Richard M. Peters

April 23, 1950 – February 4, 2025

Richard “Rick” M. Peters, son of Esther and Harold, spent his last days at home surrounded by family and friends. He is survived by his daughter Ali, son Scott, stepson Shaye, and brother Mike. A celebration of his extraordinary life will be planned in the days to come. 

Rick had a difficult early life, working in the family floor-laying business at an early age. A person of extraordinary intelligence and depth, he would later leave college to take over the family business, becoming an undisputed master of his craft. His skills were in high demand; he worked for both the well-to-do and those of modest means; he gave away much more labor than than not. A demanding task-master with himself (and others), he never thought his work was good enough, though few in this world understood wood as well as Rick. His masterpiece is the wooden bar at the Fish Tale Brewery (now Ilk Lodge). Have a pint and wish him well.

Despite his mastery, woodworking was not Rick’s sole passion. Not even close. He was a keen observer of nature and was widely read in the sciences, literature, poetry, and Japanese woodworking. He counted among his friends the highly educated and the working person. Many neighborhood children would be introduced to the leg of a beetle or the veins of a leaf through his dissection microscope. He could hold his own in discussions on quantum mechanics, biology, geology and history.

Humans, he found puzzling and often disappointing.

Yet, he interacted with everyone with genuine caring and compassion. His wisdom was both hard-earned and rare. His was a generous heart.

A true source of joy for Rick was children, and he was grandfather to all. The trampoline in his backyard was an integral part of every childhood in the neighborhood and beyond. True to form, he looked at the trampoline with the new eyes of genius. If you’ve seen it, you know. He tended it constantly, replacing the springs and the membrane, excavating some more when needed. It is no exaggeration to say that his trampoline was an institution. Long summer afternoons were spent in conversation while the children slowly wore themselves out.

For years, Rick’s place was also where children went for an Easter egg hunt. Parents too were eager to celebrate the beginning of Spring with a drink, conversation and laughter.

In everything, Rick was focused on the minutiae of the present – to the point of transcendency. He could tell you how many leaves a small tree in his yard had this year compared to last year, and what it might mean, which birds visited at different times of the year and what they ate. His focus seemed to say: life is here, life is right here.

To be sure, Rick made many mistakes and had many regrets. They were the stuff from which his wisdom was forged.

Especially, in these times of social and political upheaval, it feels like we just lost Dumbledore. We have to go on. We touch the earth: life is here, life is right here.