My brother Gaston, 1940-2020

For the past twelve years, my big brother Gaston has suffered the martyrdom of COPD and finally went to a better place yesterday.

Although seven years my elder, Gaston was both my buddy and my mentor, especially during the summer up in the Alps, where there were no kids my age.

It was with him that I learned to take my first ski steps next to our family home, on the ash skis our father had made for us.

I went to elementary school with him for only one year, after that he joined our dad at his cheese shop, helping making tomme, this delectable Alpine cheer and butter. In the summer, he was a shepherd up in the mountains, sharing the milking of the herd of cow with my father, both in the morning and the evening, in addition to many other chores.

 When our family got into the restaurant business, Gaston ran the errands down valley in the morning and quickly returned to the kitchen where he was second to none when it cane to preparing his delicious “truites belles meunières”!

When the last dairy cow disappeared in the village, our dad closed the cheese shop. My brother first worked at the Pléney ski area, in Morzine, grooming the slopes by dragging a wooden-roller and cutting the bumps with a shovel on the steeper runs, before becoming a certified ski patrol. He also got me a first job at Pléney, where I sold lift tickets.

In 67, my parents replaced cheese shop with a youth hostel of sorts inside the family home. It had just been remodeled and enlarged for that purpose. Gaston and I would help after giving ski lessons. When came the time for me to drive a car, Gaston patiently taught me the basics at the wheel our Peugeot 203 pickup truck.

Together we would harvest blueberries in September and the rest of the year, when I was available, I would help him with maintenance, construction, logging or any tough job that had to be done. Gaston always supported my dream of becoming a ski instructor. Throughout the winter season, we religiously watched the ski races in front of the black and white TV that our parents had just purchased.

We were both passionate about skiing, the only sport we knew! Passion that Gaston passed on to his son Yves, as well as to Victoria, his granddaughter that he adored. During the summers of 73 and 74, I had worked with Gaston in his souvenirs shop at les Lindarets, just before taking a full time job in the ski industry and before leaving for the United States.

Now separated by the distance and caught up with our respective lives, we only saw each other again when I was passing through my hometown and more and more we were chatting on the phone as soon as international telecommunications improved.

Always encouraging, Gaston has also often inspired me, and I am happy to have so many good moments in his company. On portable oxygen for 12 years, he fought without ever complaining as he clung to the life he loved so much. What kept him going was his love for his family and for little Victoria that he wanted to see grow up.

A force of nature, he finally left us to find the peace and rest he so badly needed. Goodbye big brother, I will miss you a lot!