My Father's Mother

My grandmother was born in Sweden. Her mother never really spoke English well. When they first came to America they settled near Springfield MO. My grandmother's father died there I think maybe of some kind of sudden illness. My great- grandmother found a group of Swedish immigrants and through that network she found a man with a homestead in South Dakota and the homestead next to it was available so she staked her claim and they got married with both homesteads. My grandmother was the oldest of 4 kids. Two sisters and one brother. I never met her brother, but I knew both her sisters. My favorite was my aunt Yani. She was a sweet kind character.

My grandmother was a different kind of character. Before I was born my father left the religion of her choice and she never really got over that. She walked a tightrope of hating our religion and loving us. Sometimes the lines seemed a bit blurred from our standpoint but she really did try to be a good grandmother. But she wasn't very grandmotherly in nature. She was a terrible cook. I mean really bad. When we stayed with them she did really simple things that were just fine, but if she tried to be fancy it din't always go well. One time she tried to make "fruit" salad. It looked pretty good. But when you ate it you realized that it was not all fruit. There were vegetables in there too and her dressing was miracle whip not cool whip. My dad made it clear we had to have good manners and not complain and we absolutely had to eat everything we took on our plate. So we took small portions and then snuck out to our truck to make a sandwich from the cooler he had hidden out there.

She did do one grandma activity. She would crochet. There were no extra rooms at their house it was a tiny one bedroom house built out of stone by my grandfather's father. When they got married they were given homesteads by both sets of parents and an uncle. Their ranch ended up about 40 square miles when all was said and done and they had both grown up on the land in one corner or the other. When we stayed there I got to sleep on the fancy red velvet davenport, my brothers got the floor.

Grandma was an early riser. I would wake up with her sitting at my feet. If I woke up and she was reading her bible I didn't speak until she was done. They she would crochet on her latest blanket. She tried to teach me to crochet but she was left handed and not very patient. We had many peaceful conversations early in the morning.

She tried hard to teach me little things because my mother left when I was 5. She taught me to fry eggs which has been very useful in the last 40 or so years. She told me that I needed to brush my hair every day and change clothes from time to time. I know these things seem simple but dad's don't always know to teach their little girls stuff like that. Doesn't make them bad dads just guys who don't know much girl stuff.

She was not soft and cuddly but she genuinely loved us and she looked out for me. She would often tell my dad I was too young for a planned activity like fishing all night at the river or deer hunting in below zero weather and she would insist that I stay with her. We got along well when it was just us. If I asked she would yodel for me. And if I was really lucky she would take out her teeth and then her very strong Swedish accent would come out. I loved that. She was not someone to disobey or talk back to. One time there was a snake after a nest of birds she had been watching. She stepped out the door with a pistol when she heard the commotion of the momma bird. She shot the snake out of the tree from about 15 yards away. If you have never tried to hit a small moving object at that distance I'm here to tell you it was an amazing shot.

One day when everyone was gone she brought me into her bedroom which was unheard of I was not allowed in there. She told me to sit on the bed and not move. Then she took everything out of her closet floor and low and behold there was a trap door in there I had no idea existed. She told me to stay put again and disappeared into the hole. She was down there about half an hour. I stayed put on that bed. When she came out she put everything back and told me not to tell anyone about it. And I didn't until she had died.

She had a big garden and she and I would often garden together. And I would help her can her vegetables. I was allowed to snap peas and cut some things but I had to leave the kitchen when she got out the pressure cooker though. I also had to leave the kitchen when she used the microwave. It was a new thing and she didn't trust it not to make me sick. I also had a clear perimeter that had to be maintained from the TV. I think that was to protect my eyes.

There was a product that was for a time for sale at gas stations she went to. It was called Caw Water. It was supposedly made by a Dr. Caw. She believed in it. It was apparently condensed and you had to add regular water to the Caw Water. She kept it in a spray bottle. She used it liberally to cure what ailed us. If you got a bug bite, sunburn or a cut she reached for the Caw Water. There was no arguing you just had to take the Caw Water treatment.

Not long ago I decided that I was reaching the part of my life where I turn into my grandmother. So I searched online for weeks for a Stetson like hers. I finally found something close. I think of her every time I wear it.