I have mentioned before that my family moved a couple of
times while I was growing up. Only one place stayed the same—Granny’s.
The farm came into the family in the 1800s. Land Grant, I think. There was plenty
of ground unexplored.
I remember searching for shiny rocks. I also recall a certain tree with a limb
that mimicked a rocking horse. I found a gorgeous Luna moth and put her in a
jar. I only knew she was female because she laid eggs in her new home. When I took
the jar to school, there were tiny caterpillars all around the building.
There was a one-room schoolhouse, flanked by my
great-grandparents’ home and Granny’s house. By the way, my World War
II-fighting, Purple Heart medal-winning grandpa built the house for them.
Literally.
Back to Granny. The woman could cook. I think she creamed everything. I take that
back. The green beans were cooked in bacon grease and the broccoli wasn’t
creamed either. Before my plate was cleared, I always heard, “Ali, want some
pie?” No matter how many people there were, there was always room around the
table.
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| Beautifully sewn and embroidered, this apron made its way to my kitchen from hers. |
I went for noodle lessons one Saturday. I forgot to mention how good her noodles
were. They were amazing, and I was even able to make them at home before I got
sick.
Growing up, my brother and I alternated on the sugar cereal. I don’t remember
what his favorite was, but mine was, and always will be, Lucky Charms. There
also was a steady stream of Cheetos and Doritos glutting from her cabinets. And
crème wafers. Yummy. Also really unhealthy, but she lived until she was 94. Go
figure. When she was still physically able, she mowed her own lawn, tended her
own vegetable garden and drove into town in her big, old, green truck.
It was at Granny’s that I learned that the amount of shine on one’s wrapping paper
isn’t directly correlated with how much one is loved. Although it is a nice
bonus... But I am better adjusted as a granddaughter of Beulah Olive.
