Walking with Grandma

We walked along a dusty road
to the country church
You talked to me of love of God
family and the home

You carried bags of homemade quilts
sewn together from scraps and love
You chuckled at my childish ways
and slowed your steps to mine
explaining that the quilts were for the
families that had trouble keeping warm
in the coming winter
because they couldn't afford to heat
their little country homes

You carried in another bag
leftovers from the lunch
that we had shared earlier at noon
These are for the pastor you told me
he gives and gives and gives
I do declare you exclaimed
He's the kindest man that has ever lived
and preached at the little white church
we are headed to
But Lands sakes the poor poor man
He never has enough food
because he cares more for others
then he does himself
so we will help him out today
and care for he who cares for us

That's how friendships go
sharing love and what we have together
with faith and trust

So on we walked that day
past the little country school
me skipping stones across the dirt
and learning love through action
the summer I stayed with you
on into the fall

Up to the small one room white church we went
with it's straight and pointed steeple
tall against the blue and sunny sky
A place where folks really loved each other
and religion was taught in deeds
done for one another
believing we all were one big family

Looking back now Grandma
now that you are gone
I see you were showing me
I'm connected
no matter where I roam
because as long as I have God
friends and family
and we take care of each other
I will always be at home.


Connie Whiting
Copyright 5/15/06

Grandma's Garden Lessons

Grandma's Garden Lessons (published in Legacy Magazine)

By Connie Whiting

Ever wish you could stop time? Just freeze it in its tracks.

Maybe harness it and roll it back, so that all your precious memories

are being lived again? If you could choose one special memory

and have it there to touch and smell and feel again, what would it be?

I'd go back to my Grandma's garden.

It wasn't a huge garden by the standards then. Grandma was a

country woman, small in stature but big in heart and giving. Her garden

reflected that. She planted in every nook and cranny she could. Vegetables,

flowers, berries and more. If she didn't preserve the produce in her glass canning jars

then it was given away to friends and neighbors.

I learned the value of hard work in that garden. I worked side by side with her more times than

I can remember. Planting, weeding, harvesting was all part of teaching me that every living thing

has a life cycle and you should respect life.

I can still see her there in my mind. Dressed in a cotton dress, dark knit stockings

black buttoned up shoes, a big white apron and a white bonnet, she looked like

a Norman Rockwell painting. The garden itself was alive with toads and butterflies

even hummingbirds.

True peace was relaxing in the shade sipping lemonade and eating homemade

molasses cookies after planting corn and beans all morning. It was a delicious

reward for all that hard work.

It was between those long rows that Grandma told me the secret of her and grandpa's long marriage.

"Looky here" she'd said pointing to the corn kernels and dried beans in my hand.

"That's just like me and grandpa"

"Yes, Ma'am" I replied remembering manners

and wondering if maybe grandma had been in the garden sun too long that day.

Chuckling to herself a minute and wiping the dirt on her apron, she continued.

"Grandpa is like the corn stalk, straight and strong, He shelters me and his family

from things that would hurt us". I nodded my head, but I still didn't know what she was

talking about.” I'm more like the bean ",she laughed.”Grandpa makes me feel secure and safe,

so I grow more in life, and I support him and help him like the bean does growing its vine along the corn stalk. See we help and care for each other just like the beans and the corn"

So it went each summer, I thought we were planting a garden, Grandma knew she was planting lessons

in love and life. The best thing from my grandma's garden though are the memories of a time when life was

sweeter, slower, and people still stopped to share the harvest and even smell a rose or two.
---------------------------------------------
Connie Whiting, an experienced freelance writer resides in Columbus, Ohio. She has written for numerous content companies and clients through her writing business at conniewhiting.com. Connie specializes in web content, article writing, and blogging among her wide range of available writing services. Connie can be reached at invsassist@yahoo.com.