There was a farm that was a large part of my childhood. To get there we would go to Fertigs PA, make a right on the dirt road, then when we came to the end of that, turn left onto the bumpy road that went between the two pastures, passed the big evergreen trees and onto the farm house and buildings.
It was a place with plenty of magic. There was a big bull in one of the pastures that we had to stay away from. On the other side of the evergreens, was the pond where grandpa kept goldfish that grew very large. The bee hives hereby provided that sweet nectar. We would often find a honey comb laying in middle of the table on a plate when we walked in the door.
Upstairs in the two story garage was an incubator. In the spring grandma hatched peeps. It was exciting to begin to see the little peeps peck their way out of the eggs. I would want to help them. Grandma cautioned me that they needed to build strength in their necks so they could survive. Soon little fluffy yellow birds would be scampering about.
Beside the big red barn was a pigpen. I loved helping grandpa: hey soo eee sooo EEE. I was tempted to climb the fence so I could see over it. Grandpa would scold me. "if you fall in there they'll just eat you" They were big pigs and they got excited. I love it when they had little ones.
Rhubarb grew wild beside the barn. There was nothing better than grandmas rhubarb pie. It was a sweet tart and I suspect she used honey for sweetening. A piece of rhubarb pie might greet us in the kitchen. What we were most likely to smell was sassafras tea boiling on the stove. A cup of that with the honey was a treat.
Grandma would be wearing her apron with the pockets in the front. As we came in she would wipe her hands on it and take it off to give us a big hug. Her arms wrapped around us and gathered us in, surrounding us like a blanket. Her voice was full of joy and laughter. We knew she loved us big!
Then she might show us the latest pile of red rugs she made. Grandma ways a weaver and she had two beautiful looms. She took old fabric (rags) and cut them into strips tied together and put across to weave them on the Loom. The looms had white thread only because grandpa restricted her to white and no colors. He had a lot of restrictions that we didn't know about.
Grandma did not cut her hair. She kept it in a braid wrapped tightly on her head. You would never guess that when she let it down, it reached her knees. When I stayed, we shared her nightly ritual of brushing 100 strokes.
I miss grandma so very much! These memories are precious and I do know she is watching. Maybe memories are the way she talks to me. Thank you Grandma!
