A friend recently asked me to pick a favorite memory. Initially, I had no idea where to begin. The thoughts that quickly followed both relate to my grandmother. I grew up on 5 acres, most of which was field. Whenever I wanted, I could run across the field (or walk if my little sisters wanted to come, the rule was I had to hold their hand) to visit my Grandma.
I was home schooled when I was younger, so visiting Grandma was a daily thing. In the summers she would take me crabbing in the early mornings at the Landing.
We'd spend hours catching them and she would insist I wear one of her big floppy hats and one of her t-shirts over my bathing suit...they ended up being more of a dress on me. She taught me how to tie string around the chicken necks tightly so the crabs couldn't steal them from us. I learned to use the net properly without falling in or dropping the net in the river. By 10am we'd have a bucket full of crabs crawling all over one another and she'd scold me for poking them with sticks.
She always warned me that if they got one of my fingers, they'd latch on and never let go. I found out the hard way she was right. Once we got them home in the back of her station wagon, we'd heat up her big speckled blue crab pot and toss them all in. Inevitably one or two would escape and skitter across the floor as we jumped on chairs and tables shrieking for her to catch them. She always grabbed the broom to shoo them into the middle of the floor and made us learn to pick them up from behind so we wouldn't be pinched.
Summer evenings were the best with her. When my cousins were visiting from Italy, we'd spend the night running around in her back yard catching fireflies in mason jars. We'd fill the jars with twigs and grass to make sure they had good homes.
When my cousins went home, I'd wander down after dinner every day for a pop-ice on the porch. We'd sit on the glider together and she'd tell me all sorts of stories about her life. I learned about the plants in her garden and we'd strategize about keeping those damn squirrels out of the bird feeder. One of our contraptions was a cone we fashioned out of linoleum with the tight end fastened to the post the feeder rested on, just under the seed. It was by far, the ugliest thing we had ever created. However, we did keep the squirrels out for a solid week! Until, of course, they found a low hanging branch to drop off of onto the feeder.
My mom always laughs that when she would look down from our house on the hill across to Grandma's, the only thing she could see was the two of us with our long gangly legs. Grandma's maiden name was Twig, and she always laughed about how growing up she was so embarrassed because the boys would tease her by calling her "twiggy" for those long thin legs she had. She told me not to worry about having them, I'd appreciate them soon enough as long as I didn't eat too much and get fat. After growing up during the depression, she thought a lot of people were fat these days. But, for some reason, knowing I had inherited her legs, made me feel like I had inherited part of her.
After a while, I realized, what I really inherited was the privilege of knowing a truly strong woman, a woman of integrity, tenacity, and pure grit. This woman grew up in Western MD with nothing. She literally had an outhouse and a pet raccoon growing up. To get to college, which wasn't a popular thing among girls of her age, she sold things from the Montgomery Wards catalog. During WWII, she worked in a factory doing something related to the sciences. This lady was tough as nails.
Then she married a man, a man who left her to raise four boys on her own. She got a job teaching and found a way to keep those boys fed and clothed which was not an easy task. Her sister passed away, and she took in her nephew as well. Can you imagine raising five boys by yourself? Now add to that, no money and a full time job. Oh, and by the way, one of the boys breaks his bones easily, so add a layer of stress and financial concerns to everything else.
Not only did she manage all of this, but she believed it was wrong to remarry while her husband was alive. She stayed single and nursed him through the last days of his life when he came back to her for help. Talk about having the courage of your convictions! She outlived two husbands, a sister, a brother and a grandchild and never was crippled by her grief. Her life was dedicated to providing food, shelter, and strong character to her sons and grandbabies. She had no tolerance for poor behavior and lots of tough love to share.
All this to say, my favorite childhood memories consist of my time spent with her. I can only hope to live my life in a manner that reflects well on the foundation she tried so hard to give me.
