Home is Where the Heart Is

I haven't lived in the Ozarks of Missouri in 11 years but I left a part of my heart there and it will remain as long as I have my memory. Here are a few of the places that we visited that are dear to me:

Davis Creek Church: the church I attended with my siblings as children and later as adults with our children. This is where my parents were married and where my aunt attended her first day of school.



Grandpa's barn: of course it doesn't look quite the same as it did when full of hay and where I would visit with Grandma and watch while she milked the cow.






Grandpa's shop: where ALLL the grandkids learned to work on our bikes, where we took our bikes for Grandpa to fix flats, where all the girls were determined to sweep up all the grime on the floor. Grandpa's shop was where Grandpa could always be found. There is still a path that leads from the front door of the house to the shop.



Just one of the ponds on Grandpa's place: where all the cousins could be found fishing with cane poles. I am not a fan of fishing, but even I caught many fish using Grandpa's cane poles in his ponds. When we were little the only pond we were allowed to play near was the one behind the shop, closest to where Grandpa could keep an eye on us. As we grew up we could be found more at the distant ponds like this one that were out of eye and ear shot of the grandparents and parents.



This is all that's left of Grandpa's sawmill, where he earned much of his living. Grandpa was a jack of all trades, from logger, to grading roads. When playing at Grandpa's we always found our way to the huge sawdust pile.

A Reminder of Grandpa

Saturday as we visited with one of the couples from our church they happily showed us the many fruit trees and plants growing in their yard and on their property.



When they showed us the persimmon tree it reminded me of fall days when my Grandpa, in the Missouri Ozarks, would pick a persimmon and cut it open to see the shape revealed inside. He'd say the shape would predict how hard the following winter would be. The shape of a spoon would predict there would be much snow shoveling. The shape of a knife would predict a lot of ice to be cut. The shape of a fork would predict a mild winter. My husband asked if the predictions were ever accurate and you know, I don't even remember if they ever were! I just remember Grandpa always did this, and then would always invite us to taste the persimmon, which would always be so bitter we'd spit it back out and he'd grin just as if it were the first time he'd played the trick on us. When I shared the story with our friends, Fermin went to pick Marty and I each a persimmon so we could cut them and predict the winter. Since winters are always rather mild here in South Central Texas, I'm not sure the same predictions apply, but it's been fun to remember Grandpa in this way.

A photo of Grandpa and me taken several years ago:



When I cut open the perimmons this is what I found. Not sure if it's a knife shape or how Grandpa might predict a Texas winter, but it was fun to relive a memory that I hadn't though about in years.

We'll Miss You, Grandpa.

Marty and I were on our way to go walking when we got the dreaded phone call. I knew as soon as I answered and heard my mom's voice something was wrong, and knew before she said it that Grandpa was gone. Even though it was expected it's still hard. We've known for the past few years he didn't have long and I knew he was getting so weak recently. Despite that and even knowing the last time I saw him was probably the last, there was still hope I'd see him again the next time I go "back home." I knew that wasn't likely, but still I hoped. You're never quite ready to let go of a loved one. I have peace knowing without a doubt he is in Heaven rejoicing with Jesus and seeing Grandma again. Even so, a part of me wishes he was here with us again.

So, Grandpa, give Grandma a great big hug from all of us who miss her so much. Know you are dearly loved and will be missed by so many, especially your many many family members. Thank you, Grandpa for so many wonderful sweet memories and for always having time to spend with us. Thank you for making each of us feel so very cherished. Thank you that you are the one adult in my life who never, ever had a cross word for me. Thank you for teaching us by example to thank God, to work hard, to play often and to cherish family. We will all miss you so very much. We love you, Grandpa.

My grandpa and me several years ago.

Heather and Grandpa, Branson MO 2004

Grandpa's Place....in Bloom

Mom's been traipsing around Grandpa's place taking photos. She sent me a cd full of spectacular photos. I can't remember the last time I saw this many blooms there, especially after Grandma became too sick to care for all her flowers that grew in abundance by the house.







It has taken me a few days to view the pictures. My computer has not been cooperative in loading her cd and tonight's the first time I've viewed all of them. Some of the pictures really brought back memories of the times I and my siblings and cousins were running all over the place; from one pond to another; from the saw mill to the barn; from the house to the shop.







Looking at the pictures of the ponds reminded me of a time several of us were fishing in the pond by the barn and we kept catching snapping turtles instead of fish. I remember a huge one my cousin Chester caught and I wouldn't go near it!







The photos with the old barn in the background reminded me of following Grandma down to the barn and chatting with her while she milked the cow. She'd call the cow and the cow would go straight to the stantion and I'd pour her grain. Grandma would take her one legged stool off the wall and balance on that and prop her forehead against the cow and could always get more milk than I ever could! The cats would all come running and she'd squirt the milk straigt into each of their mouths before going back to filling her milk pail. I always hated the cows and the milking but loved to watch Grandma or Mom do it and loved talking to them when they did.







It's my hope that when Grandpa is gone, whoever next inhabits his land will carry with them as many memories as we all have from there.

I'll have to ask Mom, but I'm almost positive this photo was taken on the highway she and Grandpa live on, just about a half mile up the road from his place.

To me, this photo perfectly reflects both Grandma and Grandpa.

Fabulous photos, Mom! Thanks for sharing and for allowing me to share with everyone else!

Updated Poem from Nana

Nana has updated the poem she wrote "Pop." Click here to read the revised edition.

Pop

Nana and Grandpa

My aunt has been at it again! :0) She sent me a poem she'd written about my grandpa (her father) today. I can't find the photos I wanted to post with her poem, but these will do. Somewhere I have a photo of him with watermelon that would be perfect...so just picture the man below with a huge slice of watermelon and you'll see how I picture him when I think of him!



I almost named this post something different, but "Pop" is how my aunt and my mom refer to him and Nana did write the poem, so the title is for her.

OUR POP IS TOPS!

By Sue A.

OUR POP IS TOPS!

Daddy, Dad, Pop, Grandpa, Pops
No matter the name, our Pop is Tops.
One day, we’ll only have memories
That from our mind we must tease.
Remember always coming home a different way
And how we’d run to search his lunch box at the end of the day?
And never forget his pleasure
In looking for all that treasure.
And our feeling that there wasn’t anything he couldn’t fix.
That’s one of the things he misses since becoming sick.
His disbeliefs at all the pictures that we’ve taken,
But willing to pose with the latest baby without our begging!
Do you remember mom lowering the boom
Whenever he had car parts in the living room?
Not one for a verbal I love you,
Just something you knew, if you had a clue.
Picking up potatoes, pulling up beans
The fields were endless, it seems.
Shelling corn until our fingers were sore,
Cutting up apples down to the core,
Picking up walnuts for money for school,
And blackberries at ten cents a gallon was the rule.
Let’s not forget his shop,
His road grader, and tractor, “Johnny Pop”.
Cutting your own switch for mom’s tea of peach,
But that was better than Pop’s belt to our seat!
Remember his motto, “always room for one more”
When we were going to the creek or to the store.
Walking to grandma’s through the woods in the shade,
Along the path that he made
Riding on top of the truck load of lumber
Stories of the potato wagon when there was thunder.
Sliding down the pile of sawdust from his sawmill
Losing your stomach when he would drive fast down the hill.
Going to the Dairy Princess for ice cream
For a truck load of sixteen!
Going to Hocomo for penny candy sticks
Or picking and eating peaches until we were sick.
Remember his simple joy
With any silly little toy.
The shirt off his back he would lend,
Any neighbor could bring him something to mend.
Never knowing who was coming in the door
When calling him in for supper, how many more?
Glenda’s culvert washing away with every rain,
“Grandpa, please come fix it” was her refrain.
Remember making molasses, hominy and cider
For the old ways, our pop is a fighter!
Never was crazy about “new fangled stuff!”
Or lazy kids sitting on their duff!
Wanting to pass on the know how of old ways
Nothing quite like the “olden days!”
His tall corn in the middle of a drought,
Of his pride, there wasn’t any doubt!
So proud of hunting with his sons,
Feeling like a contest he won.
Deer hunting from the cab of his truck,
Any day for fishing was a day for luck.
Remember when we first got a TV
Watching Sat night wrestling was so funny!
Every Sat night making chocolate cake.
Even the boys learned to bake.
Before TV, listening to radio, Lone Ranger
Hi Ho Silver and all their danger!
Better be quiet and not talk
Or outside you would walk!
Turning the handle on the ice cream maker
Making popcorn with the old shaker.
Grinding sausage after killing hogs every winter
How he wanted potatoes and gravy for every dinner.
Eating watermelon, spitting seeds, not a care;
Half the melon was his share.
Fried rabbit or squirrel is good for any ills,
Better than any of those pills!
Is there any reason you can think
Of why so many of our memories involve food and drink?
He never made much money, what will he leave behind?
A county road, a cemetery, a legacy of being kind.
Six children, numerous grandchildren and greats galore,
What man could ask for more?
Pop, a man at peace with his God
Who’s happy with the path he trod.
“If I could do it again, I wouldn’t change a thing,”
Says this country man who in our hearts is a king.

Heather and Grandpa

My mom, Grandpa, and Nana

Grandpa and Heather

As I read Nana's poem, many memories of Grandpa surfaced. Instead of searching his lunchbox for food though, the grandkids searched his shirt pocket for Dentyne gum. I remember well the trips to Hocomo for peaches! The peach orchard is gone now. We'd go pick bushel after bushel of peaches and although I did not (and still don't) like peaches, I couldn't tell Grandpa no when he'd slice off a piece for me. I'd stick it in my mouth and eat it and pretend to like it. I don't do that for anyone else and never have. And I can totally relate to the never-ending fields she referred to and the tall corn fields. I can remember several occasions when my siblings and I would have our pictures taken with some kind of vegetable Grandpa had raised and that had grown extra large. I especially remember the year the photo was of Regina, Levi, Lacey and me and the corn was taller than Levi standing on top of Grandpa's shoulders.

And you're absolutely right, Nana! Memories of Grandpa do involve food!!!! Thanks for sharing your poem with me and allowing me to share it with everyone else.

Grandpa

Grandpa's been sick for a while. A few years ago he refused bypass surgery and doctors told him he wouldn't live a year. That was 2 if not 3 years ago. Yesterday doctors said he doesn't have long and have recommended hospice care. There's comfort in knowing we got to keep him around longer than we expected, and there's comfort in knowing he's ready to go to his heavenly home. Yet, we still aren't ready to let him go.

Grandpa sure has a soft spot in his heart for all his daugthers, granddaughters, and great-granddaughters and the feeling is definitely mutual. There's none other like my Grandpa anywhere! He's eccentric, sure. He does not get in a hurry, it's true. Ever. But you'll never find another with a heart as large. I cannot remember having ever made him mad. I can't remember any of us girls having done so. I'm sure the boys did a time or two, though! :0)

Grandpa has always enjoyed having his family around. I think his happiest moments were probably when we were all close by, running here and there, enjoying being together.

Granpa used to make molasses and it was a huge family affair when he did. We'd all gather at his place and go out to cut the cane. Then we'd all sit around on the trailers weilding our knives cutting the heads off the tops, usually ending up with minor cuts of our own as we'd compete to see who could get the most done. Then some would help push the cane through some contraption that squeezed the juice out of it. Of course there's nothing sweeter than sucking the juice from sugar cane! He'd cook it in huge pans over fires and we'd all take our turns stirring it as it cooked, thickened and bubbled. The smell was wonderful, the heat at times unbearable. The best part was when it was time to pour it into jars and we'd take fresh home made biscuits and sop up the molasses that stuck to the bottoms of the pans. I really miss those wonderful fall days of family all pitching in together! Grandpa was so proud the year I was in 6th grade and my entry in the science fair was a model of his mollases mill. I won first place and he picked me up that night to take me to the school so he could see my entry. Was he ever proud!!!

Grandpa was a jack of all trades, master of several! He also ran a sawmill. I remember endless summer days playing in the sawdust pile. Wow does that itch when you get it in your pants!!! Mom always hated to see us come up from the sawmill because she knew we'd have sawdust EVERYWHERE!!! One of my first oil paintings was of Grandpa's old log truck parked in front of the saw mill. I think my sister Regina even painted a picture of that sawmill too.

We always played hard and worked hard when at Grandpa's house. There were huge gardens to plant and harvest. Grandpa always had huge crops of corn and potatoes. I couldn't tell you the hours we spent helping him with those. The fields were full of wild blackberry bushes. Every summer we'd spend days picking blackberries to sell to the neighbors to raise money to go to the fair. There were always lots of cousins around to play with/fight with. We'd be found playing in the old junk cars in the field, fishing with cane poles in one of the 3 ponds, or just running around like hooligans all over the place. Grandpa's property was the best playground imagineable!

He also liked to explore. Whenever traipsing about over the countryside, his rule was whichever way you went to get there--you came home another route. I still find myself doing that!

Dentyne gum always reminds me of Grandpa. He always had some in his shirt pocket. Every time we'd see him we'd run up to him, he'd swing us up into his arms and we'd dig in his pocket for the gum. He's always had the biggest sweet tooth of anyone I know. (You think I get that from him???)

This is one of my favorite pictures of Grandpa. When we went to Missouri for Thanksgiving in 2004 we took him to Branson to see the Rockettes and to Silver Dollar City to see the Christmas lights. Here Heather is taking her turn pushing him in his wheelchair.

Grandpa, ever the good sport, babysits some of the great-grandkids' dolls:

One of the days we all went exploring with Grandpa, he took us to this old school house. If I'm not mistaken, this is where he went to school his first year. Mom, correct me if I'm wrong.

Grandpa the first time he met Heather. She was 3 months old.

Grandpa at church during an "Old Time Days" Celebration:

Me, Grandpa and Heather sitting on a swing in his yard a few years ago.

Me and Grandpa.

"Grandpa" by the Judds:

Grandpa, tell me 'bout the good ole days.

Sometimes it feels likeThis world's gone crazy.

Grandpa, take me back to yesterday,

Where the line between right and wrong Didn't seem so hazy.

Did lovers really fall in love to stay?

Stand beside each other come what may?

Was a promise really something we both kept,

not just something that we'd say?

Did families really bow their heads to pray?

Did daddies really never go away?

Whoa oh Grandpa,Tell me 'bout the good ole days.

Grandpa, everything is changing fast.

We call it progress,but I just don't know.

And Grandpa, let's wander back into the past,

and paint me a picture of long ago.

Did lovers really fall in love to stay?

Stand beside each other come what may?

Was a promise really something we both kept,

not just something that we'd say and then forget?

Did families really bow their heads to pray?

Did daddies really never go away?

Whoa oh Grandpa,Tell me 'bout the good ole days.

Whoa oh Grandpa,Tell me 'bout the good ole days.