On Becoming Grandma's Hero

Grandma, 81 years, 8 months

As I have mentioned before, Grandma wasn't very affectionate; maybe after raising twelve children she just didn't care anymore. I always thought she probably considered my cousin and me as pests, and I'll admit, we did do some pesky things. She lived in the house where she had raised part of her children, with her youngest son, his wife, and my cousin, only a short distance from us, so I saw her just about every day. When we all went to work she stayed alone.

Now I have heard Daddy say she wasn't a very good housekeeper; she had rather set traps on top of fence posts to catch hawks and go check them later to see if her hens were safer for having caught one. Whenever she had a task to do, like moving furniture, she did it herself, and when someone would ask how in the world she managed to do it, she would reply, "Where there's a will, there's a way!" And one of those tasks came to involve me.

It was peach season. Daddy had started preaching this year and so he didn't work at the orchard anymore; this morning he had gone to town. I didn't go to work this day (monthly cramps), but all the rest were gone. Around noon I made a trip to the outhouse and heard someone calling for help. I listened, then realized it was Grandma so I hurried up to see what was wrong. I saw her on the ground, and when I got closer, saw dried blood on her arm; the bone was showing through the skin too. She had been pulling weeds, and when the weed came up, she fell backwards, resulting in a compound fracture to her upper arm. I helped her to the house and we began thinking of how we could get word to the others to come take her to the doctor. I thought I could drive their car but she wouldn't let me do that. And then we thought of the big iron dinner bell that hung on the garden fence post. We weren't supposed to ring the bell unless there was an emergency, but sometimes, when no one was in the field, we would ring it just to hear its loud noise. I pushed the bell back and forth, hoping, but wondering too, if anyone would hear the ringing. As luck would have it, a man up on the hill behind the house heard the bell, called to me to see if something was wrong. Then he went to the peach shed and got word to the folks.

After all this was over and Grandma's arm had healed, I think she looked at me differently, for years afterward she talked about how I had helped her.

A Real Paying Job

Oriental Poppies and Red Hot Poker plant

This morning, Dianna (www.thesedaysofmine.com) posted about her babysitting job when she was a teenager. It took me back to the first real paying job I had, working in the peaches. Of course my sister and I were no strangers to work; as soon as we were old enough to distinguish between cane plants and grass plants we were given a hoe and sent to the field with our parents. But we weren't paid for our work except in essentials, and maybe a little purchase now and then at the five and dime on a Saturday.

After the boll weevil hit the cotton fields of the south, our county was brought back to life by peach orchards. Many fields and hills were terraced and planted with peach trees and sheds, where the fruit was packed for shipment, sprang up in communities. Even before I was old enough to work, my cousin and I would play at the shed while our parents picked peaches in the mornings and then worked in the packing shed in the afternoons. We ate cold lunches at noon, things Mama had cooked before we left home in the mornings: fried potatoes, Spam, and if they had to work past suppertime, we were sent down the hill to the little mercantile for a few slices of bologna.

When I got big enough to work for money, I was sent to the orchard to pick on the same trees with Daddy. We wore a sack around our shoulders and when it was full, it was emptied into a bushel basket. At the packing shed I was given a job picking out over ripe peaches before they went through the brushes to remove the fuzz. Now if you've ever been around fresh-picked peaches you know how bad that fuzz can make you itch! As the old man would dump a basket of peaches into the bin, fuzz would fly everywhere, settling on the bends of my arms and around my neck. But, I had a real paying job! And when payday came, even at 50 cents an hour, I had a check with my name on it! I was saving with my money, and after working every summer, when I needed money for college tuition I had some to go with the scholarship monies I received.

Now when I tell you that's the only real paying job I've ever had, you're going to say, "What kind of person is she?" I have always been a stay at home mom, but I have worked, let me tell you! For thirty nine years I've worked in the chicken houses and on the farm, contributing to the family income. So, you see, I'm not lazy.

From the Farm -- May 4th

This has been my work day so far:

After doing the basic housework and listening to my Bible lesson, I went first to the barn to feed Mead, the bottle calf. He's growing by leaps and bounds and eating sweet feed now. He has done exceptionally well for a bottle calf. Next I went to walk through the chickens; they've gone from this --

to this, in eight weeks. Really it's more like I drag myself through them instead of walking.

When I come out of the chicken houses, Edgar Allen Crow is always waiting for me to give him a hand-out --

Then it's on to feed Princess Calico; she's just had kittens but I haven't seen them. She's the only cat I have left and each day I fear that dogs will kill her too. She loves for me to pet her but she won't let me hold her.

A trip to check cattle was next; these two mother cows seem to be baby-sitting.

And finally, there's a new baby on the farm.

So, that's been my day -- so far! There are still at least three hours of daylight and I know I'll be feeding Mead again, but for now I think I'll go sew for a while. Hope you've had a good day!

Hats

During the hoop-la of the Royal Wedding last week, one couldn't help but notice the hats worn by those attending. I don't think we see as many women wearing hats in America as we did in days gone by. My maternal grandma was a hat person and she also carried a parasol.

As you can see in this picture, she has thrown the hat off for the picture, taken on a Sunday I'm sure, because she is holding her Bible. I would have been about nine years old when this was made. Grandma would have been in her seventies and she seemed like an old, old woman to me.

These are some of her hats; the top one, a black velveteen with a big bow, and the others are straw.

I love the old hat boxes although they are not in the best of shape.

These little hats are not much more than a circle with netting over them, but they are cute. These belonged to my Aunt Marie.

The big black hat I'm wearing here (shown closer below) came in handy to use as a Halloween get-up one year. With a nylon stocking over my head to distort my face, the kids got quite a scare. I don't know for sure but it might have been Grandma's hat too.

And last, this was my Mama's little garden hat.

Do you wear a hat?

Another Rainy Day

Well, just as promised, yesterday was another rainy day, and even this morning we have had showers. I took advantage of staying indoors and worked on the re-do of my white ribbon quilt. It's coming along and looks better than I ever thought it would. Late in the afternoon we went to haul hay in to feed the heifers and when I got back the sky was darkening but I quickly took a walk; those clouds with lightning can move pre-tty fast! By around 7:00 p.m. a more serious storm was coming our way and we watched as the wall cloud passed over with no funnels sited.

As the clouds passed on to the east, the sun peaked through the rain, just as it was setting.

Poor heifers, their good hay got wet again!

No rainbow this time; I guess it was too dark.

Complaining

How does the old saying go? April showers bring May flowers? This is how my flowers should be looking now;

however, we've had more rain than just showers, several days worth, in fact, and when the big iris blooms get weighted down with water, and the wind blows hard, they just give in and topple over, sometimes even breaking the stems and ruining the unopened buds. They are one of my favorite flowers, and after waiting through a long cold winter for their beauty, I'm saddened by the loss.

The old snowball bush suffered too; some limbs were broken.

And late this afternoon, just when I thought I could go to the barn to feed the calf, rain simply poured down. This was taken from the back porch,

and this from the front porch. I'm afraid the ground will be so saturated around the shade trees that one could go over under a strong wind. One of our hay fields is flooded, and more rain is forecast for tomorrow.

I do hate to be complaining, for who knows, in our state this could be the last rain for a long time, but for now we're just having too much of a good thing. Isn't it strange how things happen? Texas is burning in places and we're flooding.

He Is Risen

"...the angel said to the women, Fear not: for I know that ye seek Jesus which was crucified. He is not here: for he is risen, as he said." Matthew 28:5,6