Bassmama
04-25-04, 02:09PM
From the time I was really little, I loved going across the lots to my grandma Myrtle & grandpa Norman's house. Their farm & my parents' farm joined & the houses were about 1/4 mile apart. She would always be ther for me when I needed someone to hug me, to talk to, to listen to me. And she always had a LOT of stories about where she was raised until she moved east at age 16, & we always did wonderful things together.
Grandma Myrtle was born out in Colorado- I'm not sure exactly where- in the late 1800s. Her father was an official for the railroad while they were building it across the plains and they lived in tents for quite a while outside of Florence, Colorado. I know that they lived in Golden for a while as well, but think it was before moving to Florence.
Her mother died from TB when she was young, leaving her, her little sister, and her father. She and her close friend Roy rode all over the area & had many adventures and I would sit mesmerized for hours while she told me stories about growing up surrounded by indians, in the shadow of Pike's Peak. She told of rattlesnakes & the Arkansas River, and walking across the railroad bridge that crossed a gulch and having a train come when they were halfway across & having to climb down on the side and hold on until the train had passed. She told me how Teddy Roosevelt came out on the train and gave her one of his first teddy bears. (She still had it when I was little.)
Then her father died from TB when she was 16 and she & her sister were sent east to L.I. to live with her Aunt. They came east by train, and her heart was left in Florence. While she met and married my grandfather and lived on Long Island until she died, she never stopped missing Florence or her friend Roy. I still have a brooch with his picture on it that she gave me.
She told me about a sword that had been awarded to her father by the railroad that she was bringing with her that was stolen along the way.
She told me the TRUE story of what it was like to live during the reign of Billy the Kid & other notorious outlaws, and living surrounded by indians during times of strife, and many other tales. And while she created these realities again in my little mind, she would make homemade taffy that she cooked until it got stiff, the we covered our hands with butter and pulled and pullde and pulled, folding it back on itself in between the pulls, until it got so stiff that it took every ounce of effort to pull it into a long, thin string that she would twist, then cut over wax paper covered plates, where we would leave the candy to completely harden & dry.
She also made a candy called Fondant- light and fluffy and sweet, they were like eating clouds. This candy would have to be made on a clear, dry day or it would turn into a gummy mess, but grandma always knew how to make it turn out right. Vanilla Black Walnut (from fresh cracked Black Walnuts from our trees, of course!), Maple Walnut, plain vanilla, chocolate... there was no end of what she could do with that candy!
Grandma instilled my love of animals in me, I'm sure. Every day, twice a day, she would take big pans of a mix of soft cat food (Puss N Boots brand) and cereal and milk out to the barn to feed the MANY barn cats, calling "Here, kitty, kitty" the whole way- and about 20- 30 cats came running out to greet her with meows and purrs. As soon as the pans were down & the cats preoccupied, she would hurry back & get the already fixed pans of crumbled bread and grains and start calling "Here, birdy, birdy" and spread the mix on the driveway. Hundreds of birds that had been waiting in the trees would fly down at her feet to feed and chirp raucusly. I was never sure who had trained who.
She had a cat named Grandma Cat that lived to be about 24 years old. When she was 21 or so, Grandma Cat had a stroke & had a limp and held her head to the side that was affected. I watched Grandma feed that cat seperately & fuss over her for a long time.
Grandma Myrtle died when I was 19- I had gotten married & lived in upstate NY & was pregnant, and had gone home to visit. I went over to see her the day I got home and she talked & seemed like the same Grandma I had always known. The next day, my mother would not let me go over until she had gone over first- she said that Grandma had not felt well and kept asking when I would be home, and she wanted to make sure Grandma was OK. She came back a short time later to tell me that Grandma had passed away sitting in her chair, probably the night before, after I had left. I was not allowed to go to the funeral (they were afraid that there would be problems with the pregnancy if I did) but it's just as well- I still remember what she looked like as she walked towards me with that smile on her face and what her hugs felt like to a little girl that felt so alone all the time.
I miss you so bad, Grandma- I wish I could talk to you now.
Grandma Myrtle was born out in Colorado- I'm not sure exactly where- in the late 1800s. Her father was an official for the railroad while they were building it across the plains and they lived in tents for quite a while outside of Florence, Colorado. I know that they lived in Golden for a while as well, but think it was before moving to Florence.
Her mother died from TB when she was young, leaving her, her little sister, and her father. She and her close friend Roy rode all over the area & had many adventures and I would sit mesmerized for hours while she told me stories about growing up surrounded by indians, in the shadow of Pike's Peak. She told of rattlesnakes & the Arkansas River, and walking across the railroad bridge that crossed a gulch and having a train come when they were halfway across & having to climb down on the side and hold on until the train had passed. She told me how Teddy Roosevelt came out on the train and gave her one of his first teddy bears. (She still had it when I was little.)
Then her father died from TB when she was 16 and she & her sister were sent east to L.I. to live with her Aunt. They came east by train, and her heart was left in Florence. While she met and married my grandfather and lived on Long Island until she died, she never stopped missing Florence or her friend Roy. I still have a brooch with his picture on it that she gave me.
She told me about a sword that had been awarded to her father by the railroad that she was bringing with her that was stolen along the way.
She told me the TRUE story of what it was like to live during the reign of Billy the Kid & other notorious outlaws, and living surrounded by indians during times of strife, and many other tales. And while she created these realities again in my little mind, she would make homemade taffy that she cooked until it got stiff, the we covered our hands with butter and pulled and pullde and pulled, folding it back on itself in between the pulls, until it got so stiff that it took every ounce of effort to pull it into a long, thin string that she would twist, then cut over wax paper covered plates, where we would leave the candy to completely harden & dry.
She also made a candy called Fondant- light and fluffy and sweet, they were like eating clouds. This candy would have to be made on a clear, dry day or it would turn into a gummy mess, but grandma always knew how to make it turn out right. Vanilla Black Walnut (from fresh cracked Black Walnuts from our trees, of course!), Maple Walnut, plain vanilla, chocolate... there was no end of what she could do with that candy!
Grandma instilled my love of animals in me, I'm sure. Every day, twice a day, she would take big pans of a mix of soft cat food (Puss N Boots brand) and cereal and milk out to the barn to feed the MANY barn cats, calling "Here, kitty, kitty" the whole way- and about 20- 30 cats came running out to greet her with meows and purrs. As soon as the pans were down & the cats preoccupied, she would hurry back & get the already fixed pans of crumbled bread and grains and start calling "Here, birdy, birdy" and spread the mix on the driveway. Hundreds of birds that had been waiting in the trees would fly down at her feet to feed and chirp raucusly. I was never sure who had trained who.
She had a cat named Grandma Cat that lived to be about 24 years old. When she was 21 or so, Grandma Cat had a stroke & had a limp and held her head to the side that was affected. I watched Grandma feed that cat seperately & fuss over her for a long time.
Grandma Myrtle died when I was 19- I had gotten married & lived in upstate NY & was pregnant, and had gone home to visit. I went over to see her the day I got home and she talked & seemed like the same Grandma I had always known. The next day, my mother would not let me go over until she had gone over first- she said that Grandma had not felt well and kept asking when I would be home, and she wanted to make sure Grandma was OK. She came back a short time later to tell me that Grandma had passed away sitting in her chair, probably the night before, after I had left. I was not allowed to go to the funeral (they were afraid that there would be problems with the pregnancy if I did) but it's just as well- I still remember what she looked like as she walked towards me with that smile on her face and what her hugs felt like to a little girl that felt so alone all the time.
I miss you so bad, Grandma- I wish I could talk to you now.