Grandparents

 I never met my Dad’s Dad (Pops) but he was an Army Veteran , farmer and carpenter. Pops alongside my Grandmother raised 9 children. My Grandmother, from the memories I have, (she passed away when I was in the 2nd grade) was very much a proper lady. Always in a nice dress, her hair was pearl white and she adorned it with a hair net with multi color tiny pearls, she had a beautiful smile, a warm inviting hug and a gentle voice. She liked to sew for her grandchildren. I recall an orange dress, a red and white doll blanket and an apron she made me. She often embroidered the items with a trade mark asterisk stitch. And on the few occasions when she came and stayed at our house I remember her electric sewing machine and sewing basket came along.

Large families excel at congregating and eating, so most of my memories revolve around both my Grandmother’s and my Grandma’s kitchens. Both wonderful cooks, what came out of my Grandmother's kitchen always seemed more worldly, possibly because they were holiday dishes. I remember my Grandmother cooking alongside my aunts for Christmas Eve dinner. Traditionally we had fried oysters, which meant my aunts and older female cousins would form an assembly line across the counters—some breading and dipping, others stationed over hot cast iron skillets—all chattering and laughing, even occasionally squealing if a pearl was found. We continued this tradition after my Grandmother’s passing, and each step of preparing the oysters became a rite of passage. Frying was the most prestigious step. As we lost a female family member, a younger one would be added to the line. 

We wore our “nice” clothes when we went to visit my Grandmother, and for dinner all the men and children would sit at a large table to eat while the ladies fluttered around the kitchen. There was tons of laughter, storytelling, tickling and teasing. Oh, and cursing! My Uncles liked to curse but not in an angry way, more in the James Joyce literary character of many blue collar workers trying to one up the story. 

My Mom’s parents, the less formal, Grandma and Papa lived in a small farmhouse, the farm had been handed down from my Grandmother’s Mother. My Papa had been a surveyor for the mining company and my Grandma ran a small farm where she raised cattle and chickens, was a bee keeper, an award winning dog breeder and grew fruits and vegetables that she sold to the local grocery store.  My Papa liked to fish down the road and my Grandma was a 4-H instructor for sewing and cooking. While my Grandmother was always adorned in dress and stockings my Grandma preferred to wear a pair of my uncles hand me down pants cinched at the waste and an oversized flannel or denim shirt, unless she was headed into town for shopping or church where she would then put her hair up in bobby pins, put on a nice dress and dig out her pocket book.  My Papa wore denim overalls, except for a very few occasions, and then he always looked ready to get back home and into his uniform of choice.

While we only saw my Grandmother on special holidays and when family came in to town, we had Sunday Dinner every week at my Grandma and Papa's house. The drive from our house to my Grandparents only took 40 minutes but when I was a child it felt like an eternity to be in the car.  When we would arrive Grandma would already be in the kitchen and as soon as we walked in the back door there were wonderful scents of chicken and thyme and home pies. My Papa loved to cook too and made homemade bread, along with wine, chutney in the summer and eggnog for Christmas.

My Grandma’s kitchen was bright green and the largest room in the 4 room house. The rooms all connected to one another and made the perfect circle for kids to run and chase each other, dodging the many adults tucked here and there through the tiny space.  My Mom was one of six children so the house would be overflowing with aunts, uncles and cousins.  In one room Sunday football would be on the console TV and in another my Papa would be nestled in his chair reading a book, stopping every now and then to grin at a grandchild, visit with an adult or in the winter add a log into the wood stove that heated the house. The final room served as  my Uncles Bedroom, my Grandmas’ sewing room and where the card tables were set up on Sunday for the kids to dine.

It was after Sunday dinner (lunch) that the true magic happened it seems like there was always a project to complete. My Grandma was unlike many adults in the fact that instead of telling kids to get out of the way she would involve us all showing us each step, allowing us to try what ever the task and ask as many questions as we wanted without ever losing her temper.  Sometimes we would brood chickens, making sure the heat lamps were connected, the eggs were hatching and the small chicks were able to safely get food and water.  She would hand each one of us a soft chick and teach us how to gently hold them before placing them into the pin.

A Sunday project may of been a lesson in candy making and we would butter our hands and pull taffy by one person standing at one end of the kitchen and someone else standing at the other carefully making sugary ribbons without letting it hit the floor. Other weeks it may be a litter of newborn puppies, a day old colt or a bottle fed calf that may be in need of our attention.  Maybe Grandma was sewing someone a new dress and she would lay out newspaper on the giant kitchen table, look at the current style in a catalog and begin cutting, pinning and sewing, on the Singer treadle.  Even on the Sunday’s she wasn’t feeling well we would pop corn and she would teach us how to play Rook or Parcheesi. Involving each of us and patiently allowing us our turn whether we were thirteen or three.

Often after dinner my Aunt or older siblings and cousins would lead us on a walk down the gravel road. We would pass by neighboring farms waving and chatting until we got to "the bridge" which was two iron banged up guard rails over a small creek. We would gather rocks along the walk just to compete on who could chuck it into the water the farthest. 

Other adventures happened on longer stays with my Grandma. Learning about life and death, with the hatching of chicks or slaughter of hens. The birth of kittens and puppies, the weaning, shots and paperwork to sell a prize Shelty pup. Picking produce to take to the market to negotiate a sale. Shoeing a horse, separating a calf from its Momma, canning vegetables, churning ice cream, using a treadle sewing machine or a wringer washer (that one has its own story), mending a garment or a fence.  The list of things I learned goes on and on and I loved every adventure. 

It is probably not surprising that I consider my Grandma one of my most significant mentors. In a time when many women didn’t venture far from the kitchen or sewing room my Grandma not only did those tasks phenomenally she also managed a farm and ran an AKA Kennel, she could negotiate terms with the market manager or take her place at the bake sale.  She instilled in me that there are no gender boundaries in what you can physically and mentally excel at if it makes you happy doing it, quite possibly why I ended up in what is thought to be a more male dominated industry. 

She was both a lady and a farmer, taking on the majority of the household and farm tasks after my Papa became disabled in an auto accident during my early childhood. Even after a severe heart attack (when I was eight) she was active on the farm climbing trees, tending to her garden up until the day she just simply went to sleep and drifted peacefully away (when I was 18) leaving my Papa sitting in his chair reading until his health would finally fail and he would join her my Senior year in college.

 I find myself collecting small items that remind me of my grandparents:  A drawer full of buttons; a galvanized bucket; a peony bush; a beautiful brooch; rusty wire baskets. But the collection I most cherish are the memories of growing up in a family that loved to gather. The collection of life skills and passions I acquired by being surrounded by love and lessons, these problem solving skills taught to me through my youth are the best gifts of all and the legacy I carry forward of my grandparents and other family members who have passed from earth but stay so close in my heart