Bruce Seddon

When our father was alive he would often scoff at our frenetic pace-and that of life in general- "always in a big hurry to go nowhere," and the like. In that spirit, after 10 years gone, we've finally decided it's the right time for an obituary-documenting a life well-lived but too soon closed.

Bruce Seddon III was born in Saint Louis, Missouri on July 16, 1947 and died March 16, 2016 in Westfield, Vermont. When Bruce was young, his family moved to the suburbs of Boston, with the 1950s and 1960s establishing several key-and immoveable-facts about his make-up and self: a tested aversion to authority and any kind of arbitrary stricture; a love of the mountains, forest, and exploring; a patient and creative engineering mind, equipped to break down both the mundane and intricate with intention and care; and music. Whether Thelonious Monk, Jerry Garcia, Doc Watson, Talking Heads, it was there. These strands became the fabric of much of the life he built in Westfield, where he spent nearly 50 years living and working in the woods below Hazen's Notch.

In 1972, Bruce married Hope (Borland) Seddon and they established a home on a portion of the old Snyder Farm, straddling the Lowell-Westfield line above McAllister Pond. Bruce rebuilt the farmhouse and braced the barn, tended the orchard, grew Christmas trees, and planted some of the best cabbage, potatoes, and carrots in the stony soil-more than enough for all of us to get really sick of over the winters. His greatest days on what would become "Crab Hill" were in the woods, where he spent much of the 1980s through the 2010's as an independent logger-working in stands around Lowell, Westfield, Troy, Newport Center, and Eden. He loved the woods, and logging was a way to roam and see them evolve, and get paid a bit to do it. One of the greatest compliments given after his death was from a friend, "Bruce was like Jimmy Hendrix with a chain saw."

Though Hope and Bruce separated in 1988, theirs was a long-lived and dynamic partnership. In many ways they remained each other's strongest supporters through life, and, we hope, in death. They also, even with vastly different temperaments and lifestyles, and at times challenging rifts, always created a sense that we were a family that loved each other first and foremost. A feeling that we-their children-carry with us.

Though Bruce was kind of a classic hermit introvert-preferring the woods to people and not bothering to pretend otherwise-he was kind, thoughtful, and attuned to the needs of family, friends, and strangers. The number of people he pulled out of ditches on Route 58 is large, with the steady trickle of erstwhile tractor-trailers with bad directions and summer tires heading over Hazen's Notch of particular fun for him. As we moved from Vermont in our first years of adulthood we could always expect a big box in October, stuffed with fallen leaves from Crab Hill, beef jerky, and a massive red cabbage with its root-ball intact, laden with dirt (keeps it fresher). He had a soft spot for bears and moose, and had a way of personifying even the most mundane things-why we have a plastic soap-holder named "Froggy," to this day-when we were young with our grubby hands he'd tell us to "Go talk to Froggy," which became ridiculous code for "wash your hands." Bruce loved old-time stories and landscape history and dragged us on many jaunts to cellar holes and covered bridges-in particular to the Gibou in Montgomery, one of his favorite stomping grounds.

If all lives are ultimately defined by our strengths and kindnesses, Bruce had many. He also carried a pernicious Achilles heel. Alcoholism lurked in the shadows through much of his life and accelerated in later years, ultimately taking his life. Addiction is a many-layered thing, and his was no exception, but we remember the whole, intricate, and real person and keep him close to us.

Bruce is survived by three daughters, Jessica Seddon of Morrisville; Margaret Seddon Mason of Traverse City, MI; and Polly Seddon Allen of Craftsbury; as well as six grand-children: Grace, Cyrus, Elliot, Ada, Lila and Hollis; sister Sally Seddon of Johnson, and brother Leigh Seddon of Montpelier. He was predeceased by his parents Eleanor McCarthy Seddon and Bruce Seddon Jr., of Chestnut Hill, MA. His wife Hope Seddon died in 2024.

Writing an obituary over a gulf of ten years is an odd thing; the pain is lessened but the missing seems more. It also clarifies how much those you love remain, in the shadowy understory of the summer woods, alongside the burble of Montgomery Falls, and over a good steak with jazz and a darkened table-we feel him often around us, and around the things he loved.