Don Ray Hoxit

Don Ray Hoxit, 73, of Sylva, NC, passed away on Thursday, July 30, 2026.

Born on November 15, 1952, on Wolf Creek in Little Canada, Don was the son of the late William Julius Hoxit and Lula Mathis Hoxit. He was also preceded in death by his beloved wife, Glenda Evelyn Hoxit, whose memory he cherished everyday.

Don dedicated much of his life to working as a logger and master carpenter. Through hard work, skill and integrity, he built not only home and structures but also lasting friendships and a reputation for craftmanship that will be remembered by all who knew him.

Outside of his work, Don found great joy in writing, especially poetry, tending his garden and living out his christian faith. His favorite passage: To everything there is a season reflected the peace and perspective with which he approached life. He was guided by three simple but meaningful principles: Love, Loyalty, and Friendship. Those words were more than a motto--they were the foundation of the life he lived and the legacy he leaves behind.

Don's greatest accomplishment was the love he shared with his family and friends. His quiet strenth, generous heart, steadfast faith, and unwavering devotion to those he loved will be remembered.

Ecclesiastes 3 reminds us, to everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven. While this is a season of sorrow, we also celebrate a life well lived--a life marked by faith, hard work, compassion, and enduring love.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests that memorial donatons be made to the American Heart Association, MS Society, Parkingson's Foundation, or to Ronald McDonald House charities. These were all meaningful causes to Don and his family.

To honor Don's love of poetry the family also shares one of his published works.

"Barefoot Boy" a reflection of the simple country life he loved so dearly.

Barefoot Boy

By: Don Hoxit

Published in Spirit of the Age by the National Library of Poetry

Oh to be a tousel haired barefoot boy; Going anywhere his notion is led

Where wind blown dust and leaf; Shall revel and play and bear no grief

The smell of new mown hay; And heavy aroma of fresh plowed clay

Wind against his ruddy sun-burned face; On his merry way to his favorite fishing place

Sitting on the weathered rickety old wood bridge; Hearing a hawk's scream above the wooded ridge

A willow pole, a string, and a hook; Fishing for a wily old trout in the glistening brook

Wading along the edge of a pond; Found an old straw hat he now dons

In the distance he hears a bell's clear peal; Calling him to come home to his evening meal

Such is a day in a country boy's life; We pray that never he knows any hate or strife.