In my Grammy’s House.

Family.

At this time of year, our thoughts so often turn to the stories and connections that we have with our families. I remember every sound, every smell, every flavor of the time spent at my Grandmother’s house. She was “Grammy Lord” to me and to say she was a strong woman is an understatement. She was a force. She kept the history, she kept the order, she kept the details straight, and she kept the family strong.

I come from farm stock on my mother’s side. This is the actual country – like where there are cows in the backyard – not just where there is space between neighbors. When my mom was in high school, my grandparents built a house on a dirt road outside of town, just up from the creamery, because my grandfather got a job driving milk truck.

When I was about four, I had my first experience in the milk truck. I got to ride along with my Poppy to see how the milk got from the cows to the tanks to the truck to the creamery. About once a year, I rode in the milk truck through the countryside of Delaware County. Sitting high up in that truck, I was taken with everything about the country.

Food is a constant in my family.

At Grammy’s house, there were always cookies in a tin on the counter – usually applesauce raisin because it was my grandfather’s favorite. Every summer, she had a garden full of vegetables that were canned, pickled or frozen and put away for family meals throughout the year. The change of seasons brought planning and planting the garden in the spring, picking strawberries for fresh strawberry jam in the early summer, picking apples that were made into warm apple pie (with a slice of cheddar cheese for Gram and a scoop of vanilla ice cream for me) in the fall, and the family favorites like Grammy’s Ham Sauce, Tiffany Salad, and Scalloped Oysters in the winter.

One of my favorite stories from my Grammy’s house is from when I was about ten. I woke up to the sound of Muffy, my grandmother’s dauschand, barking like crazy at something outside. Gram went to the window to see that one of the cows from the pasture across the road had gotten through the fence and she was in the front yard eating the flowers around the mailbox. Grammy let Muffy loose and that little dog ran toward that cow with no fear. She barked ferociously, as if to say, “Hey! Get off of my yard!” I laughed and laughed at the sight of the little dog taking on this big cow. I still can see it vividly in my mind and I chuckle as I remember laughing with Gram.

Grammy taught me to make jam, to polka, to play Go Fish!, and to appreciate the artistry of Lawrence Welk. She gave us all a model of fierce love, indominatable strength, and delicious food that we continue to celebrate. As we come together to celebrate what we are thankful for, I am thankful for my Grammy’s house and the memories I have of her in that house in the country.