Jule's Slideshow (Favorite Photos of her Life)

Jule Porter Wilkinson's Funeral Program

Below, you'll find the program used for Jule Porter Wilkinson's memorial ceremony. Below that, you'll find posts that encapsulate some of the things said during the program. We could not capture everything that was said, sadly.


Draft of Jule’s Service

Book-Have book for attendees to sign at entrance

Music

Introduction- Bell Ringing?

Welcome, invitation to see her books, family photos, and to take home a copy some of her collected recipes

Moment of Silence to Remember Jule

Bell Ringing?

Biblical Reading #1

Another Reading #2

Carroll’s Tribute/Eulogy

Other’s Tribute/Eulogy

Invitation to Audience-Memories

Chris’s Tribute/Eulogy

Final Reading

Invitation to another silent prayer? A Closing Text? Both?

Music

Eulogy for Jule Porter Wilkinson

These comments were delivered by Carroll Wetzel Wilkinson, Jule's daughter-in-law.

Thank you’s to the community

Letters after Jule’s death so touching want to share some quotes:

A college friend of Chris’s:“She was always so welcoming when we came to the farm and I missed seeing her in 2008 and after. A warm smart and gracious lady she was.”

A Cedar Rapids friend: “Your mother was a wonderful person whose quiet intellect was always reliable especially when it came to things that mattered, ie liberal politics.”

Miriam Laster’s daughter Sally in New Jersey: “One of the best things about my mother’s move to Norway is that it brought Jule into our lives. She was an amazing person once one of the rare few it was an absolute unqualified privilege to know.”

Miriam Laster herself: “To say we are shocked and surprised seems hardly applicable to the death of someone 97 years old, but in her case it is almost true. She had such grit and determination; she was an example for us all. (Although perhaps occasionally, we all might have wished for a little less of it.”)

Another Cedar Rapids friend: “If you can believe it I still have recipes which she gave me in Cedar Rapids. On the few occasions when we still have more than two or three couples for a supper party there is a good chance there will be a Jule Wilkinson entrée on the menu. Your mother was a remarkable woman.”

A Faculty colleague who is a composer at WVU and who came to the Brunswick Music Festival at Bowdoin: “We’ll always remember your mother’s lobster, blueberry muffins and cream.!”

From someone here in Norway at the Rehab Living Center: “I’ll miss your mother’s gracious manners.”And from a friend of mine at work who never knew Jule but teaches with Chris: “Hindsight makes the summer gatherings of four generations especially treasured…I admire how long your mother was in her chosen home and how you made the long distance work.”

From Chris’s Aunt Mary, the wife of Jule’s beloved brother Jerry who died sadly in his forties: “Jule was very special to me and I will miss our yearly family newsletters very much. All of my girls are very good cooks and they certainly don’t get it from me! She lives on in them! Marge my youngest went the Culinary Institute of America and one day she saw a book with Jule Wilkinson it. “That’s my aunt!” The teacher got very excited and asked if she was still living and where! I think Marge got a good grade!”

From her niece Margie Aunt Mary’s youngest daughter: “When Tim and I saw Jule in 2002 we heard a lot about Sam and saw many pictures of your family her 90th birthday party and baby Alexis and so I feel I know a little about all of you. I wanted to send a note to let you know how your mother influenced my life. Though I am a poor correspondent and was in touch with Jule irregularly it was in many ways her influence that inspired my culinary pursuits. My dad loved her very much and he also loved good cooking so Jule was a bit of a culinary icon in our house growing up. Many were the culinary experiments that dad would say: “One day you may be like your aunt Jule. She sent me a collection of four cookbooks among my first, and I still have them to this day along with two she edited for Institutions Magazine. I don’t think I would have known about the Culinary Institute if not for her. When I attend ed the CIA in the 80’s I went to some of the chefs she worked with on the Professional Chef textbook (her edition still in use at the time) at her behest to say hello. These men who were feared among students had only the utmost respect and the kindest regard for her. Today I am a cooking teacher of recreational cooking on a freelance basis. I have included a recipe that I wrote last summer for a class I taught in North Carolina where the topic I was given to teach was New England cuisine; how could I not think of the family visit to Maine when asked to come up with the menu and so I included my first experience with Lobster roll.”[ Marge’s recipe is in the collection I’ve assembled for anyone interested.]

An artist friend of ours in Morgantown who came to the farm several times with his wife years ago: “To say adieu is so difficult. The map of life is parallel to watching the shooting stars in the dark Norway summer sky at the Wilkinson farm. Your parents were wonderful people, kind and both with a great sense of humor. It was delightful to have been in their lives.”

And a great friend in Cedar Rapids Charlie Cannon: “Bereavement is hell. Your mother was such a dear caring loyal friend for so many years that I can’t yet accept her death. Her mind was still keen and I can hear her, or almost hear her saying decisively, “Enough; this is it.” “Several years ago (Carroll here: maybe 15) at our house in Norway she slipped me a piece of paper with some biblical passages King James versions of course. She said she’d like the passages read at her funeral service. Needless to say I was taken aback. Jule’s thinking about her last rite was premature to say the least something I did not care to contemplate. The verses are the 23rd psalm and Paul 1 Corinthinas 13,11.

And finally a letter from Jule’s beloved niece Ellen: “I spent so many lovely times in Maine I really regret not having the opportunity to catch up with you one more time and to see the farm and reminisce about Jule. I could even acquire a thirst for bourbon in your company especially around the woodstove in the kitchen. All of it is set in my memory: the feel, the smell, the peace of the vista. I loved digging in the lilies, trimming up the fairy roses, napping in the yellow bedroom, planning our meals and of course, Jule. What a treasure she was for me! She gave me back pieces of my childhood and helped me make sense of some of the mystery and nonsense. She was unfailingly supportive no matter what chaotic swirl I brought with me. I try now to use her techniques on my own kids, free from feeling responsible for their successes or their setbacks. I also remember lobsters, blueberry muffins and books to read at length. I loved her distinctive voice. I loved the way she talked. I am sending you a picture of Jule that I cut from a larger picture of her, Ford, and Grandpa. I just like looking at her face.

And now for my eulogy.

I want to begin with a poem by Richard Wilbur called "Blackberries for Amelia." I read this for the first time recently and thought of Jule and Sam picking blueberries together on the farm when he was little.

Fringing the wood, the stone walls and the lanes,
Old thickets everywhere have come alive,
Their new leaves reaching out in fans of five,
From tangles overarched by this year’s canes.
They have their flowers too, it being June
And here or there in brambled dark and light
Are small, five petalled blooms of chalky white,
As random clustered and as loosely strewn
As the far stars of which we are now told
That ever faster do they blot away
And that a night may come in which some say,
We shall have only blackness to behold.
I have no time for any change to great
But I shall see the August weather spur
Berries to ripen where the flowers were-
Dark berries, savage-sweet and worth the wait-
And there will come the moment to be quick
And save some from the birds, and I shall need
Two pails, old clothes in which to stain and bleed
And a grandchild to talk with while we pick.

There will never be anyone else like Jule and I was so lucky to have her in my life for as long as I did. What I remember first is the Jule I met when I was no more than twenty and I came for a visit to Cedar Rapids, Iowa. She was welcoming, vibrant, and steadfast from the beginning. Expressions of love came through food and a work ethic that made us all seems like slackers. That visit, she made what seemed to me a feast for at least twelve friends in honor of Chris and me. This was not without huge effort on her part that was portrayed as normal and natural. Yet all the while I knew that in her spare bedroom (where she kept an office for her freelance editing) she was working on manuscripts of chefs who could not write to save their souls. Chapters would come in the mail over the years and she would disappear for hours to edit and make silk purses out of sow’s ears. She was the secret behind countless food writers who knew how to cook, but were clueless about clear expression and sentence structure. Meanwhile she planned and carried out interesting and nutritious meals for her family and friends over decades no matter what else was going on. The balance that she managed between work and living was natural to her, but it was pioneering for women, and highly influential in my life. She had been doing the balancing act since the 1930’s, and Chris’s father, though he had many good traits, did not help out with domestic realities. Jule did it all. And I must say, one of her many legacies are her sons. Steve was and Chris is, excellent with domestic realities. Raising such sons was a great accomplishment as they like her, were/are ahead of their time.

Carolyn Heilbrun, author of Writing a Woman’s Life, says a lot of penetrating things about women’s lives that are worth thinking about today as we celebrate my dear mother in law’s hard, challenging, and ultimately amazing life. She notes that “trying to understand, in the life of a woman, the life of the mind not coldly cerebral but impassioned , is her goal. Jule would not tell her story the way I tell it. She may not have even known she had passions. But I saw her, in whatever way she could within the boundaries of her generation and experiences, in Heilbrun’s words: “use power to take her place in whatever discourse was essential to action and the right to have her part matter.” Over the years I came to understand that Jule was conditioned to care for others and that she dedicated her life to mentoring, supporting, and literally nourishing all who came her way. And this was one of her greatest gifts to so many of us. At the same time however, she aspired to female autonomy and encouraged it in me. She definitely had a grip on her own power and the way she chose to live independently in the place she so deeply loved stands as the greatest evidence of this fact. The last years of her life were the hardest for her for the usual reasons, but also because she had to admit, though never in words out loud, and much later than and we would have wished, that she needed help from others to keep going. She always had a plan and there was a determination to keep to the plan no matter what circumstances presented themselves. For the longest time the PLAN did not accept the notion of losing independence.

From my perspective, Jule loved us by fiercely speaking up for us and modestly living her life independently as long as she could. She was not perfect, but she was brave and steadfast. The sorrow in my heart, is in truth, missing that which has been my delight.

I close with words of two writers: Jan Struther’s
“Biography”
One day my life will end and lest
Some whim should prompt you to review it,
Let her who knows the subject best
Tell the shortest way to do it.
Then say “Here lies one doubly blessed.”
Say “She was happy. Say “She knew it.”

Turn again To Life
If I should die and leave you here awhile,
Be not like others sore undone, who keep
Long vigils by the silent dust, and weep.
For my sake-turn again to life and smile,
Nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do
Something to comfort other hearts than thine.
Complete those unfinished tasks of mine
And I, perchance, may therein comfort you.
Mary Lee Hall

Jule's Bell Ceremony

These comments were delivered by Christopher Wilkinson, Jule's son. The bell ringing was performed by David Schmalenberger, a close family friend.

From ancient times and until quite recently, tolling a bell was a customary way to signal the death of a loved one and in some cases, honor the number of years the person lived. We have chosen to use that custom today for my mother. While tolling our bell, once for every year of her life, we will pause to note one or more memorable events in Mother’s life.
On June 13, 1912, Jule Porter was born to Alice Coe Porter and Ford Davis Porter in the town of Brookfield, Illinois, now a western suburb of Chicago. She was the first of ultimately five children; she had one sister and three brothers. She outlived them all. She was named for her maternal grandmother, Julia Jane Whitney Coe who for some unknown reason hated the name “Julia” and made it clear that she preferred “Jule.” When informed of this, my grandfather felt compelled to return to the courthouse to file a second birth certificate, replacing “Julia” with his mother-in-law’s preferred name “Jule.”

Begin tolling bell:
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2
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4
5 (Pause)

Among mother’s earliest memories was the night of November 11, 1918. She was five and a half years old; by then the family had moved west of Brookfield to the village of Western Springs. She was in bed when all of a sudden, the volunteer fire department alarm started to sound. Soon people were pouring into the streets; there were cheers and all manner of noise makers were creating an incredible din. Her parents got her and her younger brother up; they got dressed and went out to see what was going on. An impromptu parade had begun, and a bonfire was burning in the village square. My mother recalled people bringing pots and pans from their kitchens if they had nothing else to create a racket. Within moments, they learned that an Armistice had been signed between the Imperial Army of Germany and the British and French allies: the Great War, the War to make the world safe for democracy, the war to end all wars, the First World War was over.
The townspeople, mother included, stayed up all night, parading and celebrating. Two women from neighboring houses brought egg beaters to contribute to the celebratory noise and they marched along turning the handles so the beaters whizzed in the air. Carroll loves that image and the memory of the joy in Mother’s face when she told that story. Mother always claimed that as a consequence of marching around town all night that she permanently damaged the arches of her feet. But she said it was worth it.
That same year, Western Springs, like the rest of the nation and much of the world experienced the Influenza pandemic that ultimately cost more lives than did the Great War. Other members of mother’s family contracted the disease, but she did not. This may account for a rather extraordinary development late in her life.

Continue tolling:
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13

Mother’s career as a professional writer began early. Western Springs had no newspaper of its own and so relied on a paper from an adjacent community for local news. Mother was Western Springs’ correspondent for two years when she was in the seventh and eighth grades reporting on birthdays, local residents’ travels, and similar developments. She was paid 25 cents for every column inch of news that found its way into an issue.

Begin tolling again:
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Mother graduated from the University of Chicago with a Bachelor of Philosophy degree in English, having received an Honors Scholarship awarded by the faculty for some portion of her education. She immediately took a job proof reading mail-order catalogues for either Sears Roebuck or Montgomery Ward. When she was offered a job as a reporter for the LaGrange [Illinois] Messenger, a weekly newspaper published in yet another western suburb of Chicago, she took it. This job, which lasted only six months, would be followed by numerous others as she took whatever work was available in the Great Depression. Another consequence of her working on that newspaper was that she met my father who also worked on that paper while attending the University of Chicago from which he too would graduate, though several years after my mother. My parents married in 1938.

Continue tolling:
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On December 11, 1940, at the age of 28, mother gave birth to Stephen Adams Wilkinson, my older brother. By then, my parents were living in Chicago, and my mother had a series of clerical and secretarial jobs. As she would recall later, “I had learned shorthand and typing as those were the only jobs available to women at the time. In those days, newspapers and commercial writing jobs went only to men.”

Begin tolling:
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On September 12, 1946, at the age of 34, mother gave birth to me. The Second World War was by then over, and so she made an early contribution to the Baby Boom generation. She recalled that so many babies were being born that the staff was horribly overworked. The nurse who brought me to her in her hospital room after delivery neglected to support my head properly. Mother was outraged and let the nurse know of her anger in no uncertain terms. It has occurred to me that the nurse may have had the last word: on my birth certificate, my middle name (by which people know me) was spelled “Christfer.” Several years ago in an effort to correct this, I sent fifteen dollars and a form to the appropriate unit of the State Government in Springfield. My reward was the insertion of the letter “o” after the “t.” Officially, my name is now spelled “Christofer.” Part way home.

Toll one stroke:
35

In January, 1947, mother began her twenty-eight year career at Institutions Magazine, a publication for the restaurant and hotel industry. (Earlier this year we learned that Institutions’ current owner, the wealthy Dutch publishing firm Elsevier, stopped publishing the magazine.) She became the Food Editor of Institutions. At the time she was the only person to hold such a position in the food service publishing field. It was as a result of her work, that she made the acquaintance of the founder of the Culinary Institute of America, edit the first edition of its basic textbook: The Professional Chef, and write several associated text books as well. Copies of her publications are on display here today in case you are interested.

Begin tolling:
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On September 2, 1960, over the initially strenuous objections of my father, but with the support of both of her sons, Mother provided the down payment for a mortgage from what was then the Norway National Bank to purchase the farm here in Norway from Lyman and Rosa Herrick. Beginning the following year, she and we came every summer to renovate the house and enjoy the best of the State of Maine. To put that date in a more contemporary context, this coming September 2 will mark the fiftieth anniversary of that purchase.

Begin tolling:
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On November 28, 1968, gained a daughter when Carroll Feild Wetzel and I married in Bond Chapel on the campus of the University of Chicago.

Begin tolling:
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In December, 1976, mother retired from Institutions Magazine and its then parent company Cahner’s Publishing. From 1977 until father died in 1995, she and he divided their time between the farm in North Norway and an apartment in Greenville, South Carolina.

Begin tolling:
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On November 8, 1980, Samuel Evan Wilkinson was born; mother’s first and only grandchild. When we informed her of his first name, she was overjoyed. Samuel was the name of her maternal grandfather, Samuel Augustus Coe, husband of Julia (or Jule) Whitney Coe, for whom she was named. We had no idea when we named Sam of this historic connection. Samuel Coe had been a lieutenant in one of the Illinois artillery units that participated in the siege at Vicksburg, Mississippi, in 1863. He was also a part of the honor guard that stood over the casket of President Lincoln while it paused in Chicago en route to burial near Springfield. A high chair that had been made for him in the 1840s is now at the farm. By now, it has accommodated the bottoms of five generations of his descendants.

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On July 7, 1994, my older brother, Steve, died of complications of AIDS in Wallingford, CT. He was the first of our family to be buried in the Shedd Cemetery in North Norway.

Toll one stroke:
83

In February, 1995, my father died in Greenville, South Carolina. He too is buried in the Shedd Cemetery. After that, mother, who claimed that she had never really liked Greenville, moved back to the farm. She continued to reside there and in the village of Norway itself until her death.

Continue tolling:
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On March 30, 2001, Jule Porter Wilkinson’s great-granddaughter was born to Sam Wilkinson and Bobbi Nesbitt. Alexis Porter Wilkinson’s middle name honors her great-grandmother.

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In November, 2005, mother fell and broke her left hip. She was rushed to Stephens Hospital after being discovered by Brenda and Vern Maxfield lying on the floor of her bedroom in the apartment on Oak Street that she rented in town. She not only survived the surgery but in the course of the next three months of recuperation contracted Influenza A and Influenza B (one of these twice) as well as bacterial pneumonia. She survived them all. It seems reasonable to suppose that the fact that she did not contract Influenza during the 1918 pandemic might offer an explanation as to why she was able to throw off these viral and bacterial attacks as well. Thanks to the dedicated staff at the Norway Rehabilitation and Living Center she became ambulatory once more. After several additional months there, she moved to the Home for Creative Living and started making regular day trips to the farm in the warm months with a companion.

Begin tolling:
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On June 16, 2008, mother’s second great-grandchild: Montgomery Jackson Wilkinson was born to Bobbi and Sam. His nickname, “Jack,” honors the memory of his great-grandfather, my father, whose nickname was also “Jack.”

Toll one stroke:
97

There could be little doubt, though she endured after the medical crises of the winter of 2005 and 2006, that mother was in physical decline. What happened to her is what happens to the rest of our species when disease does not intervene: the body wears out. Cell structures do not replace themselves; muscles weaken; senses do as well. On the morning of December 1, 2009, in the midst of breakfast while seated at the side of her bed at Norway Rehabilitation and Living Center, mother choked briefly on some juice. Her attendant wiped her mouth, lay her back on the bed, and held her hand. In a matter of moments, she died. Quietly, without pain, without the loss of her mental faculties. Though the death certificate identified the cause of death as a myocardial infarction, and there is no reason to quarrel with that diagnosis, I believe that simply identified the immediate cause of her death. In a larger sense, she died of old age: a better end would be hard to imagine.

Plans

Hello from Morgantown West Virginia. As you know, on December 1, 2009, Jule Porter Wilkinson died peacefully in Norway, Maine. Per her wishes, she was cremated at the time and we were left with our sorrow and the challenge of creating a fitting memorial for her. You may have been wondering about saying good bye to Jule properly, and we are ready to do that now. The weather is better, and traveling is easier in the warmer months. We have thought all along that daylily season was the right time of year to hold her memorial because she loved them so much.

Who: Carroll, Christopher, and Samuel, as well as Samuel's wife Bobbi Nesbitt and their children, Alexis and Jack.

What: Want you to join them to honor the life of Jule Porter Wilkinson (1912-2009) in a memorial service followed by a celebration lunch where we can reminisce and share delicious food. (This would please Jule very much.) Burial of her ashes will take place early on the morning of July 31 in a private family graveside service at the Shedd Road cemetery where Jack and Steve are also buried.

Why-She was an extraordinary and greatly loved person; we want to remember her with you and reflect on her enriching contributions to our lives.

When/Where July 31, 2010 11:00 am at the Oxford Hills Funeral Service Building followed by a catered lunch at a location to be determined.

Please mark your calendar for Saturday July 31 and hold the date until we are able to send further information, including a place to stay if you will be coming from out of town. Whether you are in town residents or friends and family from far way, we would love it if you could be with us and participate by writing your memories and sharing them that day. If you cannot join us in person, please contact us at here to see how the plans are developing and write something to us which we will share that day. Please come in person AND visit the website if you can.

If you are thinking of coming from out of town, please consider blending this service into other satisfying plans in New England; there are many wonderful places to visit and enjoy. Jule would definitely want you to do that if you can.

We look forward to seeing many of you in July at what we hope will be a comforting and joyous gathering.

Love to all-