Peter Siegfried Doring

The only line Peter Siegfried Doring ever toed was when he was camping along the Mason-Dixon line. Born in the heart of Pittsburgh on Sept. 25, 1962, Pete was raised in Lexington and Bethesda, he was a son, brother, once husband, uncle and proud Godfather who always lived a wildly authentic life. His heart was always big enough to love his family and his friends, no matter what storm crossed their paths.

To friends and family, his stories were as vast and vivid as the fiery red braid that hung from his head. In the world of Pete’s tales, cars defied gravity, mountains pierced the heavens, and the morels he hunted became feasts fit for giants. And just when you started to question his tales, all you had to do was look past his gray- blue eyes watching you and see that the shadow of the Allegheny mountains he spoke about were truly looming large, casting their silhouettes over the plates of the last bites of the very morels he scooped up in his daring adventures. Heck, even the cars parked outside appeared to have shed their hinges from landing after such daring flights of fancy.

Pete embodied authenticity in everything he undertook. A non-conformist at heart, approached everything with a steadfast commitment to his own high ethical principles. He hated goodbyes, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if he slipped away before he had to bid adieu. He was deeply sentimental, forever cherishing those who loved him no matter their faults, he never hesitated to tell you he loved you, his heart was as vast as his tales, he was generous to his loved ones when his fortune allowed, whether it was hosting friends for a weekend of bluegrass and bushels of Maryland blue crab or making the time for long drives to meet you.

Other times, Pete carried a heavy burden, wrestling with severe back issues throughout his life. Here, his stubborn pride matched his resilience, often downplaying his pain and slow to admit when he needed assistance. But when he did, he was grateful and appreciative – welcoming the love that was given to him- he spoke highly of his neighbors and his community for this very reason- he was thankful for the grace.

A voracious reader, he embraced the life philosophy of Hunter S. Thompson, telling the story like he was a gonzo journalist himself, upholding the deep-seated belief in personal freedom and individuality. Like Tom Robbins, he was whimsical and philosophical, embracing his quirks and idiosyncrasies as a source of strength.

Like his siblings, Pete was a lover of the great outdoors. He paid attention to the weather, he knew the secrets of the sky, he would know exactly where to find his clusters of morels. He moved to Valley Bend in 2001 with his wife, Joni, because he wanted to be in a place with all four of the seasons. Pete and Joni were married 25 years before they parted ways, remaining close friends. It was during those times you could find his long thin frame in a cave, a headlamp strapped to his head, and maybe a few bruises from smacking his head against the rock inside the chambers he explored.

In his youth, Pete was an outlaw of a different kind, a seeker of justice who normalized the abnormal. Fiercely intelligent, he shunned formal education, opting instead to become a self-taught polymath, mastering everything from computer programming to motorcycle repair, even if he never truly got his old Triumph running before he sold it.

Pete thrived as a beekeeper, a man who loved fishing and a painter, running his own business for several years and other shenanigans that at times thrived and other times, really sucked.

He always had a soundtrack playing to his life, and maybe it started when he was a school-aged trumpet player, but this love led him to countless live concerts, from the Grateful Dead to Hot Tuna, the Allman Brothers Band and CSNY.

Pete is survived by his sister, Erika; and niece, Elaina; in Mt. Hood; his brothers, Captain Craig of the sea and Bryan the roadtrip king; and his sisters, Hannah and Susi and her family in Jerusalem, Israel.

His legacy lives through his tribe of friends and neighbors.

He is preceded in death by his mother, Charlotte Kingston; grandparents, Thomas and Helen Kingston; father, Siegfried “Fred” Doring; and his Goddaughter, Jasmine Cherise Curiosity Armour.

Pete’s journey may have come to an end, but his stories will live on, echoing through the hearts of those who loved him.

Rest in peace, dear Pete, we love you. Your memory will always be a blessing to us.