be tough. He connected best with them outside, nurturing their love of nature. Because of him, they learned to blend in with their surroundings, walk softly through the forest, and wait in silence for a deer to cross their path. He taught them to not only tolerate sitting in a boat for hours on end waiting for a fish to bite, but to appreciate the quiet time to reflect. My dad’s best memories of his father were the times they spent hunting and fishing together.
Fred wasn’t just a good fisherman, he was a great fisherman. He was often in the newspaper for catching large togue or bass. He even won some fishing contests.
His boys followed in his footsteps. I bet my dad was proud when his father took him fishing, and he caught the bigger of the two fish. Like his father, Fred, so often did, my dad, Gene, made it into the newspaper.
In his later years, Fred enjoyed taking his first two grandsons fishing. By the time the rest of us were old enough, he had passed away.
Fred grows progressively older in his pictures, but his crooked smile never falters as he holds up his latest prize from the depths of Maine’s lakes. Everyone has their “happy place” where they feel as close to their true, authentic selves as possible. Fred Turner’s happy place was the great outdoors.
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