Visiting Grandma
Summers consisted of milk shakes and fond memories.
My Grandma Betty somehow always made the visits to my grandparents’ farm extra magical for us, and I have such fond memories of spending time with her, in the kitchen especially.
She would take me and my sister to her garden and show us how to gather fresh strawberries and pick the fattest pea pods. We were always allowed to sample the fresh produce, but also gently reminded to leave some of it in the basket. After harvesting, she would take us inside and whip up the thickest, most delicious strawberry milk shakes for us as we sat at her counter.
There were these mysterious pocket doors in my grandparents’ home—I was fascinated by them. How magical that they could just disappear into the wall! But it was what was beyond those doors that always intrigued me, an area we weren’t allowed to play in. So we whispered and wondered what secrets lay behind them.
Occasionally Grandma would need something from beyond the doors and I would try to “help” her and get a glance at the room.
Then one day I was invited beyond the doors and into the elegant dining room and formal living room for a big noodlemaking day with my grandma, mom and aunts. My sister and I cranked the noodle machine as long strips of dough turned into pan after pan of noodles. We spread the noodles out to dry on beds and tables covered with clean sheets. There wasn’t much in the way of material things in Grandma Betty’s dining and living rooms, but the privilege of being in them made us feel special. I’ve since passed on the noodle-making tradition to my own children and grandchildren, something I love sharing.
My husband and I have a farm of our own today. Our grandchildren don’t live nearby, so when they come to visit we usually have a week or more of adventures with them. We feed and care for the many farm animals together, collect frogs and turtles, plant or harvest the garden and make homegrown food—including noodles—into delicious memories.
When my Grandma Betty eventually moved to assisted living, I inherited her dishes.
The canisters on my counter are a daily reminder of her love, and her Pfaltzgraff plates grace our table at every holiday meal and special gathering. I am grateful to her for the memories she helped us make doing everyday chores. They continue to flourish all these years later as I make new memories with her great-greatgrandchildren. My grandma was with us until the age of 99, and I’m glad I still feel her influence in my life, especially when I’m working in my kitchen.