Rug in the kitchen cabinet picture would make a good quilt. Simplicity wins. I'm the last one to remember Gramma Dutchy. We never did sleep over at her house, but she let us stay on Wednesdays after school when Mom was still at work. We got to dust and vacuum and watch cartoons. She fed us bread and gravy which we loved! and noodles with milk which we also LOVED. I learned later she was embarassed that was all she had. She was the center of the family. Christmas was at her house with EVerybody crammed in. There was FEAST ))) Presents at home, not there. This story made me remember I had no emotional connection to any of them. 13th birthday party around her kitchen table. I didn't know the kids there. I remember just staring and eating cake. Its like I was always the wrong one in the group. Alone is good.
Grandma Dutchy -- I feel I knew her. I would have shared her bread and gravy any time. Milk noodles sound like something she invented. You remember how she made them? Grandma Hudson cooked kidney beans and for a "treat" poured Pet milk on them from a can into our bowl. We loved it and thought beans were always served with condensed milk...
I got a junk mail from AARP and decided the “R” is short for “ripe.”
I believe most of us ripe people had grannies like yours. It’s how they built them back then. Now, at the same age as our old fashioned grannies, the newer model grannies want to look twenty-something. At least the newer model gramps have the decency to go bald, get potbellied, wear ugly aloha shirts, and ugly Bermuda shorts to show off their chicken knees.
I wonder if late model grannies even make their grandkids eat oatmeal any more?
Oh Sharron! What beautiful writing, and I can just feel your little-girl spirit, taking in all of these memories as they happened. There is a rich history within the walls of this cabin. Your mother carried it on, and I know she loved the this place. She made it such a lovely piece of land, with all of her flowers, and hard work. Holidays here were magic! Thank you for including me in, with these strong and beautiful Grandma Hudsons. I am so honored to have the title, and though I know I can never fill the shoes of the women before me, I love this little "Gopher Farm" with every bit of my heart and soul!
You are the most thoughtful person I know, Sharon. Thank you for saying this. Now... who can possibly provide us with Grandma Hudson number four....? Isn't it odd that the Hudson line in our family is coming to an end... as is the Bassano line... What does that mean?
"I b'lieve in life and that's all." Some days, that's more than enough. Loved this story/poem, Sharron. You come from really fine women. Tough but not mean.
Oh, thank you, David. I just went over to your site and read about the men working in fields with huge harvesters and planters! Great story! I live in the nation's "Salad Bowl"- central California -- lots of agriculture here . You might like this little account of my forebears' farm in North Dakota? A bit of nostalgia.
Frayed shoe laces leaves me on the floor frustrated and wetting the end in my mouth to twist the end to fit into the eye hole. Sharron you conjured up a case of moon pies and cut up a cord of wood for the stove. Boil Lester for oatmeal and coffee and warm my innards with your fingers tapping the faucet to make the start of day. Gramma’s are the best! Loved mine right to the very end of pitching hay on the farm and eating her molasses’s cookings down to the last crumb.
Thank you, KC. The memory is still fresh even though I was only seven years old. So glad you gave it a bit of attention -- I sometime fear these old stories will have relevance only to the writer!
The cabin is still standing in Porter Gulch. My brother and sister in law love it out there on The Gopher Farm, where it is still a buck apiece if you catch 'em. They pay you.
History of our forebears can teach us so much… and can awaken fond memories. So valuable. Thank you Sharon.
Ps…. I like the full frame pic of you. 🙂
Thank you, Wade.
Love the ‘voice’ in this … there’s something so powerful about the wisdom of ‘eldership’.
Thank you, Barrie. I was aiming for a certain rhythm here, even though it did not rhyme. I got the meter down -- except for two lines
Love the notion of rhythm as the aiming point.
Rug in the kitchen cabinet picture would make a good quilt. Simplicity wins. I'm the last one to remember Gramma Dutchy. We never did sleep over at her house, but she let us stay on Wednesdays after school when Mom was still at work. We got to dust and vacuum and watch cartoons. She fed us bread and gravy which we loved! and noodles with milk which we also LOVED. I learned later she was embarassed that was all she had. She was the center of the family. Christmas was at her house with EVerybody crammed in. There was FEAST ))) Presents at home, not there. This story made me remember I had no emotional connection to any of them. 13th birthday party around her kitchen table. I didn't know the kids there. I remember just staring and eating cake. Its like I was always the wrong one in the group. Alone is good.
Grandma Dutchy -- I feel I knew her. I would have shared her bread and gravy any time. Milk noodles sound like something she invented. You remember how she made them? Grandma Hudson cooked kidney beans and for a "treat" poured Pet milk on them from a can into our bowl. We loved it and thought beans were always served with condensed milk...
Very nice, Sharron, and I can feel that old house and the morning chill while in that lumpy old bed.
I hoped you could, Ron! I bit of nostalgia for us old folks.
I got a junk mail from AARP and decided the “R” is short for “ripe.”
I believe most of us ripe people had grannies like yours. It’s how they built them back then. Now, at the same age as our old fashioned grannies, the newer model grannies want to look twenty-something. At least the newer model gramps have the decency to go bald, get potbellied, wear ugly aloha shirts, and ugly Bermuda shorts to show off their chicken knees.
I wonder if late model grannies even make their grandkids eat oatmeal any more?
Oh, no, probably not. Pup Tarts, more like it. I thought the R was for rebellious
Oh Sharron! What beautiful writing, and I can just feel your little-girl spirit, taking in all of these memories as they happened. There is a rich history within the walls of this cabin. Your mother carried it on, and I know she loved the this place. She made it such a lovely piece of land, with all of her flowers, and hard work. Holidays here were magic! Thank you for including me in, with these strong and beautiful Grandma Hudsons. I am so honored to have the title, and though I know I can never fill the shoes of the women before me, I love this little "Gopher Farm" with every bit of my heart and soul!
You are the most thoughtful person I know, Sharon. Thank you for saying this. Now... who can possibly provide us with Grandma Hudson number four....? Isn't it odd that the Hudson line in our family is coming to an end... as is the Bassano line... What does that mean?
There's so much character and life that comes through this, Sharron. Lines like this: I'll switch your legs if you don’t pipe down!
I think this was my favourite visual line: and stirring up dust, like a wizard's trick.
Thanks so much Nathan. I am never quite sure if these old stories are decipherable by the young!
"I b'lieve in life and that's all." Some days, that's more than enough. Loved this story/poem, Sharron. You come from really fine women. Tough but not mean.
Thanks, Sue. Grandma Hudson I was stern and a bit touchy, but definitely not mean. #2 and #3 ? -- sweet as pie.
How does one pray to life? To a messy life no less?
Any way they would like.
Life is also a prayer of sorts, isn't it?
It's the only prayer I believe in. Thank you Jill.
So beautiful.
Oh, thank you, David. I just went over to your site and read about the men working in fields with huge harvesters and planters! Great story! I live in the nation's "Salad Bowl"- central California -- lots of agriculture here . You might like this little account of my forebears' farm in North Dakota? A bit of nostalgia.
https://sharronbassano.substack.com/p/bringing-in-the-sheaves-1930
That's lovely.
Thanks Bill. Some of these old memories are a sharp as they were back then...
Frayed shoe laces leaves me on the floor frustrated and wetting the end in my mouth to twist the end to fit into the eye hole. Sharron you conjured up a case of moon pies and cut up a cord of wood for the stove. Boil Lester for oatmeal and coffee and warm my innards with your fingers tapping the faucet to make the start of day. Gramma’s are the best! Loved mine right to the very end of pitching hay on the farm and eating her molasses’s cookings down to the last crumb.
Apparently we had the same grandma!
Not Lester but water correction.
Oh Sharron, such a beautiful poem - you transported to there and to then. Wonderful words - strong ones, with a gentle touch.
This part will stay with me:
"I string wooden spools,
the carcasses of miles of quilting thread,
building a train to take me far from here."
So very evocative, as always. A real treat of a read, as all of your posts are. x
Thank you, Rebecca, for reading this memory of mine. I was only seven at the time and the images are so strong still.
Wonderfully evocative imagery, Sharron. Hard work and love of family. Timeless values.
Thank you, KC. The memory is still fresh even though I was only seven years old. So glad you gave it a bit of attention -- I sometime fear these old stories will have relevance only to the writer!
Wonderful, Sharron! And I love the accompanying images: I so want that hutch and to live in the cabin. ❤️
The cabin is still standing in Porter Gulch. My brother and sister in law love it out there on The Gopher Farm, where it is still a buck apiece if you catch 'em. They pay you.