~I Remember Grammy~
There is only one thing for me to say about her and that was that she was wonderful.
She was always canning, pickling, or making jams and jellies out
of something. Usually from the garden that Grandpa had put in
for her or from what she had gathered from the surrounding
valley.
There seemed to be a never ending bowl of cucumbers and onions
in vinegar on the kitchen table in the summer , and I was sure to
have fresh huckleberries with sugar and real cream for breakfast.
Clothes pins in the clean white sheets that were hung out to dry as the old wringer washer sloshed away, and the panic as some unfortunate tree frog made the wrong decision and met his demise by leaping up onto an ingoing sheet through the wringer.
In the summer we were in a little black jeep with the top off heading for the woods or the river with a cloud of dust boiling up behind us. I was appointed the mushroom runner and Grammy and Mom were the spotters in the days when no permits were needed. Berry buckets were coffee cans and bailing wire on our belts. She was always up for a romp with a picnic basket
and her dog Penny.
On the Snake river, Hashatani's Hole was the most beautiful spot
with white sandy beaches and ponderosa pines. Before the dam
went in, the river was wild and deep blue pools held some nice
catfish and an occasional sturgeon. If we weren't home by dinner
it was because the berry picking or the fishing was just too good.
I remember Grammy. Deep red hair shining in the sun, where it
wasn't covered by bobby pins and the usual Lucille Ball style bandana . I found out early on that bandanas had many uses as a tube top was fashioned from one for me when it got too hot. I was mortified with all of my eight years of modesty.
She taught me to knit and crochet with Job's patience even though she was left handed.
Watching "The Wizard of Oz" at her house with chocolate chip ice cream from the co-op was a yearly tradition.
Dances and parties at the Grange hall, and falling asleep in a
cabin up at Cornucopia to the sound of voices saying " fifteen
two, fifteen four" as they played cribbage with friends in the
lamplight.
I remember Grammy. Rolled up pedal pushers, short sleeved
shirts and tenny runners. Never happier than when her hands were stained blue and bleeding from berries and thorns, or with night crawler juice under her nails and a sunburn. Life with her was like one big adventure and I loved her so. I still keep bandanas in the top drawer of my dresser, because you just never know.
