Betty Lou Caston

Betty Lou Caston — known to most as Bette, to family as Bunky, and fondly as “Aunty Bunk” to her nieces and nephews, who knew her as the fun one — passed away in Enderby, BC on Wednesday, July 29, 2026, at the age of 78.

Bette was born on May 23, 1948, in Edson, Alberta, one of seven children born to Douglas Marmaduke Caston and Violet Caston. She grew up alongside siblings Richard, Kathleen, Brenda, Tom, Doug, and Patricia, in a household that shaped her lifelong love of family, community, and hard work. Bette went on to take over her father's newspaper, the Edson Leader, and later opened a sub shop — the first step in a lifelong love affair with feeding people.

In her early years, Bette married Gord Lund, and the two made their home on a farm outside Red Deer, Alberta, surrounded by horses, chickens, dogs, cats, goats, and bunnies — animals she loved having around, especially while the girls were young. In the years after, dogs were the one animal that stayed a constant for her, and even then, only now and then. Together they built Red Deer Sports World from the ground up, pairing Gord's sports savvy with Bette's social savvy and knack for thinking outside the box. Though their marriage would not last, Bette and Gord remained close friends for the rest of their lives, bound together by the three daughters they raised together: Randi, Cyndi, and Jaime.

Bette had an eye for a good opportunity — “location, location, location,” she'd say — and a gift for finding “little gold mines” and turning them into something special. She bought a place near the lake in Sylvan Lake, Alberta, and fixed it up alongside her second husband, Dan Watson. In 1995, the two relocated to Enderby, BC, in the beautiful Okanagan Valley, where they bought a heritage home and poured themselves into converting it into the Harvest House and Picnic Place — a restaurant that, for years, was beloved by locals for exactly what Bette did best: creating a place where people felt at home, ate a beautiful home-cooked meal, and left smiling, already planning their next visit.

Bette brought the same eye for detail to Harvest House that defined her in everything she did — meals and desserts curated with real care, down to the fine touches most restaurants never bother with. She kept a garden and fruit trees out back, so farm-to-table was simply how she cooked, long before the phrase existed. Alongside her chef and friend Yves, she turned the restaurant into more than a local favourite — sitting right on the highway through the famous Okanagan Valley, it became a destination for locals and travelling epicureans alike, people who made a point of stopping in.

After Dan passed away, the restaurant — a dream they had built together — lost its pull for Bette, and true to form, she reinvented herself once again. She made her way to the Shuswap River, settling in Ashton Creek beside Trinity Bridge at the mouth of Trinity Valley — home for the last 30-plus years of her life, much of it shared with her partner, Phil. It was, in every sense, the place she was always meant to be — Bette was a water baby through and through, and out on the river she found her happiest self: floating effortlessly on her back, eyes closed, sun on her face, wearing the famous dimpled smile everyone who loved her knew by heart.

It was there, years later, that “Uncle” Mikey Hutter came back into her life. He'd worked for Bette's father at the Edson Leader as a young man and was “adopted” into the family long before anyone called him Uncle — and when he needed an old friend, he picked up the phone and called Bette. The rest was history: the two were there for each other for the rest of her days.

In her final years, Bette turned her attention increasingly to family. Her children and grandchildren — and, in time, her great-grandchildren — increasingly gathered with her on the land, carrying forward her vision of a place cleaned up and built for family to come together. Ella, Esmé, and Emmett grew up just steps away, and Bette's mornings began with hugs and a “Kick Butt!” send-off as they headed out to catch the school bus. True to form, she never wanted presents for birthdays or holidays — she wanted “labour,” and she'd call a family work party exactly that, cranking the music, cooking up a feast, and putting everyone to work turning her vision for the land into reality, one project at a time.

On the river, Bette finally gave herself permission to slow down and create. She returned to painting, and to writing — but most of all, she returned to her true love: reading. Her days filled with hummingbirds she fed daily from her balcony, and a long line of sparrows' nests strung all along that same balcony over the river — the air full of their chirping as the parents darted from the trees to the nests to feed their young — eagles riding the thermals, and herons and swans on the water. She filled her world with lilacs and tiger lilies, monarch butterflies, and the changing light of the seasons — September, when summer's heat gave way to harvest gold, was always her favourite month, not least because Cyndi and Randi share a birthday on September 6th, a date the family turned into its own tradition: friends down at the river, a live band, and one more reason to come together. She loved floating the river in a convoy of friends and family, and she loved just as much climbing behind the wheel of “Goldie,” her gold convertible, hair down, favourite music playing, her “peeps” beside her, laughing.

And there was always music — but only the oldies. Bette never cheated on her generation's music, from Patsy Cline to The Platters, and she'd tell you so herself: “the good old days, when music had meaning.” To her very last days, she was still the first one on the dance floor, showing everyone how it's done. (Family has put together a Spotify playlist of her favourites — listen at open.spotify.com/playlist/6W1MtiAlSCqKDoYeGlRkmN.)

Bette was, by her own cheerful admission, a study in contradictions. Born a Rat in the Chinese zodiac, she was meticulous, fastidious, and unashamed of loving things “just so” — she joked often about her inclination toward a little OCD. She had strong opinions about quality, too — nothing built today, she'd say, was made to last like it used to, and she had no patience for “planned obsolescence.” As a Gemini, she was a true social butterfly: witty, charming, whip-smart, and blessed with the most infectious laugh in any room. She was a consummate reader and lifelong learner — when she passed, she had 33 books checked out from the library. And she was, without question, a tea granny, forever loyal to Tetley black currant rounds, cinnamon toast, and butter, and to the phrase that defined her: “I love you more than cinnamon toast and a day off.”

In her final years, Bette kept close to home — content, by her own cheerful admission, to stay in more than go out. When she did venture out, it was for the things she loved: a baseball game, a volleyball game, a band concert, or best of all, a trip to the library, her favourite place in the world. Online was where she found her wider world — reading and learning endlessly, following the people who inspired her, and staying closely in touch through Facebook messages with friends and family, many of them far away. (Her Facebook page can be found at facebook.com/blcaston.)

More than anything, Bette cared. She often said, only half-joking, that she suffered from caring too much. She championed the underdog, and her door was always open to the wayward traveller who found themselves without family, friends, or a warm meal — she would feed them with love, and season it with acceptance, kindness, and not one ounce of judgment. Her kitchen produced legendary shepherd's pie, cheesy homemade macaroni, turkey dinners, and pot roast with Yorkshire pudding and gravy that her family will be chasing the memory of for the rest of their lives. She loved kombucha, ice cream (it had to be Chapman's), yogurt, and fruit — and she loved her family enormously and without reservation, endlessly proud of every one of them.

In her final years, Bette treasured having all three of her daughters close by, and spent her happiest days with them at the river that had become her home.

When she passed, Bette had a book open on her bed: All the Way to the River, by Elizabeth Gilbert. Its pages held words she no longer could say herself — “Give In, Give Up, Give Over” — and its prologue was titled “September,” her favourite month of the year. It seems fitting that her family will remember her that way: at the river she loved, in the golden light of harvest, telling everyone around her to “Kick Butt!”