Originally posted 9/9/2020
When I was very young, we lived hours away from my
grandparents. They were in New Jersey and we were in Georgia, North Carolina,
Alabama, and then Missouri. They were relatives who visited once or twice a
year—every now and then going to New Jersey but more often they came to visit
us. I heard a lot of old stories of growing up on the farm, the war, Grandpop
working construction and Grandmom working in the local school. Every visit felt
nostalgic, even when I was little. I love the stories, learning about things
that seemed so strange and different (I had pretty much no farm experience—and,
honestly, don’t have much more now than I did then!)
When I was in elementary school, my grandparents retired and
moved to Missouri. They stayed with us for a bit (no idea how long—time had
little meaning at that age!) and then moved to the middle of nowhere—almost
literally. They were halfway between one very small town and another very small
town—but were miles from either one. They were on a dirt road on 100 acres with
woods, a pond, and blackberries. I started going out there during the summer
for a week or two. Though I didn’t always appreciate the quiet life (they had a
party line phone and 2 tv stations!), I learned so much during my times there.
Every evening, I walked to the pond with Grandpop to feed the catfish. We
fished at times, but mostly we fed the fish so they would get big enough to be
good eating. They had a fantastic garden—several kinds of beans, corn,
tomatoes, asparagus, and strawberries. At times they grew more, and at times
they grew less. I learned to drive a riding mower and then a tractor as I got
older. I learned to shoot a bow and a shotgun (can’t say I was great at either
one, but I learned). We played badminton in the evenings, had picnics under the
shade trees, and walked in the woods when the weather was right. There were so
many lessons to be learned about a life that was so different than my day to
day. No matter what we were doing, Grandmom told stories.
As I got older, graduated from high school, and went to
college, I spent a lot less time there. They were getting older and I was
getting busier. I went back to seeing them only a few times a year, usually on
holidays. We would catch up—me talking about my studies and them catching me up
on the garden, the deer, the catfish, and the other country events. I missed my
time with them, but life got in the way.
While I was in college, Grandpop got cancer. His health was
up and down with treatment, but given his age, stage, and type of cancer, we
knew what we were looking toward. I was so thankful that he was able to attend
my wedding, and even more thankful when he was still around to meet his first
great grandchild. Some of my sweetest memories were of him sitting with my
toddler-age son, reading together and telling stories. When I was pregnant with
my second child, he passed away. Death of a loved one is hard—that death coming
during pregnancy I learned was much harder. I made the decision to name my
second child after him if possible (my ultrasounds were never conclusive, so we
weren’t certain whether I was expecting another boy or a girl). When I
delivered a little girl a few months later, she was named after Grandmom in his
honor.
The next spring, I was able to take my kids out to
Grandmom’s house to fish, picnic under the trees, and ride the riding mower
& the tractor. There was no garden that year, but it was still amazing to
share the place of my youth with my preschool son and my baby daughter. I knew
that they wouldn’t get to experience it like I did because they were so young
and Grandmom couldn’t stay out there alone, but they got to see it and have a
small taste of the place I loved. My son caught his first fish in their pond
and took a walk in the woods where I had walked with Grandpop. I wouldn’t trade
those memories for anything.
Enough rambling for now. More favorite memories to share in
future posts.
Thanks for reading! 😊 EW