David Stemple—scientist, outdoorsman, world traveller and paterfamilias—was sharp, funny, irascible, generous, kindly, impassioned, profane, and great company. He could talk your ear off about Scottish history, growl terrifyingly about the iniquity of bad database design, and in the presence of a bird he wanted to observe, he could bend reality itself. He believed in knowing things. He was a man who, when you met him, you thought “That’s right, that’s how a human life should be lived.”
He was the husband of novelist and poet Jane Yolen, and father of novelist and musician Adam Stemple, both of them friends, colleagues, and co-conspirators in multiple areas of our lives. He died last Wednesday after a long illness. This morning we’re in western Massachusetts for his memorial. Normal weblog service (such as it is) will resume later in the week.