It’s just after 5 a.m. as I type these words, still completely dark outside. But my friend Margaret Roach and I have already said “Good morning” via Skype with a blitz of typed messages. (It’s way too early to talk out loud and risk waking my husband, recovering from a week of flu in our bedroom down the hall.)
Margaret reports she’s having trouble sleeping these days, too. Combine post-election angst, the unusually warm November days, darkness descending suddenly at 4 pm each afternoon, and a moon that demands one’s full attention, and it’s little wonder that we’re each feeling a bit out of sync with our normal routines.
For me, there’s a familiar comfort in starting the day with a chat with my dear friend. I picture her already at her desk, wearing slippers and cozy black leggings, cup of green tea in hand, while I’m still propped up against the bed pillows, awaiting the first rays of light before venturing downstairs. Always, we find something to laugh about. Always, we sign off feeling better, even if all we’ve really done is compare notes on our inner clocks’ failures to adjust to the time change and tried to encourage each other to stick with our winter exercise routines.
For the last seven years, Margaret has been not only my friend and garden advisor, but also my writing colleague. Because we live three hours away from each other, our early morning Skype sessions are a way for us to stay current between visits. (For me, Margaret’s pre-dawn productivity is also an impetus to get up and get to work.)
If we aren’t exchanging advice about under-eye concealer or how to deal with a brazen woodchuck in the garden, we’re trying out ideas for some-day-maybe projects, urging each other on as deadlines loom, and sharing the sorts of small experiences that only another writer would deem worthy of mentioning: an uninterrupted afternoon of writing, a thoughtful note from a reader, a moment in nature that gives rise to inspiration on the page, the perils of procrastination, a Wendell Berry poem that leads to deeper reflection, the quiet satisfaction of getting down one or two good paragraphs.
When Margaret received her copy of my new book, Moments of Seeing, she messaged me on Skype after reading an essay about my grandmother. “Well, now I’m crying,” she said. “And of course I’m thinking about my own grandmother, who also left me an invisible yet precious legacy – she was the one who taught me how to garden, and that every plant mattered.”
With that, Margaret suggested that instead of Skyping in the dark this week, we should open up our conversation to her readers and listeners. Would I like to be a guest on her podcast, and have an on-air chat about grandmothers and Thanksgiving menus and how it feels to self-publish a book? I would!
Honestly, there wasn’t much difference between talking with Margaret in the recording studio and our early morning check-in chats. The twenty minutes flew by, as the time always does when the two of us get going.
In the spirit of Thanksgiving and our friendship, we are both giving away signed copies of Moments of Seeing. And we’d love to hear about your grandmother, too. Leave a comment below, and then cut and paste it over at Margaret’s site as well, to double your chances of winning.
From my home to yours, I wish you a Thanksgiving filled with warmth and love and peace.
the podcast
Visit Margaret here, to listen to our podcast (and to read along with the text if you wish).
Want to order your own signed copy of Moments of Seeing? You can do that here.
how to win the signed books
TO ENTER TO WIN a signed copy of Moments of Seeing, simply comment below, answering the question:
What hand-me-down from your grandmother–whether garden-related, or a recipe, or just some advice or a funny memory–do you want to share? (Or maybe your grandfather was the one you gleaned something enduring from–that’s fine, too.)
Then to double your chances to win—two books are being given away, one on each of our websites—scurry over to Margaret’s book give-away now and paste your comment there as well. Click here.
No answer to the question, or simply feeling shy? No worry; just say “count me in” or something to that effect, and I will, but a reply is even better.
Winners will be drawn at random after entries close at midnight on Tuesday, November 27. Good luck to all.
My grandmother was born in 1900. I still make the cake she always made for birthdays. It wouldn’t be a birthday without it.
I first met my mothers mother, my grandmother at the age of 7 yrs old on a visit to her farm in rural Sweden. (In 1962) I arrived to this rural farm land sprinkled with pristine red farmhouses and barns on a warm summer day.
She appeared , walking out of her large barn looking exactly like something from a Grim fairy tale storybook ! A small hunched over troll like old lady (89 yrs old) dressed win a long Swedish county dirndle skirt, soiled apron, manure covered wood clogs and head scarf. I remember the huge size of her farm labor strong hands and dirty fingernails! After our brief , strong , tear filled hug with my mommy and I ……everythng about my own mother made sense and I felt a deep sense of being home in a way I still can’t comprehend!
The reasons why my mommy never seemed like other mommys of the Chicago suburbs or never seemed t “fit in” with their manicured nails, country club bridge afternoons in an instant made perfect sense. ( My friends always asked why “the maid” brought me to school; as my mommy wore clogs, a head scarf , and always looked a bit disheveled after a day of gardening) I embarrasses of my mommy odd ways told them a lie, that my mm was on a business trip with my dad.
I stayed with “Mor Mor” alone for a month on that visit. Learning Swedish so we could communicate somewhat, getting up at sunrise with her to milk the cows,care for farm animals, and picking wildstrawberries in the woods. Reminicing about that experience is one the richest memories of my life!
It installed a legacy of appreciation I carry to this day for being a first generation immigrant, the importance relationships of grandparents in all our family trees regardless of the distance or language barriers!
My paternal Grandmother was almost exactly like you describe—–loving, forgiving, always
ready to give of her time rather than material possessions. We had favorite cups that she would use to serve tea to us, and after a simple conversation, she would “read” our fortun
in the tea leaves. She taught me how to sew, to crochet, took me to her hairdresser for a “real” haircut, rubbed my chest with Vick’s Vapor rub when I had a cold. She loved gardening and chickens, and I can’t think of these things without thinking of Grandma. She came to help when my siblings were born, and took over wherever my mother was when birth was near. She was of Polish descent and was always making pickles—bread and butter, watermelon, sweet English pickles. She came when my Dad butchered— to make headcheese and help cut up the meat. She loved flowers and plants, always had a tiny pot of “baby tears” growing on her windowsill. And hollyhocks, roses and zinnias growing near the back porch. She would sit us on her lap and “gobble” like a turkey until we laughed and laughed and nearly wet our panties ! My Grandmother was the dearest person on this earth and I wish she were still here to share a cup of tea once more.
Memories of my two grandmothers bring instant joy to my soul! My maternal grandmother (1893-1972) was tall, of strong faith and very artistic! She was a magnificent cook and her sewing machine was always purring! She taught me to sew and to knit. I was 7 when I held my first knitting needles! I can still hear her say ” tension, check the tension” and “perhaps we should pull this apart and cast on again”.
My paternal grandmother (1881-1964) was a power house. She stood less than five feet tall! She would get up at dawn to help milk the cows, carrying the gallons of milk to the milking room to be bottled and sold. She took in laundry and cooked for the wealthy that came to our hometown to summer. She cooked and canned the fruits of their land. Gardens flourished under her watchful eye! One of my fondest memories of her was her method of making a cup of tea! Cup of hot water, add tea bag, let sit until cool enough to drink, take the tea bag out, set it on a saucer, put the saucer in the cupboard until next cup of tea is desired. I never knew how many cups of tea come from one tea bag! She crocheted bedspreads with her tiny hands, three of which I treasure today. Saturday mornings the butter churns lined her enameled kitchen table. The Holly Hocks that annually graced the garden by the hen house dwarfed her. I have many of her recipes, most of them blessed with great simplicity.
Thank you for making me think of my grandmothers this morning!
Both amazing women: my paternal “Ami” left Germany in ’32 to move to Venezuela,two kids under 10 in tow,her husband off to the jungle to collect orchids for his father’s nursery…snakes in the living room,my dad had great stories of his childhood there…she set up a loom and started weaving. An amazing gardener,she always said: my church is out in nature. And she lived to be 103 years old!
And my maternal”Omi”, widowed at 36 with 5 kids under 10….a nurse,resilient,beautiful. Both exceptional embroiderer…
Resilience and a love for nature and textiles…guess that is their gift they left for me!
Blueberry salad on a beautiful leafy green. It was tradition. It was ritual. It was the splash of color to save the Thanksgiving table. My maternal grandmother died when my mother was eight, so her sister, Sarah Belle, stepped in to rescue my mother. She became my surrogate grandmother. I’ll never forget the comfort of walking into her Tudor home in Spanish Fork, Utah. It was all-too-crowded in every room, but the comfort and magic of Thanksgiving love exuded from the women who loved my mother, these aunts who became her mothers for life. I remember the sounds and tastes from Sarah Belle’s Thanksgiving feasts, but I will always remember the splash of the blueberry salad that made everything complete, and colorful to every eye and heart.
My grandmother made wonderful chicken soup. She lived in the Bronx and we would visit her on Sundays. I remember her loving smile and the joy on her face when would arrive for our visits. Thank you for the chance to win this book!
Count Me In!
My paternal grandmother raised me from the age of three, thus giving me so much, all with love. My love of reading is because she read to me, every night before bed, introducing me to the library before i could read. I have the sweetest memories of sitting on an old wooden floor of that library, in front of the bookshelf containing picture books, choosing carefully what I was going to bring home with me. She gave me a small round garden bed to plant petunias in every Spring. That was my job. I was five. I grew up with lilacs, tulips, and day lilies growing in the sun on the side of the house and still remember…which lead to my love of plants inside and out, edible or not. She also taught me to knit, to value making things which lead me to not be afraid to try new things. I can knit, spin, weave, made quilts, sewn clothes, and am an artist who paints, draws, and still tries new things. She was a simple woman who grew up on a farm in Canada, immigrated to the United States, and worked hard all of her life, and yet she still imparted so much to me. I thank you for asking us to answer this question as I never quite looked at her and all she gave me in this way, in a written answer. I spoke of her to my children and friends, but this was different and good. I was able to honor her. I lost her, sadly when I was fifteen.
Such wonderful recollections your post caused to come forth!! Just came here after hearing Margaret Roach’s podcast, a MUST in my week. Very excited to:
Hear of your new book
Get the cranberry-orange bread recipe (I misplaced my beloved one, and only earlier today bought a huge bag of cranberries and contemplated using the back of the bag recipe)
Subscribe to your blog
Go to Amazon and be about the business of acquiring your prior books
Contemplate making 5 am my start of day, a probably ridiculous fantasy trip for this mostly-concretized “Owl”
Grandmother memories are few, as we did not live in same area.
I treasure (materially) a Wedding Ring quilt pieced by my maternal grandmother, and the memory of being allowed as a young child in the ’50’s to go out to the back left corner of of the property where the Chicken coop resided
to gather any eggs I might find.
Count me in
Count me in!
My grandfather’s common phrase, “is that so?” continues to be meaningful. That question changes meaning depending on the situation, yet continues to make me question and find truth in life. And Count me in!
One of the most meaningful legacies my Grandma (and Mom) left me is Bread. Grandma lived on a farm and was an avid bread maker. When I make bread I feel I am nourishing not only stomachs, but souls. My Grandma and Mom were not very expressive but showed their Love by baking. My Mom and I taught my children how to bake bread. It makes be very happy to know this skill is being passed on from generation to generation. Thanks for inspiring these memories!
My paternal grandmother came here from Italy all alone to meet my grandfather who was already here. She was warm and sweet always. When we would travel two hours to visit, we would arrive to see her standing at the door with a warm loaf of homemade Italian bread and a knife ready to slice a warm piece for each of us. My. Maternal grandmother was my confidant, my teacher, my friend and I miss her every day. She was always in my corner and always understood what I needed. When I was in high school, she came to live with us and the memories of her cooking and her laughter never leave me.
A few weeks ago I brought in all of my houseplants and distributed them in various places and windows in my house. I had so many this year that I decided to do a headcount. And as I walked through the house going from room to room, window to window, counting, I remembered my trip to Germany in 1985 to visit my grandmother. I was 22 and as I stayed in her house, watching her water her plants, I marveled at how many of them there were. At the time I had no interest in gardening whatsoever. But she had so many plants everywhere, both inside and out. And as she watered all of her house plants, I followed her through the house, and did a tally. It was between 50 and 60 plants.
I was remembering this as I did my own tally which a few weeks ago was 75 houseplants scattered throughout the house up-and-down, and in every window. Fortunately I have a lot of windows!
I didn’t realize it at the time, but this vision of my grandmother with her plants, has served me in many ways over these many years. Even though I grew up without any of this knowledge, it must’ve come through the genes, because I ended up having a landscaping and garden design business for 15 years! Just based on my interest and knowledge of plants ,no formal training or education whatsoever!
My love of plants has come for my grandmother and has served me very well I am incredibly grateful for this gift.
I have memories of both my grandmothers. Every year when I make stuffing for our turkey, I am following my maternal grandmother’s directions. In the morning when I get out of bed I step onto a map my paternal grandmother hooked from old woolens. How I wish she was still making them when I was old enough to want to learn how.
Given all my grandmothers endured, what lingers in me about them is their fierce loving hearts, their strong voices, their joyfully dancing brown bodies, their unbridled laughter, their devotion to family (often realized with oversized pots on the stove filled with sustenance for many). Bowing to their grace and grit. Hoping I can embody some of their strength and compassion in these days to come.
My Granny was my first friend. She lived in the rolling hills of Michigan and many of my treasured memories are filled with her presence. She taught me how to fashion elegant hats from rhubarb leaves, trimmed with hollyhocks or daisy chains.I learned how to milk a cow, feed the chickens, groom my shetland pony and how to brush my teeth while pumping the water pump. And how to pick up a pencil with my toes.I felt loved and secure, accepted and encouraged. My imagination was fed and flourished….and giggling and laughter filled each day.
My Granny, though gone for 60 years, continues to be my guardian angel. She taught me to challenge my imagination and to find joy in each minute. It is these wonderful gifts that I have passed on to my grandchildren….and they all learned how to pick up a pencil with their toes!
We lived so far away from my grandmother but I remember the smell of her oatmeal raisin cookie dough on her wooden cutting board
I have been promising myself to order your book for weeks! I am going straight away to do just that! Should I win a copy ( I never win anything) I can always gift it to a special friend. Most of all I loved the pod cast between you and Margaret and I wish I could listen in on all of your morning chats!❤️
I do know Margaret! She is responsible for my becoming linked to you and your inspiring writing! Sorry to say that I never knew either of my grandmothers but I know my children remember their’s and I’m very close to my 2 granddaughters so I’m quite sure they’ll have many silly and hopefully fond memories of me.
My grandmother was a quiet, stoic woman. She made lefse on top of the woodstove and had a root cellar under the kitchen floor that was accessed through a trap door next to the kitchen table. As a child I shook with fear every time I was sent to retrieve a home-canned jar of somethng for dinner. She made donuts every week and stored them in an old glass jar for Grandpa to have with his coffee. My grandmother was a Native woman, torn from her family at a young age, and sent to a boarding school run by the Catholic church. She was indoctrinated to pass as a “good white woman” but behind her back her three sons were called half breeds. She never spoke of her time at the school and never acknowledged her heritage. I wish she had, but from her example I learned that it is possible to survive the unthinkable with grace and gratitude.
Count me in. Love your posts.
What a coincidence to read your post about grandmothers! My paternal grandmother passed away several years ago at the age of 92 and, for some reason, she’s been on my mind a lot lately. A sudden memory will pop out of nowhere, or I’ll get the sense that she’s nearby. Oh, how I miss her still!
My grandmother (grammy as I lovingly called her) and I would walk through her flower garden beds and she would tell me the name of what was planted there so I would learn. She said every little girl should know for womanhood.
My paternal grandmother taught me that you are never too old to help. At 92 she was delivering meals on wheels to people much younger than herself. Every night she ended on her knees praying. What an inspiration she was. I loved her applesauce with the secret ingredient of red hot candies and still make it her way.
The memory that comes to me of my Grandma as I watch my kids grow is how she used to pull out candy to give us from the most unexpected places… behind her clothes, under the mattress, from the rusty old tin she used for her medicine. The best candy was the one that smelled of her perfume.
My grandmother stretched every morning before getting out of bed. She had a series of exercises that she did, bicycling out her legs, stretching her arms and legs. When I would visit her I loved doing the exercises with her in the other twin bed in her room. I think this was her daily yoga, and I still call her fully body stretch “Grammy’s pose” (she had also heard that it might make her taller). She lived until just short of her 96th birthday!
Whenever I visited my grandmother, even unannounced, she would drop anything she had been doing at the moment, offer me a chair, put on water for tea and as they say today be “all in” with her undivided attention for whatever I had on my mind. When I was finished, she invariably would begin telling me stories from her past or present that in retrospect, might have some bearing or make some connection with what I had just shared with her. I would visit just as long as I wanted without ever feeling a nudge toward the door. I loved listening to her and how I wish that at age 10 or 17, 23 or 35, I had written down something from our conversations because now I can’t recall many details from her stories. However, at age 57, I’ve come to realize that those forgotten details aren’t nearly as important as the lesson of dispensing with the “need to do” in order to be “in the present moment” not only with a grandchild, but I suspect with everyone who crosses our path. I try to live by my grandmother’s example and be “all in”.
I only knew one grandma, my mom’s mom, and she was everything my mom wasn’t. Soft, squishy, soft-spoken, gentle, quiet and short. I rarely saw her without an apron and she was usually in the kitchen. Every meal she cooked was memorable, but the smell and taste of vegetable beef soup and fried cornmeal mush with butter and syrup remain prominent and dominant in my brain!
Granny Cook would bounce me on her knee singing, “Dee-da-leedle-deeedle-lump, Dee-da-leedle-deeedle-lump…” I didn’t know until decades later that the tune was “Turkey in the Straw.” (How appropriate to recall this childhood moment Thanksgiving week… and I am a vegetarian!)
Granny Mac kept kid-size boxes of raisins in her fridge. When we visited her small home we’d head straight there to get one as our treat.
I have several holiday cake recipes from my grandparents that HAVE to be made. I also have their pans and baking sheets that THEY HAVE. to be made in. The official Marble Cake mold and the Lebkuchen pan are two must haves.
My Grandmother Cook gave me the gift of empathy. I would sit beside her when we visited her at my Aunt Clarice’s home, and I’d tell her about the apple blossoms in bloom outside or other signs of whatever season it was. At that point in her life she was very hard of hearing, nearly blind, and used crutches to walk due to bad hips, but I didn’t see her as infirm, just fascinating. When she visited us, everyone would take turns using her crutches. I never realized until I was older that she was a superwoman, mother to eleven children and raised them during the depression era, all the while helping out on the family farm, and being a talented, sought-after seamstress as well.
My Grandma McKee taught me the love of tradition. She ALWAYS had cookies in a jar, reachable to young children, on the corner of a bench in back of her living room. She was at every family event, birthdays, graduations, holidays and always sent each grandchild cards and often inscribed golden picture books with our names with love from her. She paid me a nickel or a piece of Juicy Fruit gum to pick up sticks off her front yard before my dad would mow her lawn. She even painted my fingernails red to match hers ( and I felt sooo grown up and like her partner in crime)
I don’t have memories of my paternal grandmother, who died when I was around 1. And my maternal grandmother had a very complicated relationship with her family. She was a survivor of the Japanese internment camp. She would never speak of it. But shortly before she died, we had a lovely conversation. She was completely “there” and we talked about being mothers of girls, her history. We found a commonality.
My grandfather said to me once, “Always trust God”. Those three words changed my life. In these uncertain days I find much comfort in those words. He was a gardener and loved growing dahlias. Every summer he had a garden full of rows of them from tiny pom-poms to huge dinner plate size. My cousin and I would walk the rows and decide which were our favorites. When I garden, I always think of him and always feel closer to God.
All family dinners were at my Grandparents home and were an elaborate affair, a table filled with dishes my Grandmother Elsie had cooked for days. On the night before Thanksgiving she stayed up basting the turkey, covered in cheesecloth, with melted butter that sat on the stovetop. She was a dear woman, calm and forgiving. I had the honor of caring for her as she aged, of being her protector as she had been mine during my childhood. I miss her always but holidays most of all. This December will bring the birth of my first greatgrand child. Hopefully I can give her some of the beautiful memories that I have from my times with Elsie. Life is indeed a never ending circle of love if we strive to make it so.
I loved my grandmother with her strong German accent. She referred to her homeland as “The old country”.
She always wore a babuska and colorful apron which she used as a basket. She had wonderful lilacs around her farm house. The smell of lilac is pure joy! The best thing about her lilacs were the babies that popped up under the tree. They were passed on to me and I passed them on to my daughters. I live in Florida now but am so happy that my grandmothers lilacs continue to boom for my family.
When I was a child, my grandmother would come to visit our home for a week long stay in the winter on occasions when my parents needed a little extra help. Each morning she would make us homemade hot chocolate and toast for breakfast. Though it was a simple gesture, I have never forgotten how wonderful it was to venture out into the wintery morning and walk to school with the warmth of the hot chocolate and her love surrounding me and my siblings.
Always pasta on Thanksgiving! My Italian grandmother lives on…❤️
Again… Thank you. I so look forward to receiving your emails and I can’t wait to sit in a quiet spot and read your comforting words of wisdom. To read “To Love Like a Grandmother” again just made me want to hop in the car and go visit those sweet grandchildren. Our daughters were very fortunate to have had two dear dear grandmothers, long since passed but wonderful memories will always be with us especially at this time of year when our families all shared Thanksgiving together.
My grandmother always had time for me – whether it was teaching me to make homemade noodles or doughnuts or buckwheat pancakes or reading to me or sitting with me on her front steps as she watered the lawn. I will always treasure those times with her.
My amazing grandmother left many gifts for me including teaching me to sew, garden, drive and read hymns. She was always the calm voice of reason in our otherwise chaotic family bringing love, patience and wisdom to any and all situations. But the one memory that stands out and comes to me often is her humble and tireless help when my husband and I purchased our first ‘fixer-upper’ home. Many folks came to help us clean and repair the disaster, but my grandmother took upon herself the thankless job of scrubbing a thickly coated oven grate from years of neglect. At barely 5 feet tall, she stood at the basement work sink for hours by herself. Each time I ran through the basement, there she was bending over the sink scrubbing away. But never once complaining. Her patient, humble endurance is seared in my memory and continues to guide me to this day.
I learned to value bread making from my maternal grandmother. I’ve come and gone from baking through the years but now make bread for my husband and grandkids every week.
My Grandma Nellie was a very good baker but it was my brother who really learned from her how to bake bread. He has her raisin bread down to the point where we cannot tell the difference between our memory of hers and his.
Happy Thanksgiving, Margaret and Katrina!
I never lived close to either of my grandmothers. But I do have fond memories of visits where I got to “help” in the kitchens. There was always lots of love & laughter while making meals!
My grandmother’s garden was Eden to me as a child. In a small, hedged double lot in the middle of Chicago, she had the loveliest spring flowers of every kind and color, lilies, elephant ears, a tiny fish pond, always more than one cat and then so many varieties of fruits in including currents, grapes, rhubarb, apple trees and even peaches – which reminded her of when she lived in the south as a young girl. In the middle of it all, a mature Poplar tree encircled with Lily-of-the-Valley which grew centered to her big kitchen window on the second floor. We’d watch the squirrels running up and down that beautiful tree from the table next to that window. She taught me to be a brave gardener (her peaches weren’t ‘supposed’ to grow in that zone) and to make the most of what you have where you are.
I can recall climbing grandmas cherry trees to pick them/ my uncle and I/ we used to tie gallon sized buckets around our waists to make it easier to pick and then lower them down to be emptied.
Count Me In!
My paternal grandmother was an immigrant, coming through Ellis Island as an infant from Austria-Hungary prior to the first World War. She moved out of Philadelphia onto a chicken farm in Bucks County with her husband and young boys. In the front parlor bay window, she had a glorious collection of blooming houseplants and I first learned the words “Gloxinia” and “African Violet”. I think she would be very pleased and impressed to see my current houseplant collection. Like her own mother, she was a gifted seamstress, working at age 14 in sewing factories, paid by the piece, later teaching her daughter in law (my mother) to sew, and Mom passed those skills on to me.
Alas, I am the youngest daughter of the youngest children in my parents’ families, and both grandmothers passed before I was born. My favorite Aunt, however, was much as you have described, down to growing zinnia’s that were taller than she was…a veritable forest of them! I can picture her now amongst them as they danced about her in the NW Washington winds. And her raspberries were legendary.
She, too, lived with her retired cowboy husband in a tiny 3 rm cottage in the woods, and what she taught me was to make use of absolutely everything…and to have fun doing it! At this time of year, she was busy sewing flannel nightgowns for all the women in the family, and making the most amazing Christmas decorations by snipping up tin cans and rolling the strips with needle-nosed pliers into magical shapes. She was a blessing to all who knew her…
My grandma made apple pie using Northern Spy apples as her grandmother did before her. Back in the 70s we convinced her to allow us to film her making one of these pies. The results were priceless and hysterical ( I think she was sipping on a little wine as she prepared the pie so she went from being nervous when she began to being downright hammy at the end)
My grandmother Edith kept sewing scraps in her “rag bag”, which we could sort through to use for craft projects. I have my own fabric leftovers collection now, and my granddaughter and I have enjoyed many projects with those scraps.
When I’d have sleepovers at my grandparents, my grandmother Estelle would allow me to stay up to watch Johnny Carson with her. Grandpa drove an Arnold bread truck in the wee hours of the morning, and so retired to bed early. Hours after we finished cleaning up the dinner she’d cooked, she’d pull out the pots and start again, to make cheese blintzes we could snack on while we watched. This was the 70s, and she was determined to be in the swing: I remember mini-skirts and “buffalo” sandals beneath her frilly aprons. These were girls’ nights extraordinaire.
Not a day goes by I don’t fondly remember the gift of my “Grossi”…I hope to be just as wonderful of a grandmother as she was to me!
Lovely, lovely recollections by all of you. Thank you for your thoughts. My mother was 3 when her birth mother died, & my father was less than a year when his birth mother died. My mother’s second mother died when my mother was mid twenties, and my father’s second mother died when he was 20, so I never experienced a grandmother. I now have 5 grandchildren, and no grandmother role models, so I am setting up my own ways and traditions, leading with love. Count me in for your book drawing.
count me in!
It wasn’t my grandmother but rather my aunt who influenced and nurtured me. But it was my dad who did the same for my son
My maternal grandmother, Cecile, was born in 1899. Her parents were both from Quebec, so there was a strong French Canadian influence. I inherited the job of making her turkey dressing. My family won’t eat anything else at Thanksgiving! The recipe is basically: 1 lb pork sausage (cooked), 1 bag of stuffing cubes (or better, make your own), 1 onion, 1 cup of walnuts. All of that gets put through a hand grinder. Then you add 1 cup of chopped celery and 1 cup of raisins or dried cranberries (my preference). Right before stuffing the turkey, add an egg to the mixture. This is enough for a small turkey. I double or triple the recipe for larger turkeys. It really is the best stuffing I’ve ever had!
My paternal grandmother was born in 1889 and she gave me a silver dollar coin to remind me of her birthday. I made it into a necklace and cherish it and her! She would never tell her age to anyone, but she did tell them she was over 65 even when she was in her late 90s. She missed her 100th Birthday by just 6 months. I love all of her handwritten recipes that state: add butter the size of three walnuts, etc.
My grandmother’s chicken soup with noodles was legendary, but what I remember and value most about her kind and patient ways was her teaching me how to sew. No one else in my family had any interest in sewing, crocheting or quilting, but my grandmother and I worked together all the time on various projects. I cherish these memories. Thank you!
My maternal grandmother lived in Normandy, France and my mother came over to Canada after the war and eventually down to Binghamton, NY where I was born. In the early 1960’s we sailed across the ocean on a transatlantic ocean liner to see her in Normandy. I’ll never forget the roses in Normandy! They had many black and white photos of the GI’s on their way through after D-Day. They would run to the garden and give them artichokes, flowers, any food they could spare. I also remember her chicken soup from their hens and still have the bowl she served it to me in. I miss them. My aunt, mother, and grandparents all gone now. The plants from my mother’s garden live on however in my garden and my daughter’s garden. I never realized the memories they would evoke and how great a gift of a plant really is……
My grandparents didn’t live close to us, so it was a road trip to go visit, and we didn’t go often. All of my grandparents died before I turned 10, but I do remember Grandmas wood burning stove in her kitchen, and her beautiful bowed China cabinet full of her treasures. My grandpa was the gardener and I remember the grape arbor loaded with grapes and his compost tea barrel. I feel like I inherited my love of gardening from him. I am a grandma and I have always been close to my grandchildren, since all 10 of them are close to us. I want them to remember me, their Grandma, as a special loving person in their lives. We are making so many great memories together. I feel blessed to be their Grandmother!
My grandmother passed along her love of gardening and flowers to me! She’s 93 now.
I have many wonderful recipes from two adored grandmothers. Among them are some favorite salad dressings, like ‘Yes, Yes” which is known for its versatility. It is great on either vegetables OR fruit!
Your description fit my grandmother Kate perfectly as well. Right down to the magazines, the calamine and the Vicks. She lived with us some of the time so there was plenty of time to teach me how to cook the way southerners always cooked – delicious hearty meals from scratch – and how to sew and crochet – as well as time for lessons about love and forgiveness through her gentle ways.
Growing up, my only living grandparent was “Pop”, my fraternal grandfather who was born in 1880. One summer we planted a sandy plot with corn and watermelons. Nothing grew very well, but I’ve been a gardener for the 55+ years since. Some days I still need to stand in my garden watering with a hose like Pop loved to do.
Count me in,please!
count me in, please!
I just finished making holupki (stuffed cabbage) that my mother’s mom used to make. She would come to our house and let me help as she mixed the ingredients. As a child, I did not care for the cabbage wrapper for the meat, rice, onion, and egg mixture. Now, I love it. I think of her and my mom every time I make it. I just happened to check my email after and saw this post. Wishing you all a wonderful Thanksgiving.
So many wonderful memories shared here today! I only knew one of my Grandmothers but there were the aunts who stepped in to make a life time of memories – the rock garden of flowers we still care for although they are all gone, food from the gardens, fruit from the fading orchard and books more than you could ever want. So many memories. I will need to think of this some more. Thanks for dropping this idea for writing today!
Just reading these comments bring thoughts of love for my Gramma and Grampa. My grampa had a wooden leg and use to tease all of us with funny stories how it happened ~ we’d all sit on it together when we were little and never once was there a complaint. He was a wonderful story teller and made the most of our attention! My mom told me that I was named for his favorite name, “Kathleen.” Yet he called me “Cynthia!” his entire life in a beautiful 3 note singsong. I felt so special! And I still make my gramma’s favorite Bohemian bread, Houska, for the holidays. Thank you for bringing up these wonderful memories today!
My grandmother (Nana) was born in 1900. She loved to have her granddaughters over for pancakes and bacon breakfasts with real maple syrup which she warmed on the stove and served in a pretty little pitcher. To this day, I will only use real maple syrup:)
My paternal grandmother was a kind soul and had the patience of a saint. She baby sat my brother and I through summer vacation and we watched her as she went about doing her daily chores and humming all the while. As I got older she made me feel special and let me gather the ripe tomatoes to put in our sandwiches for lunch, how I remember there superb flavor. Fast forward and I’m married with a yard of my own and had to put in a garden with vegetables and later as the yards changed it also included flowers. I now have a granddaughter of my own and she’s helped me and watched and someday I hope feels the same way about growing her own vegetables’.
I enjoy your podcast and especially this one and the lovely guest you had,
Happy Thanksgiving to both of you and your families’
my paternal grandmother continues to influence me, despite her death decades ago: her husband died 9 years into their marriage and left her with a 7 yo son to raise. it was the brink of the great depression and she raised her son and took care of her parents by teaching school. she never remarried and went on to become a professor of education at the university of wisconsin in the ’50s. she routinely told me as i was growing up that i would always need to be able to take care of myself. wise words indeed. she had students from all over the world and traveled extensively – an inspiration to this day!
My grandmother’s recipe for oyster dressing is always on our Thanksgiving table. I plant marigolds in memory of her around my vegetable gardens.
My paternal grandfather was the top grower of ‘Big Boy ‘tomatoes in tiny Autaugaville, Alabama in the 1960’s south. My ten year old feet sizzled on the hot sidewalks in front of the home where my father and his siblings were born. Nonetheless, when the dinner bell rang, I ran down that sidewalk and pulled up to the family table to eat myself silly, putting down slab after slab of salty-sweet ‘Big Boy’ deliciousness! Tomatoes never tasted so good!
My Grandmother , we called her Grams, taught me to sew. I am sure that she learned her talents from her mother. I am lucky to have a tatted piece made by my Great Grandmother, and some hand cut butterfly fabric pieces for a quilt from my Grandmother. I hope to be able to make that quilt she started so long ago and hand it down to my daughter and grand daughters. I have just begun teaching them to sew and do hand embroidery. I also have very fond memories of my grand mother’s garden. She had roses, pussy willows (they were the short type, not the huge bushes and trees of today) ,Iris’s and apple and tart cherry trees. She always had angel food cake and strawberries, raisin bread, tea with sugar, and cold water in a pitcher in her old silver ,one handled fridge. My best memories are of times spent with her, I still miss her dearly at times.
~Gin K.~
Didn’t know either set of grandparents but count me in.
My Grandmother’s hand me down to me was her faith. Most of my life, I lived 8-12 hours away. Phone calls were limited, due to may father’s frugality. th
Celebrating May Day at Grandma’s in rural Iowa
My Grandma Freida couldn’t read or write English. She came from Lithuania when she was just 16 years old. But she could cook and bake like nobody’s business. She taught my mother to cook, and I always remember her being in the kitchen when she came to our house to visit. I would watch as she added a pinch of this and dash of that. She always gave me jobs to do, like cracking nuts and chopping them, or peeling apples,
and decorating cookies. I always think about her and my mother when I am in the kitchen
preparing meals for Thanksgiving. Count me in on your book contest. I loved your Moments of Seeing.
Count me in, and thank you for your posts. They resonate with me and make me pause and think. I have been helped by the words you share.
My grandmother made the best bologna sandwiches. We lived two states apart, and she died when I was five, so I didn’t have much time to have memories with her. But gosh do I remember that. Also, at her funeral, my dad and I spotted a sparkly rock, and my dad picked it up and told me to keep it, and to remember. And I have, and I do.
Grandmothers and gardening are two of the sweetest things on earth
Count me in!
Your essay made me puddle up this morning. I miss my own grandmothers every single day.
This one is easy. My favorite hand-me-down is my grandmother’s wedding ring, which my aunt slipped into my hand after Nana passed away. Purchased by an immigrant truck driver for his housekeeper bride in the 1930s, it holds a diamond so tiny that it’s barely visible. But in terms of material possessions, nothing is more valuable to me. This wedding ring has given me great peace in the 15 years I have been wearing it as my own.
I had other older women in my life that taught me about plants, gardening and falling in love with being in nature. It’s a place of refreshment for me. Now I collect all sorts of wonderful things nature leaves for me. Thanks for the giveaway!
Loved your site …I still have my grandmother’s Joy of Cooking with all her inserts and handwritten notes. Am not the great cook she was but thanks to her, I am a wonderful eater 🙂
I am writing my response on a treasured hand-me-down: my granny’s Singer sewing machine, which I use as a desk for my MacBook Pro. (Many years ago I used it to sew Christmas ornaments.)
Thank you for this wonderful post.
We didn’t spend Thanksgiving with grandparents. My grandparents lived in Queens and when we visited when I was young, and before my parents divorced. I loved hanging with my grandpa, in his garden, that he cultivated with such love and care. Whenever I smell lilacs, I have a vision of our hands together, walking around the garden, soaking in the fragrances. My Dad, his son, would always be perplexed by my happy memories with grandpa since they had such a fraught relationship.
Unfortunately never got to meet either one of my grandmothers……
My grandma, Nana, was fiercely independent, having been widowed early in life. She taught us about everyday pleasures, like using the fine china for daily dinners, the smell of her cape cod roses and her delights in cooking and experimenting. She loved her family above all. Her simple elegance was a model for all of us.
Loved your remembrances of your Grandmother. There was some things in common with my grandmother.
I loved reading all these grandmother stories. There are elements of my own memories, and hopes for my grandchildren in them all. The love that is felt so deeply for family and tradition, expressed through tender times. Grandmothers get and give so much joy in feeding the body & souls around them. Our sweet grandchildren just moved far away to Texas, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me to get a handwritten letter in my mailbox. Cherish it all. Thanks for sharing all this.
I never had a grandmother as a child but am a grandmother now age 75. I have 16 grandchildren an d 14 great grandchildren. I have always loved homemaking and gardening in all its forms. Loving family and showing them all my love for gardening cooking and homemaking. I just discovered you blog and truly touch my heart with your inspirational writing. Would love to Have one of your books
My love of gardening and my need to have my hands in the dirt were surely inherited from my paternal grandmother. I treasure the old pale yellow iris and peonies from her that have moved with me several times.
My grandmother was a pioneer and she was one of the first “Woman’s liber” I know, She taught my sister and myself that we could do anything a boy could do, only better. My grandmother traced our family history back to the Gold Rush days of Discovery in California and during summer vacations would take us with her along the way, we would visit old villages, settlers, Native Americans, writing our family history through their stories. My grandmother taught me to be an adventure seeker and not to let anything get in our was of discovery. My grandmother was also a fantastic gardener and had a beautiful natural goldfish pond that she built herself, she had a fairy garden that reminded me so much of a Secret Garden…with all of its beautiful treasures included.
Sadly, I never knew either of my grandmothers. But, if I were to imagine one, she’d be just like yours!
My maternal grandmother was orphaned at the age of 10. As the oldest of five siblings she never had a chance to finish school, but was one of the most intelligent women I have ever known. She raised three children who attended university and loved her family well. I think of her every time I pick blackberries from an empty lot. She was a thrifty woman and loved a good deal. I can imagine her smiling down at me whenever I make use of the bounty provided by the weeds to make pie or jam.
I remember my grandmother’s fresh cinnamon rolls. They were big and so delicious. I’m still searching to find her recipe. I remember the time we spent together making them and then smothering them with frosting.
Wow -reading through all of the memories that your conversation with Katrina brought back to all your fans was wonderful. They made me recall time spent in my own grandmother’s garden with her hanging Donkey Tail plant and lots of flowers she grew from seeds bought with little bits of change that she saved up. Shows always happy inner garden. She fixed us hot cocoa and had little raspberry candies on the dining room dish cabinet. Thank you, Margaret and Katrina! I look forward to reading your new book!!
So many jewels of knowledge from my Grandmother, but her bread pudding recipe and adamant deadheading of flowers to achieve more bloom are pretty memorable. I miss her so!!! Thanks for prompting me to go down memory lane and sharing your experiences! And oh how I miss her hands, she was a hand holder and hers were always so soft and so cleanly and perfectly manicured even through all her work!
My house is full of my grandmother’s hand me downs. My kitchen table and chairs were her mother’s, she gave me a bedroom suit that was also my greatgrandmother’s. She saved everything, and was very generous in passing them on. She taught me to love gardening, especially flowers, and I still have flowers she passed on to me. She taught me to love items from our past, and she taught me to appreciate my ancestors. She loved people, and they loved her back. When she was in her eighties, she dressed in her mother’s clothes and gave talks about the ‘olden days’. She always said she was born walking, then moved to horses and wagons, to cars, to airplanes, then back to walking as she got old. I loved her so much.
My mom taught me everything about gardening and had a garden 3 times the size of mine which she worked, literally, right up to the day she died at the age of 82. I have a lot of stories about mom and her garden but I call my favorite gardening story Cucumber Summer.
It was the year the cucumbers took over Mom’s garden and her kitchen. It started out just like every garden did. Till the soil, work in the fertilizer, and begin planting. Tomatoes at the top of the hill, down the hill we went sowing – 5 kids planting row after row of seeds till we reached the bottom of the hill and put the last crop in. It was the cucumbers.
For two weeks, Mom worked and watched and watered. This spring was mild. All the seedlings were sprouting, tiny plants popping out of the ground and reaching for the sun. Everything was coming up until the night of the storm. She saw it coming. It was like that on Blue Mountain where we lived in Pennsylvania. Sometimes freak storms would roar down the valley between the mountains. High winds, thunder and lightening and rain, buckets and buckets of rain. All she could do was watch as the water pounded the ground and her seedlings.
When it was over, she trudged to the top of the hill to see what was left. Most of the seedlings were still there. Some were broken, some covered with dirt but everything looked okay until she spotted the cucumbers. They had washed out of the garden and half way down the bank of the stream. There must have been 20 plants down there. Well, where my Mom came from you didn’t waste anything. So, she grabbed a flat, slid down the bank and carried those cucumbers right back up to her garden. She stuck them back in the ground, gave them an extra pat then went back to work on the rest of the garden.
A couple of days later, at church, one of Mom’s farmer friends told her you couldn’t transplant cucumbers. They die. Since he was a farmer and she was an amateur, she went right out and planted 20 more cucumbers plants. He was wrong!
That summer Mom raised 45 of the most productive cucumber plants I can ever remember. She made cucumber sandwiches, creamed cucumbers and fried cucumbers, sweet pickles, mustard pickles, sour pickles, dill pickles, bread and butter pickles, cucumber chunks, cucumber rings and cucumber chips. There were five kids and we still couldn’t keep up. When we finally refused to eat one more cucumber, she gave up and took bushels of cucumbers to church and gave them away to anyone who would take them. Mom didn’t plant cucumbers next summer.
I didn’t realize how much I learned from my grandmothers growing up; but I miss them so much right now.
My Grandmothers, I loved them so. Elva and Harriet. I miss them more.
Thank you for letting me revisit them with your words.
I was only able to meet one grandma and I was 10 when she passed away but I remember her perfume so well.
My grandma would take me on the NY Subway and always buy those tiny chocolate bars that they sold in little machine dispensers where you waited for the train.
Footprints on my soul………that’s how I remember my grandmother. She was a hard worker who loved to garden. When I heard you describe your grandmother with her house dress and few worldly possessions, I can relate. My grandmother was blessed to live well into her ninth decade. She gave me a blue star (Amsonia hubrichtii) plant, and each spring when those beautiful azure blue blooms rise up, I am carried back in my memory to a sweet time spent with lady whom I loved dearly.
When I was a little girl, I used to sit on the floor by my grandmother’s chair and talk to her endlessly about everything. She always listened with love and patience. My other grandparents (my father’s parents) were not fond of my mother or–by extension, I guess–of me. I remember asking my grandmother once why my other grandparents didn’t love me, and she simply squeezed my hand and said, “Don’t worry, Miss Jenny. Your grandpa and I will love you enough for everyone.” And they did. I was so blessed to have her in my life.
Please count me in!
What a fun podcast. It brought back so many memories! Please count me in for the book. Happy Thanksgiving!
My Grandmother on my Father’s side had passed away by the time I was born but I heard so many stories about this amazing woman that she became my light to follow. This woman raised 9 children on her own after my Grandfather passed, the oldest was 18, youngest was an infant. All of her children adored her. She was firm but loving, in Yiddish she would be called a Balabusta. the queen of the house. She kept her family together with love, encouragement and discipline. She was, by all accounts, an amazing homemaker and cook. I have tried to follow her example, though I guarantee she was a much better cook than I am. Now I pass that love on to my own granddaughter in the form of a journal that I am leaving for her, the lessons I learned, and letting her know just how much she is loved and how much joy she has brought to our family. She is 7 1/2 months old, and this will be passed on to her when I myself pass on.
So many memories of both my grandmothers. They were each amazing women, though very different. My mother’s mother was an incredible nurturer. She had ten children and was the perfect mother. My father’s mother was intelligent and spunky and left me with beautiful crocheted blankets for my children.
I have been missing them and their wisdom lately. So blessed to have had them in my life.
I miss both my Grandmas…their influence, their wisdom, their presence. I am a new grandma now – just three weeks…and share a kindred spirit with them, my mother. It would have been fun to share this experience with them. I know they are with me, always!
My grandmother’s recipe for pasta fazoole, aka pasta e fagiole. My family maintains the tradition of welcoming each other to our homes with a steaming pot on the stove. A aimple recipe that means family is love.
I am so thankful for the memories I have of both my grandmother and grandfather as I know there are many who aren’t as fortunate. On every visit to my grandmother’s house as a child, I immediately went to her dining room buffet knowing that inside I would find her jar of freshly baked sugar cookies. Aside from being a self-taught photographer, artist and musician, my 6’4″ grandfather was an excellent gardener and grew a beautiful flower garden in the lot next to their house. My grandparents were hardworking people from rural Virginia who at one time lived and raised their family in a log cabin without electricity or running water.
Mother started her garden with plants from both grandma and great-grandma. I can still visualize the masses of poppies blooming in spring. I moved around the country as an adult, but when I returned to my hometown area, fate brought me to befriend a gardener who just happened to be living in my childhood home and shared those poppies with me. What an eternal joy the garden shares!
Grandpa Edwin Drake, the gardener of our family, started visiting his son’s and grandson’s homes weekly spring thru fall. He brought berries, melons, corn, potatoes, peppers, etc. while checking out the farming skills of “his boys”. I am sure our mother appreciated the homegrown produce but my sisters and brother enjoyed the contents of his overall pockets. Blackjack, Yucatan and Clove gum. A slice was a huge treat. I wonder now if Grandpa’s goal was providing food from his garden or fun for his grandchildren.
Count me in!
So many memorable treasures from our Nana. Although she was first generation American, born of Italian immigrants, she embraced the traditions of her native country. Thanksgiving dinner never tasted so good and I always loved the warmth of her home on holidays as a young child. But mostly I fondly recall her taking us to Santa’s Village at Jordan Marsh and always including lunch at the Filene’s restaurant. The children’s menu included a burger with fries (with gravy, I believe!) and a clown decorated ice cream with a cookie. She would order one for each of us and one for herself! Even though she could be tough on her grandchildren, she loved us and times spent with her we knew were special.
Eating fried, sweet Maine shrimp in February is the most vivid memory I have of my Nana’s cooking…..
Count me in!
All of my Grandmothers and Great Grandmothers on both sides of my family were hard working ladies who did not have easy lives. Money was scarce and they were up early and to bed late with lots of work in between! Working in and outside of their homes to take care of their families. Although they must have been incredibly tired with all that cooking, cleaning, washing and scrubbing for lots and lots of children they all loved fiercely and throughout their lives made their families their priority. I never heard any of them complain although their lives were a million times more difficult than mine in so many ways. So, what I take from them all is strength, and I hope that I am passing that down to my two daughters. Happy Holidays everyone with love❤❤
I never knew my grandmothers. My Mum’s mother died from TB when my Mum was seven. My paternal grandma died when I was 6 months old soon after the one time I was taken to see her as she was dying. I have had a huge hole in my life because of this – knowing my own 6 grandchildren has shown me what I missed. When my Dad died 3 years ago I found myself mourning my grandma more – never again would I ever be able to hear someone who had known her tell me stories about her life. So treasure your memories fellow readers – you have had treasures others never know.
I was the first grand child of my grand mother. She loved me most than the others.
When she went to my uncles home to visit , she asked to my cousin to call to my mobile and hence talk to me over phone to hear my voice.
She gave my some money on different festival.
Sometimes, she also cook food with her weak and old hands.
She prayed for me much
She is no more today.
now i remember my grandmother’s fresh cinnamon rolls. They were big and so delicious. i pray for him
I am so thankful for the memories I have of both my grandmother and grandfather as I know there are many who aren’t as fortunate. i still remember she made alot sweet and other delicious foods for me, no matter she was sick or ill, Pray for her.