Last weekend, Grampa and I were at the farm. We took a walk thru "Francie's mowing." The goldenrod and brown-eyed Susans waved to us in the breeze. There are lots of taller trees now and the road to the pheasants is filling in. There are no more pheasants. We went over to see if the man had cleaned it up.
Grampa said, "Let's take a shortcut home. There is a path." Well, into the woods we went, over stone walls, over fallen logs, around barbed wire fences - but nary a path. But there was a nice big rock, Grampa carried it on his shoulder. With a rock on his shoulder and a walking stick in his other hand - resting every once in a while - we finally made it home.
We weighed the rock. It was 39 lbs and is now sitting on our patio.
Rowen Farm in Cavendish, Vermont, was a very special place for Gram and our family. It belonged to her sister and brother-in-law, Gertrude and Allan Hoey. Gram visited the farm many times every year, often bringing some of her kids and grandkids with her. The farm was tucked away around the bend in a dirt road. A drive led up to a big, old farmhouse and a few outbuildings (including an outhouse that was put to good use during the warmer months!). There was a flower garden out back, and several fields spilling over hills and down to dark woods.
The fields were called "mowings" by our family, and one in particular was named for Gram: "Francie's Mowing." Gram's mother christened it with the name. It was slightly further from the house, down the road a bit, framed by birch trees and hills in the background. Blackberry bushes were nestled along one path. In later years, part of it was leased to a man who raised pheasants there.
Gram & Grampa loved to be outdoors. This little story always makes me smile, especially now that I have children. When I take my children for walks in the woods, they love trying to make their own paths and collecting little stones, leaves, acorns, and such. That same sense of wonder and contentment in being outside was never lost for my grandparents.
Thankfully, though, I don't think my kids could take home a 39 pound rock!
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Monday, October 20, 2014
Letters in the Fall
Ah, Fall. The coolness of the air, the crunch of the leaves, the softness of the light, the blustering of the wind...
Fall is the time of year that reminds me most of my grandmother. Today, October 20, is her birthday; she would have been 97 this year. She loved this season, as the clouds blow in to form shadows over the bright foliage, and the cooler temperatures require extra bundling up. "Good snuggling weather," she would say.
Fall is also the time her cards would start coming. She wrote letters to many friends and relatives throughout her life. For me, she began writing me nearly every week when I went away to college in 1995. Her letters were a welcome sight in my post office box - a message from home.
She wrote of everyday things. There is nothing too profound or eventful in her letters – no deep wisdom for the ages. Instead, she wrote about the simple beauty of nature that she saw from her porch window, the small amusements she found from my Grampa’s and others’ actions, the memories of years gone by. Her voice comes through in her writing – it is occasionally poetic and often conversational.
Reading her letters now, I feel a sense of peace - not just as a granddaughter remembering her grandmother. Peace also comes from the hidden world her letters reveal: a world full of little everyday occurrences that, if we are able to take notice of them, can take some stress out of our busy lives and make us sit up and smile.
And so, here follow some of my letters from Gram. Take a peek; take a breath; take a look - and smile.
Fall is the time of year that reminds me most of my grandmother. Today, October 20, is her birthday; she would have been 97 this year. She loved this season, as the clouds blow in to form shadows over the bright foliage, and the cooler temperatures require extra bundling up. "Good snuggling weather," she would say.
Fall is also the time her cards would start coming. She wrote letters to many friends and relatives throughout her life. For me, she began writing me nearly every week when I went away to college in 1995. Her letters were a welcome sight in my post office box - a message from home.
She wrote of everyday things. There is nothing too profound or eventful in her letters – no deep wisdom for the ages. Instead, she wrote about the simple beauty of nature that she saw from her porch window, the small amusements she found from my Grampa’s and others’ actions, the memories of years gone by. Her voice comes through in her writing – it is occasionally poetic and often conversational.
Reading her letters now, I feel a sense of peace - not just as a granddaughter remembering her grandmother. Peace also comes from the hidden world her letters reveal: a world full of little everyday occurrences that, if we are able to take notice of them, can take some stress out of our busy lives and make us sit up and smile.
And so, here follow some of my letters from Gram. Take a peek; take a breath; take a look - and smile.
Frances Miriam Agnes King Holmes Sawyer Braman
October 20, 1917 - September 13, 2012
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