Spud Edmondson recalls...

Ever since I could remember anything, I remember the Fulmer's. Aunt Bea and Uncle Jack were best friends with my Mom and Dad and Johnny & I were the same age.
One of my favorite homes ever was the Fulmer home on S. 27th Ave in Yakima. Johnny & I grew up together there, exploring the neighborhood when very young with our siblings and playing ball for hours on end as we got older. One of the great things was making home made ice cream that was the best around.
Johnny was the ace pitcher and I was the catcher on our little league teams thru age 15. Johnny seldom got beat as we won the championship most years, which was no mean feat as Johnny faced a group of Yakima athletes that won state championships in football, basketball & baseball as high school seniors. Sadly for us, but , as it turned out, great for the Fulmer's, was their move to the westside around the time John turned 16.
I saw little of the family after that, but kept a close eye on their world thru infrequent contacts and Aunt Bea's Christmas letter. I have always admired the family's closeness and many personal acheivements. Like my mom use to say, "once you've developed a bond like that, it doesn't matter if you talk once a day or once every five years, you're always close". I felt that closeness with Uncle Jack, Aunt Bea and John and will never forget the 50's when we seemed like one big, happy family.
My heart aches for you, Aunt Bea, but I am comforted by knowing you are surrounded by a large, loving family whose stregth will help all the Fulmers deal with the apin of John's passing.
You can all be proud of the legacy left us by John and the memories of a person I remember as kind and gently.

My thoughts and fond wishes are with you - Love, Spud

Memories of John Fulmer

Memories of John Fulmer
By
Michael R. Peck


I’m not much for extemporaneous speaking, so bear with me as I read. My name is Michael Peck, and I would like to take a little time to share a few recollections of John, provided my memory hasn’t failed me. Consequently, names, places, and dates may be a little muddled in historical accuracy.
Looking back, I must have met John in the mid-seventies while working at Boise Cascade in Bellevue. He and Dick Windham were associates in the remodeling business. I would attempt to help out with door and millwork design and selection, and they would proceed to show mercy on the greenhorn college kid who didn’t understand the business end of a hammer, let alone a nail gun!
Over the years, John and Dick remained loyal customers as Boise Cascade evolved into BMC West and their remodeling business transformed into separate companies. Subsequently, Skylights West grew and prospered under John’s direction, and I even learned a few more things about building materials and construction. John said that even a pig finds an acorn once in a while! High praise, don’t you think?
As I probed John’s background, my nosy nature discovered that Susan’s sister Margie was married to Jay Patterson, a fraternity brother with whom I attended college. We didn’t learn anything, ate the erasers off our pencils, focused on meeting girls, and partied a fair amount. What a coincidence!
As time passed, John and I learned more about one another’s families and hobbies. It was clear to me that John was very proud of his children and their mother Susan. Whenever he stopped by the business, I always asked about the kids; what they were up to; their challenges and accomplishments. He always obliged me with interesting stories. Often times, however, our conversations drifted to other important things in our lives like hunting and fishing! This doesn’t necessarily equate to killing and catching, considering my skills with a shotgun and fly rod! I can’t say the same was true of John. His outdoor yarns always surpassed mine. To me he was the local king of “whack’em and stack’em” in the Snoqualmie Valley. He was also known for “rippin’ lips” in nearby lakes and the Yakima River.
For somebody running his own business and raising a family of 5, how did he manage to outpace me in outdoor adventures? His secret was fishing and hunting the “hood”-- that’s the neighborhood for those of us that are over fifty! If it wasn’t within 30 to 45 minutes driving time from his house, it some how dropped off his radar screen. His nearby haunts were the Snoqualmie Valley for ducks and crows, the south shore of Rattlesnake Lake for rainbow trout, and even Jay’s dock on Lake Sammamish for smallmouth bass.
A long time ago, John shared a story with me about attending a Snoqualmie Valley Grange meeting in order to become better acquainted with area farmers. At one point in the meeting each farmer was asked to speak to those in attendance about their personal profile of their family farm. When it was John’s turn to speak, he had to confess that he had no farm but only knew a couple of farmers who had given him permission to hunt crows. Whispers and conversation ensued… An unfamiliar farmer chimed in with, “You must be the Crow Man! So and so told me about you.” Well, needless to say, John secured permission to hunt several more farms that evening. The farmers were only too eager to develop a relationship with the “crow exterminator”. Crow “pest and damage control” was high on their agenda. And guess what? When Fall and Winter rolled around, you knew only too well who had permission to hunt local and migrating ducks on these same farms! I visualized trips where Joel and his dad, and I think Gene as well, would go mucking through a farmer’s partially flooded field to set up a sack full of decoys and await the morning or evening flight. Now that’s what I call hunting the “hood”.
On other occasions a number of years ago, I remember getting some lessons on fishing Rattlesnake Lake, near North Bend, yet another destination in the hood. His favorite fly for this lake was the Six-Pack, a muted yellow and black number that imitated a dragon or damsel fly nymph. We fished the shallow stumped-choked drop offs on the south end of the lake. Whether in a float tube or wading from shore, he seemed to always out-fish me.
John introduced the Yakima River to me and my wife and taught us the art of upstream, tight bank fly fishing on water a stone’s throw from I-90 at Cle Elum. Elk hair caddis flies, short backhand casting into the wind along side and underneath the brush that hugged the shore: that was some fun! When the sun went down after the evening hatch, we would find the best restaurant in town and treat ourselves to a steak dinner. This wasn’t quite like fishing the “neighborhood”; it was advancing to the “suburbs”!
From there it snowballed, and we made a couple of trips to Lakes Lenice and Nunnally near Vantage for big trout fishing. John had fished these waters in his youth, and so had my wife Lynda and I. His favorite “high calorie” fly was the Nyergis Nymph-a fairly large pattern fished off the bottom erratically to imitate a dragon fly nymph. He killed’em with this! I convinced him to try subsurface fishing with very small chironamid nymphs and pupae on a floating line, kind of like eating small hor’oeuvres. These imitated midge nymphs in their aquatic stage. Needless to say, we “ripped a few lips.”
Around this same time frame, I took him to some puddles just off I-90 at the “Gorge Amphitheatre” exit on the old two-lane Vantage highway. We fished a couple of very small spring- fed lakes called Horseshoe and Spence. We caught some big, fat trout that had a steady diet of very, large dragonfly nymphs. The added bonus was to tote along our shotguns and shoot rock pigeons that roosted in the surrounding columnar basalt rock plateaus near the Columbia River.
The ultimate memory for me was when I convinced John to make a long distance trip to my home town Spokane to hunt doves and fish the crick of my youth in late summer around Labor Day. It was not in John’s nature at all to travel this kind of distance for outdoor adventure, but I think he was glad he did. We shot limits of doves near Rock Lake, south of Cheney about 30 miles, and caught a couple limits of Brook trout on Marshall Creek only 15 miles from Spokane over that weekend. He met and hunted with my very good friend, Dr. Howard Lander, 85 years young at the time but still a crack shot.
John shot very well, a ten bird limit with maybe 15 shells, same with Doc. I was lucky if I could shoot a limit with 25 shells! It was great fun, especially when we were hunting over a small, shallow, water hole and Doc dumped 3 birds with 2 shots from his Charles Daley over-and-under. One bird landed right in the middle of the puddle. They both goaded me into wading in to retrieve it after futile attempts at rock throwing to create a series of waves to push it ashore. I was glad I was wearing my nearly worn out leather Chukka boots! The boots never quite looked or smelled the same after that incident.
Doc Lander is now 95 years old, and we talk about John once in a while. Doc was the most prominent neurosurgeon in Spokane during his practice, and he took quite an interest in John’s first brain surgery. He was pretty impressed with John’s results. When I told him John was in the hospital for a second brain tumor, he wished him all the best. When I had to tell him subsequently a couple of weeks later that John had passed away, he was sad. He paid John a high compliment at that time – Doc said that he was a “shooter”. You see, Doc valued outdoor experiences more than the countless successes he had had in helping people through his medical practice. Doc and John both seemed to live to hunt and fish, and that’s not bad. It’s a lot like religion for us. When you’re outdoors, you have a lot of time to think about God, life, and family. I’d like to share a small passage from Norman MacLean’s book, A River Runs Through It. Many of you have probably seen Robert Redford’s movie adaptation. At the end of the story, the main character reflects on life and conversation he had with his father in the past.
“I understood even my father, whom I felt closer to than an other man I have ever known. ‘You like to tell true stories, don’t you?’ he asked, and I answered, ‘Yes, I like to tell stories that are true.’
Then he asked, ‘After you have finished your true stories sometime, why don’t you make up a story and the people to go with it?
‘Only then will you understand what happened and why.
‘It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us.’
Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.
Of course, now I am too old to be much of fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn’t. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
I am haunted by waters.”

Reese Burnett

"My family and I and the people at Avondale Bible Church were so fortunate to attend church with John Fulmer. He was always so friendly to everyone. He made us feel welcome when we started attending church and he is one of the reasons why we stayed. During worship time I would glance around at the people and John would always stand out as one who was deeply worshipping God. John loved people and he loved God. He was an encouragement to me. - Reese Burnett"

Joel & Joah with their dad at Jill & Ron's wedding.

The Fulmer Brothers

John's Obituary

40th Reunion of Eisenhower H.S., Yakima

Marc,
That was such a special service for John. The many people who spoke about their fond and funny memories of John (including your cute wife)had to have been a great comfort to all of you. My 'Godparents; Mer and Betty Edmondson were long time friends of your parents as were my parents, Bob and Ruth
Dolsen. My thoughts and prayers are with all of your family. Joanie
Dolsen


PS The guy in the middle is my 'partner', Dale Sunitsch-old friend, hunting and fishing partner of John's and on the left, Alan Conant, old friend, classmate, maybe more, don't know..just happy to see John!

From Kenny & Ann Lamb

Dear Auntie Betty,
We all share your loss. John was Kenny's favorite cousin. John would surprise us with drop in visits - which we enjoyed so much. One weekend morning he drove into the yard. He had been setting out his decoys in the valley & stopped by for coffee. I was just making breakfast and had biscuits in the oven. "Oh no thanks - just coffee for me," says John. Then the biscuits came out, three buscuits later he had to leave to go shoot some poor little duck. Oh....he also took three more for the trip. Whenever he stopped by there was alot of laughing going on. I came home from work one afternoon and John had been by. Kenny and he had a great visit except..."He ate all my cookies!" says Kenny. Do you see a pattern here? Laughing and eating . We will miss those visits. Kenny has many good memories of John. He misses him dearly. But, he knows he will see him again - then - the laughing will continue. Love to you, K & A.

Favorite John and Susan picture.

This is my favorite picture of John and Susan taken on the stern of Hal and Toni's boat 2001.

Famous Gerber baby photo!

Sometimes when I really wanted to get under John's skin I'd muscle up the nerve to recall this Gerber baby photo of his...it would cost me big time but it was usually worth it:).

High School graduation 1964

John and Susan's wedding 1968

John age six Yakima, WA.,

John's Christmas letter - 1986

Holiday Greetings Friends:
Talk about motivation!! All the snow we had at Thanksgiving got me so mixed up. Twice I cut down a neighbor's tree for Christmas and six days later I got drunk and made my New Years resolution. When it started to melt and rain, I came to my senses. The pen was ignited though and no stopping it then.

Our roster is cut to six this season....All were on one year contracts and came to terms by February last year.

Dad - same height, instead of 180-210 he's 205-210. You have to have some wieght to play up front. 17th season childbeater, husband, and father. Taking Psychology 101. The older players need different tactics.

Mom - 5'2" 105, 15th year out of B.C.C. exact same. A successful team needs something they can count on. Someone who's always there when you need them. As a mother she's a 10. As a wife it goes from about -5 and up. Couldn't be Dad's fault. Mom says all the kids play piano.

Gene - 5'9", 155, 1st year at W.H.S. (Woodinville High School) into arm wrestling, tries his Dad constantly anyhow. You'd think he wanted to be coach or something. We're really high on this kid, our first round pick in "69". Water-skiing, b-ball, radio-control and under my expert guidance, he's not a bad shot either. He's working on a radio-control plane with machine guns for the high flying ducks.

Angie - 5'1", wieght? solid into gymnastics. 1st place, numero uno, the main dude 1985 class III, girls 12 and older, Washington State. Grandpa and I got it on tape with colorful commentary. You can call 788-1309 to rent it for your group. (She's holding out for a trampoline this year. I'm glad he doesn't have an agent).

Jill - 4'10", 75 lbs. 5th year out of C.L.E. our representative to the Equestrian world. She's decided "eventing" should be something a kid can do instead of school; instead of eating; instead of sleeping; instead of anything. She made some giant strides (pun) this year. Even won a couple of ribbons.

Joel - 3'7", 45 lbs. to 3'10" , 55 lbs. this season. Red shirted at C.L.E. this year, only goes 1/2 day. Anything Mrs. Nystron says is cast in stone.

Coug. - (short for Cougar) went to the big swamp in the sky. Not many other hunting dogs know this story. About 7 years ago we were on the Frenchmans' Wasteway , west of Sullivan's Dam. Early January and bitterly cold, five ducks swooped in and landed. When we snuck up on them they were stuck to the ice. Coug was a true sportman you know. He went out there and freed those ducks. There would be no shooting ducks stuck in the pond for him. He was truely this man's best friend.

If it sounds like we are bragging and proud of the team, you have good ears. Once a year it's therapuetic to go through the roster and hit on the high points, to look at the niches each one is carving for him or herself. Thing's have gone well for us this year. When you look back at the "crisis" they are frozen in time and insignificant now.

Last summer we took off across the state several times. for some reason, I don't know what, we started out where we ended up the summer before. All those mosquitos were still there. The "Nason Creek" campground on the Wanatchee River. Don't ever go there. There is a grocery store across the highway that has one isle with misquito repellant only. We arrived at 7 P.M. We jumped in the tent with a box of crackers and zipped it up. We left at 4 A.M. and drove 80 miles before we ate breakfast.

Several weeks later we ventured west. We hit Port Angeles about 6 P.M. on a Friday night. Every site in the whole Olympic National Park was taken. Got a motel and counted logging trucks all night. It was really hot and the snorer was with us again. Bad night. Hey we're on vacation, sort of like national lampoon.

On a Sunday afternoon in October I called Paradise Lodge to see when the last day of their season was. "THIS IS IS!!" came the reply. We weren't able to make it so we'll have to live on last year's memories until next year.

This note will have to last you until next year. This note also insures my clean underware through next season.

THE END

Happy New Year

Here's bro John sporting a new set of hip waders, Christmas about 1971.