Love letter to Grandma Nielson

My Grandma was a beautiful woman, not beautiful in the conventional view of the world, although in photos I have seen of her younger days, photos of the grandma I never knew, she was a stunner straight from the Hollywood sound stages.  My grandma was beautiful because of how she made everyone feel when she saw them and because of this no one could deny her beauty. 

Whenever we visited the farm we would open the creaky paint chipped door separating the laundry from the kitchen and turn to look where we would most likely find my grandma, sitting in her favorite chair.  Upon seeing us she would light up as if her world was now complete just by having us visit and she would immediately set to work trying to feed us.  My grandma was a great cook.  A real meat and potatoes kind of a cook.  Never light on the servings or on the gravy.  For us, no visit was complete without a breakfast of endless pancakes.  We would do our best to break new records and eat until we could eat no more and my grandma would keep the stacks coming, until we raised the white flag of defeat.  It is here that we learned the delicious secret (one I am still trying to convince my girls to try) of eating cheddar cheese on your pancakes melting under hot syrup.

When I think back to my time spent at the farm it is hard to separate the farm, in fact the entire town of Leamington, from my grandma.  She permeated every memory I have of a place that shaped who I have become.  She was a pillar in the community and I can see an image of her clearly leading an army of women in organizing lunch for the town at Leamerado days.  The town loved her and she loved them in return.  They had become her family in many ways as they worked to make the desert blossom in a place most people didn’t even know existed. 

Although she shined in the town my grandma was a queen of her domain and a home body through and through.  Whenever she visited us we knew it wouldn’t be for long as she always had some excuse or another to get back to the farm.  We all knew it was that she just wanted to be home and who wouldn’t when you had the farm to go back to. 

My grandma loved animals of every kind so it is no wonder that growing up we would love to visit the farm and got to experience interacting with every sort of animals thru the years.  My grandparents had cattle but on their farm itself they had horses in the pasture, pigs for a time and my grandma kept a large flock of chickens and even had Guinea hens at one point.  I will never forget the moment one of those chickens turned on me and I saw my life flash before my eyes as I was sure that chicken was going to land the blow that would end my young life.  My grandma had a big heart where animals were concerned both for those that were hers and those that were wild.  She would feed the homeless cats in the area and became known for her cats with people dropping them off from time to time.  These were not your standard lap cats that you could pet and play with rather these were feral attack animals that we would avoid and steer clear of at all costs least we get fleas or a claw to the ankle.  I remember there was one cat in particular that would hide under my grandparents old blue Oldsmobile and when you would walk by it would dart out grabbing and biting at your ankle so we would run past the car to get into the house.   Along with her pack of feral cats my grandma had a flock of hummingbirds that she would feed.   Summer nights when the family would gather on the back patio under the giant elm tree we would hear a constant din of wings beating as the hummingbirds would come in from every direction to feast on the feeders my grandma kept stocked with rich sugar water.  Still to this day if any of us see a hummingbird we think of my grandma.  My grandparents also had a yellow lab most of my life.  First there was Broccoli (named so because my cousin was saying Barkley from Sesame Street but my grandparents couldn’t understand him) and then Sadie who was with my grandma to the end.  These dogs were the embodiment of the farm.  They greeted you at your car with a wet nose, a wagging tail and a heart full of unconditional love. 

Grandma’s heart was full of love and the times it was fullest and happiest (or at least that is how she made it seem to us) was when the whole family was over for a visit.  Grandma never stopped.  She would cook, she would fuss she would make sure everyone was okay…that is until the cards came out.  The moment someone pulled out a deck of pinnacle cards or Skip-bo cards or any card game really it had the same effect on my grandma as opening a can of tuna fish around a cat…she stopped what she was doing and took a seat at the table, the rest of the world be damned she was in the game.  My grandma was fiercely competitive at games.  There was no light hearted I will let my grandchildren win this one, she was in it to win it, and if you weren’t focused solely on the game she would correct that in an instant.  It was in these moments that many of us grandchildren reveled in the undivided attention of my grandma.  We knew she was all ours in those moments and we took advantage of the time we had with her.

The grandma I knew was a farmer’s wife, a mother and well, my grandma although flashes of her previous life (before me) would shine thru at times.  My grandma had been an English teacher and loved books and the art of the written word.  She would write letters to her family and as missionaries serving around the world we looked forward to grandma’s letters from the farm that were never shorter than 5 pages in her beautiful script.  My grandma also wrote poetry as a way of expressing her love, her humor and her life.  When our beloved dog Liza died my grandma, whose heart was big enough to love our dog as much as we did, wrote a poem about her that was able to heal the holes now missing in all of our hearts.  She also wrote and had published a poem about zucchini and how she would sneak around the neighborhood to drop it off on unsuspecting neighbors doorsteps, all in secret so they couldn’t refuse the offer of an overabundant crop.  I realize that I inherited the love of language and the power of words from my dear grandma as she so willingly gave us this gift. 

My grandma gave me more than a love for words.  She gave me a foundation from which to build.  She showed me a quiet strength that remained hidden for years.  She showed me a devotion to a Heavenly Father and a dedication to her family that was unfailing.  She showed me unconditional love and support and how to make the desert bloom in your life both physically and spiritually.  My grandma made me know, I was enough.  So was my grandma beautiful?  She was the most beautiful woman I know.