My grandma passed away this morning. I have such fond memories of visiting her farm as a child. I first wrote this in 2009.
If I close my eyes I can transport myself back there in an instant.
I’m seven years old.
The kitchen smells of boiled potatoes, fried pork, dogs and barn boots. It’s a sweet scent of comfort and welcome.
The air is hot and moist from the cooking and simmering that’s gone on all day. A green kettle sits on the gas stove ready to heat water for tea.
There’s a worn old table surrounded by mismatched chairs. A brown cookie jar that looks like a hen sitting on her nest rests a top the table.
Behind the refrigerator, the kind with the freezer on the bottom, is a yard stick. A stick often threatened, but never actually used, on a gaggle of rowdy grandchildren.
There’s an old metal stool at one end of the table covered in peeling green paint. The seat spins. Sometimes it’s a merry-go-round for a bored kid. Grandma sits there peeling the potatoes that are served at almost every meal, usually mashed.
Oh, how I loved that week every summer when we stayed at Grandma’s house. For an only child lots of nearby cousins meant instant comrades. For a child who lived in town the farm meant new experiences and adventures. I fed calves with a bottle, watched chickens meet their fate at the end of an ax and run around headless. I climbed the hay elevator up to the loft, collected eggs from the hen house. An old pony, a pack of friendly dogs and a gang of ferocious barn cats provided hours of entertainment.
Grandma was the queen of all of it. The royal matriarch of this magical, rural realm.
When you’re seven your Grandma is your Fairy Godmother.
I think of this today as news comes that the farm is sold.
I’m no longer seven.
The house isn’t the same, because Grandma doesn’t live there anymore.
Grandma, who time is catching up with, isn’t the same.
Our family, changed by time and scattered by distance, isn’t the same.
But the memories remain.
I can recall so many details about the house and the farm. I can see every room of that house just as it was 29 years ago. Grandma’s rocking chair covered in green brocade. The painting of a barn hanging over the sofa. The cabinet the holds the flag presented to Grandma at Grandpa’s funeral.
I remember the dusty lane and how the field looked, green with growing corn stalks. I see the cows eating at a trough in the muddy barnyard. I hear the loud ruckus as aunts, uncles and grandchildren fill up the big old farmhouse on Christmas Eve.
That house is just a place in my heart now. A part of gauzy childhood memories where innocence and naivety still exist.
Oh, to soar on the tire swing hanging from the hundred year old tree in the side yard once more. To laugh with cousins around the kids’ table once more. To bound one last time up the back porch steps into the kitchen where Grandma is busy cooking as the tea kettle whistles merrily.
To be back in Grandma’s House just once more…
Do you have fond childhood memories of a special place?
Photo by jbelluch used under Creative Commons License.
Grandma & Grandpa Lancaster’s place brings up sweet memories similar to this. Sad what has happened to it. Oh, how I cherish those memories!
You made me cry when I read about Grandma’s house. I don’t miss the building, but I miss the family that grew up there. I miss my Mom who now lives in confusion most of the time.
This is such a wonderful memory. It reminded me of my aunts house. She lived in a really old home with a tin roof at the end of a long dirt road. She had an outhouse and a pump to get water from the well. I was an only child too, so those were good times!
Great post! I hope I can pass on memories like this for my grandchildren.
This is beautiful…it reminded me of my great aunt and uncle’s dairy farm where we had a family reunion every summer when we were kids! I also have wonderful memories of my grandma’s house. She has a HUGE pantry in her kitchen that I would always open and look into even if I wasn’t hungry. I still do that when I go there, just open it and look at all the interesting foods and supplements and things. The last time we were there, we got out the old record albums we used to listen to at her house, and I loved watching my daughter sit on the floor while listening and looking at the album covers like I used to years ago.
This is by far your best post. Brought tears to my eyes. My grandparents built a 3 bedroom A-frame retreat home in Dubois, PA in 1974 and it was magical. It had certain scents, tastes, and sounds that are definitely part of the fabic of my childhood. I was so blessed to be able to share those memories and experiences with my kids as well. But Grandpa’s been gone over a year now and Grandma’s lost longer and more often to the scourage of Alzhemiers. I will always have good memories of “the lake.”
what a beautifully emotional post. I know exactly what you are feeling. as we grow we go our separate ways just hoping to get back together at least once during the holidays…
Such treasured memories! I am so sorry for your loss.
Special memories there, Colleen! I’m sorry about your Grandma.
I’m so sorry 🙁 What a difficult thing. I’m so glad you have such good memories. She left her mark.