Obituary of Patrick Dale Woodbury

Patrick Dale Woodbury, born August 30^th 1952, was suddenly called home to the field and streams of heaven on August 15^th after a long battle with a cruel illness. Pat was predeceased by his wife Patricia, his parents Francis and Norma Woodbury, and his brothers Michael and Timothy. He is survived by his son Jeffrey and his wife Jillian, his daughter Andi and her husband Greg, his grandchildren, Taylor, Chase, Nora and Clayton, a brother-in-law, a dear sister-in-law, and many nieces and nephews.

His early years found him working alongside his immediate family on the family’s 3^rd generation dairy farm and lumber company in Morrill Maine. His early love for both ox pulling and baseball brought recognition and accomplishment and translated into a love for all athletics during his time at Belfast Area High School. While he was often the shortest one in a jersey, he was a standout and co-captain of the Varsity Basketball team and ran the High Hurdles on the Track Team.

His early adulthood was littered with shenanigans in the woods with Gary Hills, Mel Box, Timmy Place and at least one of the Simmons boys sprinkled in, creating memories – (some that are never to be repeated since many advanced to careers in conservation law); but eventually he settled close to the family homestead in 1977 where he and his bride Patricia raised their family. During this time, he worked as a Park Ranger, and had a long tenure at Robbins Lumber in Searsmont.

He had a plethora of knowledge of all things outdoors and was more than willing to share what he had amassed with anyone who could keep up with him in the woods long enough to hear it. Navigating by the nature around him and the stars above him were enough for him.

He was well known for his ability to tell you exactly how many minutes you had to finish what you were doing from the first sight of a single cumulonimbus cloud and was more reliable than forecasting the weather than Todd Simcox. He would have been a leading candidate to replace the yearly Farmer’s Almanac, if he could have sat still long enough to get all he knew down on paper. His accuracy for predicting rainfall, winter severity and duration, anticipated highs and lows were the type of information that you should write down to remember. The issue with any attempt to scribe his quips was that he would sprinkle in gut splitting one-liners that left you doubled over in laughter and rendered you unable to do so.

He already held the title of son, brother, husband, uncle, father and friend, when he was affectionally assigned the title of “Pugga” when his grandchildren arrived. He preferred sitting with the grand kids during family functions – but probably because he could still get away with cheating at their games, long after he had been found to be cheating at cribbage. Their laughs sustained him, and he was generous in his abilities to elicit them through his many one-liners.

Later known as “Pugga-Isms”, these one-liners meant that you would never be able to pass a railroad crossing without repeating “Train came through – It left its tracks”. On a rainy day, you would look out the window and mutter “Record Setting Rain. Only one in history that hasn’t stopped yet.” In the produce isle at the grocery store, you’d randomly stutter “Carrots grow down”. Anyone new to the area would be invited to join him on a hunt for the elusive Side Hill Goonie Bird, or its close cousin the Wallagahoosh – complete with a detailed escape plan if the two species met up in the wild while you were near. He’d have you convinced that you were using a Left Handed Hammer with a straight face. “Wind Out of the Sou / Sou – West” held a different meaning depending on what was in season at the time. The turning of the sumac trees in early fall would have him rubbing the sides of his head with fevered excitement. (Rest assured that his family have adopted this mannerism and can express joy to each other without muttering a single word.)

If you knew him, you knew him to have 3 things at all times. A single cab Ford Ranger, a good labrador retriever and a stock pile of Little Debbie Snack Cakes. Pat’s particular Ford Rangers were the stuff legends are made of. At Morrill General Store, the single cab, short bed truck could block three parking spaces, the loading dock and the gas pumps all at the same time. They could stay between the lines on any road while he located every buck rub, beaver flowage and four leafed clover that he passed. His trucks seemed to get through every Red Sox’s game on the radio, without completely draining the battery while he listened from wherever he was when the game started. Squeezed between the seat and the cab, were enough Little Debbies to sustain an over night in the swamp tracking down his lost hunting dog, or an entire football team when he retrieved a single player from practice. During his final days he found great joy in passing them out to his fellow residents at Woodlands Memory Care Facility. Thankfully those ones were still identifiable as he hadn’t yet squished them behind the seat in the Ranger.

The Family would like to express gratitude to all those who supported Pugga as his disease progressed. A few who deserve a special mention are: Deborah Woodbury and her family – especially Reid, all the Simmons Boys and the staff at Woodlands Memory Care.

The Family finds peace in knowing that the Original Woodbury Hay Crew has been reunited in heaven, just in time to get the second crop put up in the barn. While we know that he is reunited with those who preceded him, the family invites all remaining friends and family to convene for a time of sharing of their own Pugga-Isms, laughter and stories on August 30^th at Riposta’s Funeral Home in Belfast at 10am so that his unwritten legacy can be passed on. This will be followed by a procession past his family farm before a graveside committal of both he and his wife of 47 years -Patricia at the Morrill Cemetery. After the graveside committal, friends are also invited to grab a lawn chair and celebrate what would have been his 72nd birthday by sitting round the campfire at his daughter’s home in Freedom where we will be sharing smores, memories and laughter till dark.       

If you are not able to attend, you are invited to write your favorite memory or Pugga-Ism on Patrick's tribute page.