The month of August was a difficult one for this writer and his family. My dear mother Nora Marlo Ellis died early on August 14, peacefully with her husband and oldest son by her side. Mom had been battling multiple Myeloma for the better part of two years and she had done so with grace and power. Her passing was the end of a marvelous and adventurous life. My mother was an amazing, beautiful, talented and complex person. She was hugely influential on my life and choices, and helped reinforce my deep passion for the outdoors.
Nora Marlo Neely grew up in California, a world away from northwestern Ontario. However, some of the activities she took to as a young girl were shared by her first-born son. My mom learned how to fly fish at young age, mentored by her Aunt Alice. They would fish for brown trout and rainbow trout, dabbling in the small spring creeks around the Burney area of northern California. There are a couple pictures of my mom fishing as girl, apple cheeked, freckled and happy. I think my mom took some pleasure in knowing my innate love of angling and the outdoors was rooted as much in her DNA as my fish chasing father.
My mother was an adventurous person, and she played a significant role when it came to getting our family to do camping and canoe trips. My father loved the outdoors as well, so there were many, many family outings for my brother Roy, sister Marlo and myself. We did a few trips in to Quetico Park, first by boat (when that was allowed) and later by canoe. My mom and I often shared a canoe which mostly went well. However, as sometimes happens on family canoe trips, we did have a few moments. One I recall well is when my teenaged self – cocky and about half again as smart as I thought I was – announced to my mom mid canoe trip that she was “lily-dipping.” Now, my mother was not one who easily got angry. She could get mad, but it took a perfect storm to get her there. However, having her teenage son cast aspersions on her paddling turned out to be the perfect recipe for a mad momma. There was a lot of Irish blood in Nora Neely, and it was immediately boiling. I was told in no uncertain way that I was full of it and should keep my mouth shut for the rest of the day, if not the entire trip. It was a quiet paddle for the remainder of that day. When I became a parent, I began calling events like that one a teachable moment.
Mostly, our family outdoor adventures were fun and often full of angling. Mom had a soft spot for catching smallmouth bass and showed a real enthusiasm for catching them. For a couple of summers in the 1970s, we travelled to my Grandfather Ora Ellis’s deer hunting camp on Manitoulin Island, on Lake Huron. The camp was located on a channel between two bays and had a lot of bass in it. I have this great memory of my mother, her hair tousled by the wind, in shorts and a t-shirt setting up shop on the dock. She did this quietly, without fanfare and usually out fished us all. Years later, when my mom was offered up fishing adventures by my Dad, she still leaned toward catching bass. Mom seemed to like the scrappiness and pugnacious attitude of the fish.
Maybe the greatest gift my mother gave me was the confidence to do things a little differently and to not fear the unknown. She had a mother’s trust and faith in her children. When I was ten years old, I fished for brook trout on McVicar Creek, in Thunder Bay, nearly every day of the summer. She never told me I was wasting time or I should be doing something more constructive. She did always ask me how many trout I caught. When I took off on my bike with a minnow net and backpack full of jars, Mom never seemed to be worried about how long I was gone. She wanted to see what I had captured and even accepted living with aquariums of frogs, newts, minnows and yes, snakes. When I began talking about a life that would include freelance writing and outdoor journalism, she never questioned it. Her actions through my life had already told me that it was ok to follow your heart and dreams. Even if it meant some hungry days. And there were a few. When I was inducted into the National Freshwater Fishing Hall of Fame in 2018, both my mother and father were there. Mom was so proud and told me so. Many times.
Nora was a great mother but stepped it up to the next level as a Grandmother. She simply doted on the two boys God gifted Cheryl and me with. Both Devin and Austin spent a ton of quality time with their grandparents, who they loved with all their hearts. Sure, the extra-large ice cream Sundaes likely played a role in that, but the love my mother and father showered on them created a bond that was unbreakable. Both boys were a huge comfort to my mother when she was sick and the little notes, visits, calls and texts she received from them helped to keep her spirits and hope up. I am so glad they were both able to be with her before she left this world on August 14. Her eyes lit up when she saw them.
I write this column with tears in my eyes, but joy in my heart. My mother was a guiding light in my life and provided quiet support through many ups and downs. I miss her terribly, but she will always live in my heart.
Momma, thank you for everything you gave me.
