- Outdoor columnist Ben Smith pays homage to his grandmother, reflecting on his fondest memories of childhood.
It feels like I’ve written a lot of “tribute” articles over the last couple of years. I know for certain that I’ve written more this year than I wanted to. But this is a column dedicated to my life in the outdoors, and it wouldn’t be completely transparent should I choose not to pay homage to those that provided me with the opportunities that I’ve been afforded. For those of you who have followed along with our family over the last several years, I thank you for being on this journey with us. I’m still humbled and at a loss for words when someone walks up and tells me that they read this each week. This week’s installment is another chapter of sadness and reflection in my book of life. My last remaining grandparent has passed on from this earthly dwelling into her eternal life. This is for her.
I hopped up on the four wheeler and Grandma climbed on behind me. At five years old, my legs weren’t quite long enough to reach the foot shifter to change gears. Plus, the four wheeler was pretty new, so Grandaddy probably didn’t want me driving it anyway. Grandma fired it up and we took it for a spin around the edge of the cotton field. It had rained that morning, so the edges of the field were pretty muddy. The Honda Four-Trax dug right through the mud slinging it up behind us as we plowed along. As we laughed our way around the field, we had no idea that Grandaddy was watching from the yard. When we returned, he wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about his four-wheeler being so muddy as we were.
My fondest memories of childhood mostly revolve around the time that I spend with my grandparents. We moved several times when I was a kid, so I often referred to Grandma and Grandaddy’s house as home, even though it was always several hours away from where we were living. I called it home because that’s what it felt like. It was consistent, it was cozy, and it was there that I felt most comfortable. Located in the middle of nowhere in south Alabama with no friends around, you’d think that a young boy would lose his mind. I was just the opposite. I never felt more peace than when I was at their house.
Each summer I’d get a couple of weeks to go spend with them before school started back. These were the best weeks of the entire summer. There was so much to do, and so many things to learn. Not to mention, the food was unbelievable. My mother was a good cook when I was growing up, but I haven’t found a soul on this Earth that could outdo Grandma in the kitchen. I think the reason that I don’t eat breakfast now is because everything is such a letdown compared to hers. I loved waking up in the morning with the smell of sausage coming down the hallway to my bedroom. I’d roll out of bed and my nose would drag me to the dining room where I would be met with a feast fit for a king. Sausage, eggs, bacon, and grits. Grandma always said I needed the grits because a growing boy needed something to stick to his backbone. But my absolute favorite thing in the mornings were her biscuits. I’d stuff them with homemade Mayhaw jelly and eat my weight’s worth.
Grandma was never a schoolteacher, but she was a teacher. I learned more life skills at that house during the summer than I could have learned in a hundred years in a classroom. They always had a big garden and they made sure I understood how to tend to one. I learned how to shuck corn, shell peas, and how to check if a watermelon was ripe. Simple things, but to a hungry growing boy, important things. My Grandaddy taught me how to tie my shoes when I was four years old, but Grandma was the one that wouldn’t let me quit when I got frustrated. I also learned what a switch was from Grandma. I don’t know what type of bush that was in the backyard, but I know the limbs were the perfect stiffness to bend just a little but never break. Fortunately for me it got to the point where she could just glare at me and say, “Do you see my eyes?” and that was enough to make me behave.
Grandma always seemed to have the right medicine for every ailment growing up, too. She didn’t have a drug store, but might as well have been an honorary pharmacist. Best I can remember, there was only one thing that I ever had while there that she didn’t make better. I’ll never forget waking up one morning with red dots all over me. I had a fever, was throwing up, and a rash Benadryl couldn’t handle. I’d gotten chicken pox. I’ll never forget her dabbing my forehead with a damp, cool rag. She softly sang while she held me in her arms, something I later found that she did when she was upset.
For most of my life it seemed like Grandma was always taking care of someone. I remember her taking care of several aunts through the years, then watched her care for both of her parents that lived next door. She was the glue that kept everyone together. To me, she was a superhero. The hardest thing that I’ve ever watched still to this day was her caring for my grandfather during his final days. I was amazed at how she could hold it together through such a time. As he drew his final breaths, I heard a familiar sound. Grandma was softly singing, just like she did when I was sick.
After Grandaddy passed, the years rolled along, and Grandma got older as grandmas do. I went to college and started a family. Our visits together got shorter with life’s demands getting in the way. When we’d visit I’d watch from a distance as she hugged on my kids, my heart so full it could burst. Over the last year or so, Grandma had trouble remembering things at times. Talking with her, you could tell that she knew. Just before I left her house for the last time she hugged my neck, grabbed my face with both hands, stared deep into my eyes, and said something to me that I will always remember. She said, “I love you, and I will never forget you.”
The morning after Grandma passed I got ready for work as I do each day. As I was walking out the door, I turned back. Remember, I don’t usually eat breakfast, but for some reason I was hungry. I opened the pantry, grabbed a granola bar, and headed for the door. Once again, I stopped. I looked down and tossed the granola bar back on the counter. It sure as heck ain’t biscuits and Mayhaw jelly.
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