Thursday, July 28, 2011

Memories of Grandma and Grandpa’s Farm

Grandma hasn’t lived in her house by the pond for several years and Grandpa’s been in heaven for fourteen.  It never bothered me much because I still could visit with my Grandma in the assisted living home where she now lives. I could still walk around her pond if I wanted to. My children and I could walk to her house through the over grown pasture or around through the field to pick asparagus or grapes, if we so desired.


But, this week as I was helping my parents clean my grandma’s house to get it ready for renters, sadness settled in. The emptiness spoke of finality.  It shouted of a time gone by with only memories to support it.

As I cleaned the outside of a couple windows I glanced behind me to see the morning glories struggling to survive. Years ago when I was a girl they flourished. Grandpa had twine strung from the ground to the top of the garage. And those vines made a wall of green.  When we spent the night at Grandma and Grandpa’s it was tradition in the summer months to count the morning glories before breakfast.  I remember standing next to Grandpa looking out the storm door counting what seemed like hundreds of deep purple blooms. 

I remembered many hot summer days building cities, roads and homes in the sandy driveway and when we got really hot Grandma and Grandpa would let us carry buckets of water to make moats and puddles, ponds and lakes for our sand creations.

Cleaning the kitchen cupboards triggered memories of Grandma and what a wonderful cook she was. I LOVED eating at Grandma’s she was the quintessential country cook.  There were always “Granny” eggs (eggs done sunny side up) for breakfast, which Grandpa mashed onto our toast for us.  Grandma could can pickles that were amazing, and her rolls and soft molasses cookies were the best.  Grandma popped us popcorn in the evenings there was always home canned grape juice to go with it.  Sitting around Grandma’s table, saying grace, holding hands, laughing, talking, watching nature down by the pond and eating till I was bursting and still Grandma offering more. Precious.


As I wiped down the top of the fridge, I fought back tears as I remembered the glass container that sat on top filled with peppermints that Grandpa loved. They were the pink soft sort. The kind I’m pretty sure they don’t make any more. I remembered the ladybug magnets that Grandma used to hold clippings from the newspaper that caught her fancy, funny sayings, quotes, life lessons.  On top of the fridge sat an old hard leather case.  Inside was Grandpa’s old electric razor. Amazingly, the man that was paid to come in and clean out the house completely of the belongings of my Grandparents (the items that none of the family wanted), left it in the bathroom cupboard.  I’m pretty sure that was a gift from God!

In the living room I remembered all the times my sisters and I danced to the old records we loved.  Records full of silly stories and songs that I had never heard any place else.  We would eventually dissolve in fits of laughter onto the carpet. I remembered the nights snuggled on the couch listening to Grandma read the stories she had written about Grandpa’s Farm.  Or the moments spent snuggled on Grandpa’s lap with one of my sisters beside me, listening to Grandpa sing our favorite songs.  While I brushed my teeth with the toothbrush shaped like a giraffe, Grandma would pull the bed out from the couch and make it up with her special Grandma quilts and blankets.

Wonderful, special, heart-treasured memories of days and nights spent with my Grandparents.

And as hard as it is to see their house empty and know that the era of making memories at Grandma’s house is over, I am abundantly grateful for the memories that my Grandparents helped me create. These gems of untouchable wealth forever be stored in my mind and heart.




  1. Jenn, you tell your memories so beautifully. I loved this post. On so many fronts I could relate.

    And. Actually the photo of the house reminded me of my own grandparents (last) home... I just saw it again the other night while picking beans.

    I love your photos... especially the last one here of the garden gate.

  2. Wonderful memories! I also have written about my grandparents who lived on a farm. My best memories were made out there. They've been gone a long time now, but I think of them all the time. I don't remember grandma ever without her bib aprons on. I now having them hanging in my kitchen:)

    So glad we have our memories!

  3. Oh...I really hate the passing of time. What precious memories you have. And I agree with the last one of the gate.

  4. gulp.

    it's that emotional and I can relate. I feel you pouring your heart out right now and it's never easy.

    never easy.

    But I'm so reminded as I read this of TIME and there is a time for everything.


    love the old gate.
    just love it.

  5. Oh Jenn, what a lovely post. You wrote it so well. I was almost in tears - I have the same kind of memories with my grandparents and will be absolutely devastated when the time comes to clear out my grandmother's belongings. It hurts just to think about it. :o(

    That is such a special thing though, that the place you live is right there, real close to where they once lived. What a great connection to still be able to walk the same paths you did as a child and see some of the same things. :o)

  6. Oh this is a sweet post. I'm almost a little teary.

    What great memories you have. Truly great memories.

  7. oh, i can so empathize. before i met my
    husband, i loved my grandma more than
    anyone else. after her funeral, i have not
    been able to go back to her sweet little
    town. don't know if i will ever be able
    to do that.

    i'm glad you have such sweet memories,

  8. Jenn, thank you for sharing such a special post about Grandpa and Grandma. You hit the nail on the head. You brought back some memories I had totally forgotten about (I think it's from my head injury as a kid :)), so I thank you for allowing me to delve back into those sweet, nostalgic feelings. It is hard to let go of such a wonderful piece of our family history. Love you!


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