When I was just a little girl, the stories I most loved to hear, were found inside my grandma’s trunk, filled with things from yesteryear.
I saw her in a picture. Not one hair was out of place. She wore a prim and proper dress made of satin, adorned in lace.
“Why aren’t you smiling, Grandma?” I asked her once again.
“My photograph was seldom taken. They were like portraits way back then. People struck a serious pose, stood tall, and calmly waited. A startling “poof” and blinding flash confirmed their likeness was created.”
(Mary standing in front her father in the buggy and her mother standing behind the wheel. Taken at the Tyrrell Farm.)
She reached inside the trunk and found an album bound in leather. Oh, the stories Grandma told when we looked at it together.
Time was captured in that book. Long ago came back to life, as Grandma told the story of becoming Grandpa’s wife.
“How did you and Grandpa meet?” Grandma knew I’d never tire, of the story beginning in the church, where she was singing in the choir.
Grandpa came with a lady friend, but Grandma caught his eye. He did some work on her father’s farm and came to know her by and by.
They were married May eighteenth. Nineteen eleven was the year. They moved from Iowa to South Dakota. No other family would be near.
Two daughters and two sons were born… a new home they began to seek. They bought land and a log cabin in a pretty place called Horse Creek.
They worked hard to make a living two more daughters soon arrived. Grandma said without their children’s help, they wouldn’t have survived.
Inside that big old trunk that had followed Grandma’s life, was a treasure trove of stories of happy times and times of strife.
When we finally closed the trunk, Grandma’s eyes began to shine. She said, “I could not be prouder of those six kids of mine.’
I heard a little cough. I turned around in time to see… Grandpa smile and wink at Grandma who was as pleased as she could be.