The Vedders Family
In Memory

In Memory Of

A place to remember those who shaped us. Gone, but carried forward in everything we build.

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Duane Vedders

Duane Vedders

04-15-43 to 10-10-17

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." — 2 Timothy 4:7 Some men pass through this world quietly. Duane Vedders was not one of them. He lived with a zest for life that filled every room he walked into — the kind of man who made you feel like whatever you were doing together was exactly where you were supposed to be. Whether he was fixing something that needed fixing, laughing with his grandkids, or opening his Bible, Duane brought his whole self to everything he did. That was just his way. He served his country aboard the USS Floyd B. Parks, carrying the discipline and quiet strength of a Navy man with him long after he came home from the sea. Those who served know what that shapes in a person — a backbone, a steadiness, a sense that hard things are worth doing and worth doing right. Duane carried that his whole life. But if the Navy shaped his character, it was God who shaped his heart. Duane was not simply a man who believed — he was a man who followed. He pastored with humility and conviction, and answered a call that took him all the way to Eritrea as a missionary, carrying the Gospel to people far from home. "Go into all the world," Jesus said — and Duane went. He didn't just preach it from a pulpit. He lived it across oceans. At home, he was a handyman who could figure out just about anything, a father who showed up, and a grandfather whose grandkids knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were loved. He wasn't trying to build a legacy — he was too busy loving his family for that. But he built one anyway, because that is what faithful men do. More than anything, Duane wanted to show his family who God was — not through lectures, but through the way he lived. The way he served. The way he loved. The way he got back up. He understood, perhaps better than most, that the greatest thing a man can leave behind is not money or property, but a picture of what it looks like to walk with God through an ordinary, extraordinary life. "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." — Joshua 24:15 Duane served. And those of us who carry his name carry that too. Duane Vedders — husband, father, grandfather, pastor, sailor, missionary, handyman, and man of God. Gone from our sight in 2017, but never from our hearts.

Tarabyte

Tarabyte

08/4/2011 to 2/2/2026

She came into this world as a St. Bernard–Black Lab mix, which is just a fancy way of saying she was enormous, goofy, and completely convinced she was a lap dog. Terabyte — Taraboo, Tarabara, Tara Beano, Tara Girl — went by many names, but she answered to all of them, usually with that signature look that said "I heard you, I'm just thinking about it." For fourteen and a half glorious years, Terabyte Vedders lived life exactly on her own terms. And let's just pause on that for a second — fourteen years. For a big dog like Tara, that is extraordinary. Large breeds rarely make it that far, and the ones that do earn every single grey muzzle hair along the way. Terabyte didn't just survive to fourteen — she thrived. She squeezed more living into those years than most dogs manage in ten, and she never once acted like a dog who was slowing down until the very end. That alone tells you everything about who she was. She loved the snow the way some people love the beach — completely, enthusiastically, and without any interest in coming back inside. The colder the better. A fresh snowfall was basically a Terabyte holiday, and she celebrated accordingly. Bones were a close second. Not just chewed — savored. Terabyte approached a good bone the way a chef approaches a fine meal. With focus. With dedication. With absolutely zero intention of sharing. She had opinions about people. Most people were fine. The Amazon man, however, was not. We may never fully understand what Amazon men, (or UPS Men or the USPS) did to deserve such consistent, passionate opposition, but Terabyte never wavered. Every single time. Without fail. She was nothing if not loyal to her convictions. Then there was Diva — her little Jack Russell sister, her ride or die, her tiny chaos agent. Terabyte loved that dog with a patience that could only be described as saintly, which makes sense given the St. Bernard half. Where Diva was loud and fast and absolutely convinced she was in charge, Terabyte was steady and warm and happy to let her think so. They were the odd couple. They were perfect together. But here is what you need to know about Tara Beano underneath all the goofiness and the snow zoomies and the deeply personal vendetta against delivery drivers — she was full of life in a way that made your life fuller just by being near her. She didn't just occupy a room. She was the room. And the house has been quieter since February 2nd in a way that has nothing to do with noise. Fourteen years of bones and snow and unconditional love. Fourteen years of being the big, goofy, wonderful girl who made everything better just by showing up. For a dog her size, that is not just a long life — that is a gift. And so was she. Good girl, Terabyte. The best girl. Go find the snow. There's plenty of it. 🐾 Beloved dog, devoted sister to Diva, and the greatest St. Bernard–Lab mix who ever lived.