I was grief-stricken when she died in November 2018 before my manuscript was accepted by She Writes Press. Because I’d never known life without her, I dedicated my book to her. I’ve used the exact same words to title this blog post as it’s my tribute to her.

When I was a toddler in China, we’d seemed destined for different paths. Mom described in a letter home how Marilyn, at four, was always playing outside in the mud. She “loved to catch frogs, snails, and butterflies” and had recently “rescued a dragonfly from a spider’s web.”

She and Tim were living then in the Vancouver, BC, area just over the border from Bellingham, Washington. We had such a great time in 1980 that backpacking together became a joint summer adventure for the next five years. Then in 1986 we drove together in a two-car caravan to Alaska and back.

Marilyn had many of my father’s qualities: friendly but unassuming, brilliant, honest, trustworthy. Like Dad, she would not have used these words to describe herself – humility was another shared trait.

Teaching came naturally to her, as it did with my father. She taught biology at a community college for several years until Jennie was born. She once explained to me the predator-prey cycles of the insect ecosystem of an apple tree in her small Vancouver backyard. She found a tiny predator wasp, located its prey insect, and the insect’s eggs that had been parasitized by the wasp. Many of these life cycles were taking place in that one apple tree.

Another time, she showed me a tree by the sidewalk that had recently become home to a swarm of bees. Some neighbors had been quite upset when the bees arrived and had wanted to call an exterminator. Marilyn patiently visited the neighbors, explaining the life cycle of bees and the benefits of their pollination. They calmed down and Marilyn found a beekeeper to transfer the bees to a home more suitable than a busy urban neighborhood.

While they lived in that house, I met the first of Marilyn’s beloved Australian Shepherds, the inimitable Pepper. Aussies are known for protecting their “persons.” When I arrived, Marilyn greeted me at the door. As I reached to hug my sister, Pepper inserted herself between us. Without a sound, she’d made her message clear: don’t you hurt my Marilyn.

Pepper was incredibly smart. If Marilyn needed a potato for dinner, she said, “Pepper, get Marilyn a potato.” Pepper would run to the basement and return with a potato in her mouth. She didn’t understand the word “onion,” but if my sister used the scientific name “Allium,” she fetched an onion. With “Pepper, find Marilyn’s keys,” she began searching under the sofa and chair cushions.

Then Pilgrim arrived – an Aussie for Tim. Before long, Marilyn and Tim became regulars at area herding trials, which both dogs excelled at. They soon moved to a five-acre farm outside Vancouver and brought in sheep and ducks for the dogs to practice herding skills. In the decades that followed, they often had three or more dogs at a time. Breeze was their third Aussie, followed over the years by Zora, Betty, and Case.

The study of genetics had long been an interest of Marilyn’s going back to college and summer jobs. Concerned the Aussie herding genes were being diluted by the increasing popularity of the breed, she began studying Aussie family trees.

Over a decade, my sister developed an extensive genetic chart highlighting the herding lineages. She made use of her chart to breed Breeze three times with male Aussies from strong herding backgrounds. Zora and Betty came from two of those litters and Case was Breeze’s grandson. She eventually passed the chart on to the Australian Shepherd Health and Genetics Institute.

My sister made friends wherever she went. I met many of them over the years – neighbors as well as her Aussie-owner friends. I knew by their interactions that they loved Marilyn. When she claimed you as a friend, she was your friend forever. My sister will always be in my heart. I miss her daily.