Claiming My Lineage – Grandma Prudie

Remembering Grandma

Remembering Grandma © 2013 Bo Mackison

A grandmother is a little bit parent, a little bit teacher, and a little bit best friend. ~ Author Unknown

*** In Jen Louden’s TeachNow course, each participant is “invited to become a story gatherer and story creator,”  and to “claim and own our authority and lineage” in order to better step into the teacher we are (or are becoming). In order to claim my lineage, I recalled past teachers in my life – childhood, youth, student, adult – and identified those people, places, books, experiences — positive and negative — that were influential in shaping the person I am today.

This post is the second in a series on gathering stories and claiming my lineage.

I rocked hard in Grandpa’s rocker as I watched the kitchen clock. The minute hand barely moved. I’d waited nearly an hour. My Great Grandma Prudie had promised we’d pull taffy that morning, but the day was half over. Prudie kept her promises, so I practiced an uneasy patience.

We had watched The Lawrence Welk Show the night before – Prudie, Grandma, Grandpa, Dad and Mom and me. After the show, Prudie had looked at me with her trademark pixie grin nearly hidden in her wrinkled face.

“Bo, let’s go in the kitchen and check out the pantry. Let’s cook tomorrow.” I was always game when Prudie began a kitchen project which mostly involved satisfying her occasional sweet tooth. Prudie at eighty-one no longer cooked the family meals. After 60+ years of kitchen responsibility, she’d handed her apron over to her daughter, grand-daughter and great-granddaughters. But she occasionally enjoyed a kitchen adventure with me.

My unusual family living arrangement was one of my childhood blessings, and surely is a part of my creative lineage. Prudie was my mother’s mother’s mom. She lived in the first floor apartment with my Grandpa and Grandma, although her bedroom was in the back of my family’s upstairs apartment. My mother, father and I lived in an apartment on the second floor, and my bedroom was carved out of an attic space on the third floor. The spaces were a mix and match affair, few doors, no locks. I wandered freely from adult to adult, and learned by watching and doing the things they were doing — sewing, gardening, knitting, woodworking, cooking and baking. It was an endless potpourri of activity.

Prudie was a storyteller, and as long as my mother and grandmother were out of earshot, Prudie discussed any subject that came to her mind.  My mom and grandmother often forbade me to listen to Prudie’s tales, but Prudie only waved her hand at them in dismissal. “Pshaw!” she’d mutter, and then laugh.

Prudie thought children should learn about “real living.” She talked about life, even when life didn’t include Princesses and Prince Charmings.  Especially then.

She told me about marriages that were not the “happily ever after” kind. When Prudie was only nineteen, she’d married a railroad man. It was 1900. My grandmother was born a year later. When baby Pearl was a week shy of her first birthday, her father left for work, saying he’d be gone a fortnight, but he never returned. Family life wasn’t what he’d envisioned.

So Prudie and Pearl temporarily moved in with family while my great grandma took a practical nurse’s course by mail. She memorized two medical texts and some practical nursing books. Then she worked as a licensed practical nurse, caring for people in their homes, until she met the man she married when my grandmother was in high school.

The medical textbooks she studied from in 1902 lined the shelf of her bedside table throughout my childhood. Prudie let me page through the books whenever I wanted, never censoring the content. We would page through her Human Anatomy book as casually as we paged through my Little Golden books. The diagram of the body’s circulatory system in red and blue ink was equally as interesting as Brer Rabbit’s adventures.

“A child’s curiosity is a good thing,” she would say. “Children should be exposed to ideas, even ideas that are out of the ordinary or strange. Life is strange.”

We discussed women’s rights in detail. (“Women are just as smart as men, we can do anything with our minds they can do. You remember that. You wait and see. Your world will look a lot different from the world I grew up in.”)

We discussed education. (“You keep to your studies. That’s your ticket to the big world. No one’s ever gone to college in our families, but that’s no reason to stop you from stretching your wings. You go to college. Learn something you really want to learn.”)

We discussed relationships. (“Don’t ever stay with someone who doesn’t respect you, who doesn’t treat you as an equal. There is no shame is leaving a marriage if it’s not a good marriage. No shame at all. Better yet, marry a man who respects you. A good marriage is more precious than a pile of money.”)

We discussed beauty and art as she arranged garden flowers in vases or copied drawings from the Garden Extension pamphlets onto the backs of envelopes or brown paper bags that she then pinned around the hallway mirror. We kept warm under quilts that she pieced and sewed by hand and she taught me to crochet doilies by the dozens. (“There isn’t any excuse for a home not to have a bit of finery. It makes a person’s heart glad.”)

We discussed the importance of play and friendships and she allowed me to enter the world of her grown-up playtime, if only to serve the cake and pour the coffee. (“If I didn’t have the ladies over to play Pokeno and brag on my cake once a month, I’d grow up to be a cranky old woman.”)

I no longer have any interest in crocheting doilies or piecing quilts by hand, but I o remember the nuggets of wisdom my great-grandmother freely dispensed. I learned to value her opinions on women’s equality, education, relationships, and the arts. I learned to model her love for head-on living.

And I am grateful that she thought it only natural to feed a child’s insatiable curiosity with knowledge and hands-on experience.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. She is exploring her lineage with Jen Louden and other TeachNow participants.  Memories of Bo’s grandparents are in her thoughts often; she mentions them frequently in her gratitude journal.

 

 

 

Claiming My Lineage – My Grandfather

"Longenecker" Crabapple Blossoms

Crabapple Blossoms © 2013 Bo Mackison

“As a child, one has that magical capacity to move among the many eras of the earth; to see the land as an animal does; to experience the sky from the perspective of a flower or a bee; to feel the earth quiver and breathe beneath us; to know a hundred different smells of mud and listen unself-consciously to the soughing of the trees. We are continually articulating the intelligence of the planet, which has grown up through all the species. The whole earth lives within us, and in every moment, we are both its creators and discoverers. We only need to reawaken all these early memories.” ~ Valerie Andrews in A Passion for This Earth

*** Last week in Jen Louden’s TeachNow course, each participant was “invited to become a story gatherer and story creator.”  I jotted a few stories in my journal and that was that. This week, we are invited to “claim and own our authority and lineage” so that we can step into the teacher that we are (or are becoming). In order to claim my lineage, I recall past teachers in my life – childhood, youth, student, adult – and identify those people, places, books, experiences — positive and negative — that were influential in shaping the person I am today. This post combines both assignments.

I was blessed to grow up in a multigenerational home. I lived not only with my parents, but with my maternal grandparents and my grandmother’s mother. As an only child for much of my childhood, I had no age-mates for play, but I had devoted adults who were  always at the ready to nurture, instruct, and entertain.

My grandfather relished telling me the following story when I was a youngster. It was one of his favorite stories.

As a toddler, I was easy to watch whenever I spent time outdoors. My mother needed only to spread a quilt on the grassy lawn, remove my shoes and socks, and I never ventured into the stubbly grass. Mother delighted in this arrangement, as any mother of an intrepid, almost two-year-old explorer might. It gave her some down time when she could be near me, yet visit with friends or family, or simply read a magazine. But at some point, my wariness of all grassy spaces turned into a babysitting monster. I became fearful of the edge of the quilt and what was beyond. I began to limit my safe space to the very middle of the quilt. I refused to reach for toys near the quilt’s edge. Eventually I began to fuss whenever I was near grass of any sort.

My grandfather became troubled about my fear of grass. He was a gardener, devoted to the earth and plants that grew. He spent his daylight hours outside: tending his vegetable gardens; caring for a variety of flower beds — tulips, peonies, irises, roses; pruning his ornamental and nut trees; caring for the yard and exterior of the house; and deriving deep pleasure from the gifts of the land.

He decided to introduce me to his world. He wrapped me in my “safe” outside quilt and carried me to a garden space in the back recesses of the property. First, he picked a few blades of grass and offered them to me. I promptly grabbed them and took a taste. Then he set me on a few paving stones and stepped into the grassy field. When he told this story, he always claimed that he “danced a jig and sang a song,” I have no proof of this! Then he picked more blades of grass and pretended to nibble them. He claimed he made noises like a bunny, but again I have only his word, which is good enough for me.

Tiny Tulips

Tiny Tulips © 2013 Bo Mackison

Before long he was sitting in the grass, then lying on the grass, and finally rolling down the slight decline in the yard, chuckling all the way. It didn’t take much more coaxing on his part. Soon I was mimicking his actions. A tentative crouch to pick a blade of grass. Another taste. An accidental plop on my seat and I there I was, sitting in the grass. I began to fret. Then we noticed the violets, white clover, and dandelions aplenty. I became entranced with the flowers. We picked bouquets for Mother, Grandma, and Great-Grandma Prudie.

It didn’t take much more encouragement, nor many more days, before I was following Grandpa everywhere. Digging worms between the rows of tomatoes. Eating strawberries and green onions fresh from the garden. Watering the plants with a miniature watering can. When we rested, we leaned our backs against a hundred-year-old maple. In a few short weeks, I changed from a young child afraid of the outdoors to one enamored with her grandfather’s company and the outdoor’s infinite possibilities for exploration and discovery. I spent the next 12 summers working or playing in his gardens.

My grandfather was a truck driver and a factory worker until he retired shortly after I was born. But he was a gardener in his heart and soul. I consider my grandfather one of my first and finest teachers — the person who introduced me to his gardens and fostered in me a deep love for the earth. He was a nurturer, a gardener, an entertainer. And a mighty fine teacher!

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. She is exploring her lineage with Jen Louden and the other TeachNow participants.  Memories of Bo’s grandparents are in her thoughts often: they are mentioned in her gratitude journal daily.