It has been a long time since I posted a blog. Time seem to get away, as it has a tendency to do to all of you, from me.
One of the earliest memories of my grandparents was one Christmas when my parents and I stayed at their house on Christmas Eve. The next morning there was a footprint in the ashes of the fireplace; I knew that footprint was evidence Santa Claus had brought the tricycle that stood under the tree to me.
Over the years as our family grew, each Christmas we would gather at Granny's and Granddaddy's house with wrapped gifts for the tree. We celebrated birthdays at their house and Sunday dinners. Sunday dinners consisted of fried chicken and home canned green beans, hot biscuits, gravy, banana pudding, and cake. Mama made the chocolate cake. As I tell you about these gatherings and meals, I can feel the atmosphere of family. We were strong on laughter. My cousins and I enjoyed each other's company which included expanding families with new husbands, new wives, new babies, and new lives.
The first Christmas after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother didn't want to celebrate it. My cousins Debbie and Renee, along with my my sister, Sherry went to her house to "talk her into Christmas." Those young ladies were pretty persuasive! We had Christmas at Granny's! However, the atmosphere hung thick with the emptiness of not having Granddaddy sitting in the rocker, smiling at all his family, but we all agreed we were so happy to have our tradition of Christmas. This tradition carried forward until my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. She passed away January 1, 1994 at the age of 84. My grandfather died at the age of 67. This seems young now that I am only three short years away from being 67 years old.
My memories of the years between 1948 and 1994 always include Granny and Granddaddy. They worked hard. My grandmother would set the clock fifteen minutes fast so my granddaddy would not be late for work at Schnadig (International Furniture Company). He worked there until retirement. Sure he knew the clock was fast, but I think it was a game he played with Granny. She would have breakfast ready and he would eat and he didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave the house for work, and all the while Granny would be saying, "Ed, you're gonna be late." I don't think he ever was.
Granny loved flowers and her garden. She and my Aunt Mildred would plant, hoe, gather, and can the bounty from that garden. After Granny died, she left behind boxes of canned green beans. The Golly Green Giant would have been proud!
Once we all went camping in Panama City, Florida. Granddaddy decided he wanted a pair of shorts to stay cool. Granny wouldn't wear them then. Years later on another trip to Florida, she decided she would get her a pair and wear. She liked her Florida shorts (Granddaddy would have enjoyed her adventurous side). Didn't wear them at home, but always when she traveled to the beach. I hope I can find their pictures to share with you all. Granny might not like it, but I think she would eventually find the humor in sharing them. Granddaddy wouldn't care. He would just smile that crooked smile.
Granny taught me how to plant tomato plants and make turkey dressing for Thanksgiving. Mama taught me the art of canning green beans, but I still don't like to do it, so I will admit, we don't have home canned green beans.
Growing up with family surrounding you was special. We farmed back in the 1950s. I sound like I was a hard worker. I guess since Granny made me a small cotton pick sack to sling on my shoulder when all the women worked one cotton season picking cotton, that I qualify as a farmer. I hope you saw my picture on the tractor with my granddaddy. Does that make me a farmer? I would like to think so; however, I didn't like to work in the garden. That was hard work.
I did my fair share of what we called "stringing beans." Some people would call this "snapping" beans. We always had to make sure we had the ends off to pull the string from the beans before we broke them into smaller pieces. Each person had newspaper spread in his or her lap for the beans that were to be de-stringed. (Is that a word?) Then we left the strings and ends in our laps and threw our broken beans into a common metal dishpan for washing and later cooking. So many family came to help that there were so many of us working together on summer evenings, we had to have several pans so we could sit in a circle under the shade tree and still reach a pan. Now as I tell you about it, it sounds fun. The talking and fellowship was fun, the work was not. It was work.
If you have followed my blog, you can guess that within this short story are many insights into life just waiting to be shared. In those years between 1948 and 1994, there were many, many lessons that I was fortunate to learn at the feet of some extraordinary folks. This is just the beginning. The old rooster story of this "farmer" is definitely for another day.
Sometimes I think I would love to go back for a day and relive that time, but I would have to go through the heartache of losing our loved ones again. No, like the song says, "I couldn't live there anymore."
It is me, again, Lord, thanking you for the bittersweet memories that shape the person I am today.
A little Georgia Wisdom: Savor even the small moments in life. It is those moments that adds the flavor to your character.
