Betty Jane Hormel

Betty Jane Hormel of Vassar, age 96, passed away on Thursday, September 9, 2021 at Covenant Health Care - Cooper in Saginaw from Covid 19 complications. Betty was born August 22, 1925 in Franklin and was the last surviving child of the late Fred and Minnie Freewald. She moved to a farm in Juniata Township at an early age with her parents and siblings. Betty was known for her love of cars, perhaps from playing in her father's gas station garage, the first one in Franklin. She owned numerous cars including an old red MG, a GTO, the first Mustang, up to a Dodge Magnum "gangster wagon" she purchased at the age of 90. Betty was a free spirit and driving was a passion. She loved camping and traveling, and moved to Boulder, Colorado, where she liked the mountains and developed an ongoing support of wolves and the environment. After moving back to Vassar, she spent much of her time going to garage sales, where she collected dolls, knickknacks, antiques, toys, and many things she never had the space for but enjoyed the "hunt." Often these were given as gifts to family and friends. She maintained a personal "warehouse" of spare goods and if anyone mentioned "needing something," Betty would appoint herself as personal shopper and find it for them. Outgoing and social, she made friends easily. Betty will be dearly missed by family and friends alike. Betty is survived by her daughter, Elaine Frances Colosky; son, Michael Eric Hormel; two grandchildren, Alan Colosky and Connie Colosky-Forsyth; six great-grandchildren, one great-great-grandchild; and numerous nieces and nephews. In addition to her parents, Betty was preceded in death by son, Rodney George Hormel; brothers, Floyd, Fred, and Roland; sisters, Viola Kowitz-Phelps, Ruth Strohl, Charlotte DeLong, Dorothy Fulcher, Margaret O'Brien, Helen Baxter-Hoffman, Alice Ackerman, and Maxine Conaway. In keeping with Betty's wishes, cremation has taken place and her remains will be interred in the Juniata Township Cemetery in Watrousville next to her son Rodney, and former husband, George Hormel, just down the street from where she had lived when married. The family was assisted with these arrangements by the Ransford Collon Funeral Home of Caro. Friends may share memories, thoughts and prayers online at www.RansfordCollon.com. Remembrances and photos can be added to Betty's obituary there. There are no plans for services at this time with the ongoing Covid pandemic, however, she enjoyed poetry and wanted "The Village Blacksmith" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the story of a simple honest man, life and nature, read at her memorial. This will be posted on the funeral home website. Those planning an expression of sympathy may make a donation in her honor to Betty's favorite charities St. Jude Children's Hospital, or to a wolf recovery group of your choice. She truly loved the free spirit of wild wolves. The Village Blacksmith Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whateer he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughters voice, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mothers voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling,-rejoicing,-sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close Something attempted, something done, Has earned a nights repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought.