
i love small towns. i remember growing up, our family visits were typically noted in the weekly paper.
my dad was raised on the farm and went to school in a one-room schoolhouse up until high school.
he rode a horse to get there.
but not before grandma had his clothes pressed.
milk, eggs, and chicken were fresh from the farm.
grandma would occasionally lend a hand by milking a cow, but always in a dress.
lots of stories were shared to me about my grandmother this last week. i hung on to every word and hope that somehow i will remember it all forever.
i'm afraid of that. that i'll forget. that the stories will fade over time as most things do.
i know one story that never won't ...
the time that aunt nita brought my grandma a pie and was chased by a wild turkey. grandma laughed as she watch aunt nita run across the front lawn. after a successful pie delivery, grandma hit that turkey over the head with a stick so hard that it knocked him out. that's when aunt nita made her escape.
true story.
i told you she was a firecracker.
1 comment:
I know I've told u this before but THAT picture is AMAZING!!
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