I think of this wonderful little lady more often in spring and summer than other times of the year, primarily because of this little creature:
The Mourning Dove
We have a lot of the cooing birds in our yard and neighborhood, and I never ever hear the soft, lovely sound without going back to my grandma's house and yard. My memories of her are so strong and so sweet.
My dad's mom was a tiny little Swedish lady named Olga. Amazingly, my grandpa saw her as an infant and declared "That's the girl I am going to marry." He was 10. I can hardly believe that story, but it's true. They eventually had 4 sons and one daughter, the baby and very spoiled! Dad was #3. The two oldest boys became missionaries to Africa and my dad became a pastor.
Grandma was a hard worker. She was a farm wife. She had a contagious laugh, when her eyes would close and her face would scrunch up. She loved to tell stories, and I wish I had written them down. I wish I hadn't become tired of her stories after the many times I heard them, and had paid closer attention as a teen and not just given her an occasional "uh-huh, Oh" as she talked and cooked.
Grandma was so short that she couldn't comfortably knead her bread or do her cooking or wash her dishes with standard kitchen counters. So her kitchen was built especially for her - I outgrew her when I was 10 and had a really hard time helping her with the dishes as I got taller and taller.
One of my fondest memories is when we'd come to visit, she'd run with her short little legs into the room where she kept her freezer and come back with frozen pieces of cake. She'd have the coffee pot on immediately. She kept her baked goodies in the freezer so she could serve a snack at a moment's notice - typical Swedish hospitality. The pieces of cake were tiny, and I loved eating them while they were still frozen. Ironically, this affected me later in life when I would buy Hostess treats and put them in the freezer to keep myself from eating them. Turns out I liked Twinkies and Hostess Cupcakes better frozen! Made me feel like I was back at Grandma's house.
Grandma had a huge strawberry patch and an equally large cucumber patch - which she called "cukes". She was often out there working when we'd arrive. She had chickens, which I can remember her preparing for supper that night - thus, I have a mental image when I hear someone is "running around like a chicken with its head cut off!"
Grandma had quite a few farm cats - not pets, per se. But she must have endeared them to herself by feeding them scraps. Grandma had a very large goiter on her neck (now most likely known as a thyroid tumor). It was actually the size of a small grapefruit, and she finally went to Minneapolis, 50 miles away, for surgery. When she was still in the hospital and recovering, she heard the nurses talking about this cat that kept trying to come in to the hospital whenever the door opened. Turned out that it was one of her farm cats.
My brother Barry loved to spend as much time as he could with both sets of grandparents in the summer - they lived a mile from each other. He loved working on the farm, driving the tractor, helping with the cows, and all things farm related. He also had two brothers who were friends - they had fun doing things that they couldn't talk about for 5 years, when the statute of limitation was over.
So - I thought I needed to get in on the fun of spending a week or so with them. But, surprisingly, I was bored out of my mind. Grandma W was employed at a bakery in town, so was not home during the day. Grandma S was out in her large garden all day, and goodness knows I didn't like being out in the hot sun digging in the dirt. I know - what was I thinking?? I shouldn't have been so self-centered. I can remember lying on the bed upstairs reading all day long - imagine that!
One of my best memories is Christmas time when the missionary cousins were home on furlough - every four years. It was always like we'd never been apart - (I wrote about Ann and our wonderful time last summer). We played in the farmhouse upstairs, ate wonderful food, opened small gifts, often helped Grandma decorate her tree when we all arrived. Can you spot me in the picture?
Grandpa was pretty much "couch-ridden" for the last ten years of his life, and he died when I was 17. Grandma lived for 13 more years, the last 5 in a nursing home. She had sold the farm and moved into a tiny house in town. I didn't get to see her often as an adult, but took Kristen to meet Grandma when she was about a year old. Grandma didn't know me, and that was very sad.
Not long before she died, my mom, dad, and I took her for a ride to all the places she'd lived that we could find. She enjoyed the day so much and had such vivid memories. When we took her back to the nursing home, I have a strong memory of her standing on the sidewalk waving good-bye to us. A few minutes after leaving, Dad remembered that he'd left his glasses behind in her room. We turned around and went back. When Dad saw her, she said, "Who are you?" That was really hard on Dad. Just a few weeks later, she went home to the Lord she loved. Dad was privileged to be the minister at her funeral.
Long after Grandma died, cousin Ann, sister Vicki, and I spent some time out at the property where we'd been so happy as kids. Nobody had done anything with the land since she had sold it, and it was over-run with weeds. We found the foundation to the house and the bits of the barn and outbuildings that were still there. We looked for the spot where we had buried a bird, which we called "Five Rock Patio." We looked for the ditch that had seemed so deep and full of lilacs. We began to wonder what people might think if they drove by and saw all of us tromping through the high weeds. Ann said, "They'd think we're a bunch of missionary and preacher's kids looking for their roots!" It was true.
We have a lot of the cooing birds in our yard and neighborhood, and I never ever hear the soft, lovely sound without going back to my grandma's house and yard. My memories of her are so strong and so sweet.
My dad's mom was a tiny little Swedish lady named Olga. Amazingly, my grandpa saw her as an infant and declared "That's the girl I am going to marry." He was 10. I can hardly believe that story, but it's true. They eventually had 4 sons and one daughter, the baby and very spoiled! Dad was #3. The two oldest boys became missionaries to Africa and my dad became a pastor.
Grandma was a hard worker. She was a farm wife. She had a contagious laugh, when her eyes would close and her face would scrunch up. She loved to tell stories, and I wish I had written them down. I wish I hadn't become tired of her stories after the many times I heard them, and had paid closer attention as a teen and not just given her an occasional "uh-huh, Oh" as she talked and cooked.
Grandma was so short that she couldn't comfortably knead her bread or do her cooking or wash her dishes with standard kitchen counters. So her kitchen was built especially for her - I outgrew her when I was 10 and had a really hard time helping her with the dishes as I got taller and taller.
One of my fondest memories is when we'd come to visit, she'd run with her short little legs into the room where she kept her freezer and come back with frozen pieces of cake. She'd have the coffee pot on immediately. She kept her baked goodies in the freezer so she could serve a snack at a moment's notice - typical Swedish hospitality. The pieces of cake were tiny, and I loved eating them while they were still frozen. Ironically, this affected me later in life when I would buy Hostess treats and put them in the freezer to keep myself from eating them. Turns out I liked Twinkies and Hostess Cupcakes better frozen! Made me feel like I was back at Grandma's house.
Grandma had a huge strawberry patch and an equally large cucumber patch - which she called "cukes". She was often out there working when we'd arrive. She had chickens, which I can remember her preparing for supper that night - thus, I have a mental image when I hear someone is "running around like a chicken with its head cut off!"
Grandma had quite a few farm cats - not pets, per se. But she must have endeared them to herself by feeding them scraps. Grandma had a very large goiter on her neck (now most likely known as a thyroid tumor). It was actually the size of a small grapefruit, and she finally went to Minneapolis, 50 miles away, for surgery. When she was still in the hospital and recovering, she heard the nurses talking about this cat that kept trying to come in to the hospital whenever the door opened. Turned out that it was one of her farm cats.
My brother Barry loved to spend as much time as he could with both sets of grandparents in the summer - they lived a mile from each other. He loved working on the farm, driving the tractor, helping with the cows, and all things farm related. He also had two brothers who were friends - they had fun doing things that they couldn't talk about for 5 years, when the statute of limitation was over.
So - I thought I needed to get in on the fun of spending a week or so with them. But, surprisingly, I was bored out of my mind. Grandma W was employed at a bakery in town, so was not home during the day. Grandma S was out in her large garden all day, and goodness knows I didn't like being out in the hot sun digging in the dirt. I know - what was I thinking?? I shouldn't have been so self-centered. I can remember lying on the bed upstairs reading all day long - imagine that!
One of my best memories is Christmas time when the missionary cousins were home on furlough - every four years. It was always like we'd never been apart - (I wrote about Ann and our wonderful time last summer). We played in the farmhouse upstairs, ate wonderful food, opened small gifts, often helped Grandma decorate her tree when we all arrived. Can you spot me in the picture?
Grandpa was pretty much "couch-ridden" for the last ten years of his life, and he died when I was 17. Grandma lived for 13 more years, the last 5 in a nursing home. She had sold the farm and moved into a tiny house in town. I didn't get to see her often as an adult, but took Kristen to meet Grandma when she was about a year old. Grandma didn't know me, and that was very sad.
Not long before she died, my mom, dad, and I took her for a ride to all the places she'd lived that we could find. She enjoyed the day so much and had such vivid memories. When we took her back to the nursing home, I have a strong memory of her standing on the sidewalk waving good-bye to us. A few minutes after leaving, Dad remembered that he'd left his glasses behind in her room. We turned around and went back. When Dad saw her, she said, "Who are you?" That was really hard on Dad. Just a few weeks later, she went home to the Lord she loved. Dad was privileged to be the minister at her funeral.
Long after Grandma died, cousin Ann, sister Vicki, and I spent some time out at the property where we'd been so happy as kids. Nobody had done anything with the land since she had sold it, and it was over-run with weeds. We found the foundation to the house and the bits of the barn and outbuildings that were still there. We looked for the spot where we had buried a bird, which we called "Five Rock Patio." We looked for the ditch that had seemed so deep and full of lilacs. We began to wonder what people might think if they drove by and saw all of us tromping through the high weeds. Ann said, "They'd think we're a bunch of missionary and preacher's kids looking for their roots!" It was true.
