I thank God for little children and Grandmas, for they need each other, and we need them both. Russell Hoy
One of my clients was fascinated to learn that I grew up on a small family dairy farm in Fruitland, New Mexico. It turns out that he grew up on dairy farms in England and Canada, so he felt a certain kinship with me.
One day he dropped by my office and gave me some copies of Farm Journal magazine from 1950 - two years before I was born. He said he thought I would appreciate them. He was right, for I remember that same magazine in our home when I was a boy.
Reading them brought back tons of memories. The well-yellowed pages feature ads for the same types of tractors, farm machinery, and pickup trucks I grew up with on our farm. There were lots of timely (for back then) articles, such as "Bug Outbreak is Near" and "How to Keep the Hay Coming" and "You Can Tell by the HEAD if Plants are Well-fed."
But one article in particular caught my eye. "Grandma's Wing" addresses a topic that's still relevant to all families (not just farm families) even today: How do we best care for elderly parents?
It's a challenge for all of us, whether for our aging family members, or - hard to think about this sometimes - for ourselves. What will we do when that time arrives? Here's one farm family's sweet 70-year-old answer to that vexing question:
We were just home from church this morning and I was putting the car away. Mary ran on ahead. "Hurry, Daddy," she called from the doorway. "We're invited out for dinner today!"
It was Grandma's we were going to - and Grandma (Mrs. Mary Turner [the author's mother-in-law]) lives just back of our hallway door.
We washed up and went over to Grandma's side of the house. My wife was helping dish up the dinner. We seated ourselves, sang grace (a custom of our family) and started in.
It's good to eat Sunday dinner with Grandma. Through the week she generally prefers to eat by herself. But on special occasions she comes over and eats with us, or we with her.
Our home wouldn't again seem right without a Grandma. We believe that it somehow takes three generations to make a family really complete.
The children love having Grandma near. Grandma seems to enjoy it just as much. She was left alone three years ago when her husband died. And after 55 years as a farmer's wife, she didn't want to move to town. Or to live alone, either. So we built a wing onto the back of our five-room farmhouse, and Grandma came to live beside us.
She has her own bedroom, with bath, and her own kitchen and living room-a 20- by 12-foot room with electric stove and refrigerator; at the opposite end her davenport, chair, and all her other favorite things. Our same furnace heats her rooms.
Grandma need only open the hall door, and she's with us. Yet she has the privacy and quiet of a place of her own.
Mornings, Grandma will come over for a pitcher of cream or a cup of butter-and a pat for each of the children.
On Mondays, she and my wife do their washing together, each at her own machine in the basement. Or mother and daughter spend a day sewing, and their two machines fill both sides of the house with a happy humming.
Last Christmas, Grandma made 30 aprons, outfitting even her great-granddaughters. She loves to work in her own little garden. One day I found her in the barn with the wheelbarrow, "swiping" manure for her flower-beds.
Grandma is 79, but insists on days full of canning, butchering, and daily chores like dish-washing (which the girls appreciate). Often she takes a train or bus to visit her other children, but it's only for a few days. Then Grandma wants to be home again.
We're sitting here tonight, Mrs. Hoy and I, trying to think of words to tell you how happy we are at having Grandma beside us.
Happy for her that she has a home of her own, plus the wonderful comfort of knowing her family is close by.
Happy for the children, who have even more - the certain, unhurried, understanding love of a grand-parent - someone to fix that special little snack-to tell them stories of what it was like when Grandma was a girl.
The little wing of the house is Grandma's as long as she wants it. Someday, maybe, it will be home for a couple of newlyweds. Or for either Mrs. Hoy or me, when left companionless.
As we sat around Grandma's table at noon today, laughing and talking, I silently thanked God for little children and Grandmas, for they both need each other, and we need them both.
* * * * *
At the end of the article I found the following Editor's note:
The author (Grandma's son-in-law) is a preacher who farms a small place a mile from his Ohio church. We know that not every grand-parent who lives with her children would fit into a family the way this grandma does. But few get the chance - to come and go, eat and sleep as they like, in a place of their own - a reward that's probably due any of us after a lifetime of hard work.
* * * * *
I was touched by this simple and sweet solution to the age-old problem of how to care for aging family members without taking away their independence. His description sounds like a gentle version of the Granny Pod, an early rural take on "aging in place" - to borrow the current vernacular.
I especially appreciate the author's recognition of the benefits of keeping multiple generations of family close together. He's right: grandchildren need grandmas and grandpas, and seniors need children around as much as possible. That's not easy in today's world.
These issues are a few years away for some us, and right on the doorstep for others. Whether sooner or later, I'm hoping that when that time comes for Marcie and me, we can find some way to live like that farm family from 70 years ago: close to those we love most.
Is that too much to wish for?
Is that too much to wish for?