If memories were kept in time capsules, I would say there would be a great number of mine buried in my grandparents town. A little town hidden in lush rolling green, this place is magic for a child. I literally ran in fields polka dotted with hay bales and stomped through snow as high as my waist as in my mind, most of my childhood's most precious moments with family were born here.
This is my grandparents front porch now, an inviting playground for hummingbirds and dancing bees, but in my time capsule, they lived right up the giant hill past the church where I was baptized, around the bend to the left of the fork of the road in the white farmhouse that still brings tears of sentiment to my eyes.
Ellie, my two sisters, my mom and I drove up yesterday for just a quick visit, full of laughter, many moments of joyous and reminiscent tears and chicken pot pie. I wonder what her time capsule will be someday, ice cream with Nana and Papa, perhaps? Playing records with Grandma and Grandpa? But yesterday, I was reveling in my own moments, trying to catch glimpses with a lens to share my stories with her someday.
Pop was on the porch when we pulled up, Grandma soon out the door. Their home is special, just one house in from the stop sign that marks the top of the rise from the railroad crossing that created this special place.
And soon after our hugs and kisses, we walked to go pick fresh vegetables from Grandma's garden to munch on with lunch.
Past the schoolhouse converted by distant cousins to a Bed and Breakfast. Its romance is in the quilts in nearly every corner, schoolhouse benches across from high rising beds in creaky wood-floored rooms. Precious and alluring.
Grandma's garden is in my Granny Annie's old backyard. In my time capsule of memories, you could smell Granny Annie's homemade bread from the walk up; in fact, I don't remember going to my Granny Annie's without something on the woodburning stove or in the oven. Usually one of her sons was at the table too, or came in soon after with something freshly hunted, ready for Granny's deep freezer. Granny had tall narrow steps to her mysterious upstairs, we cousins would slide down them on our rumps time after time, usually bumping into the wall at the bottom, losing ourselves in laughter at the thrill.
Today, it's quiet. Someday, maybe, it will be full of memories for someone else again.
When my grandpa sat down while we girls flitted about the garden, I watched him, the most carefully observant, genuinely caring, servant-hearted man I will ever know. The surgery, stroke and healing after that changed his life and our appreciation of every single precious word he shares with us now happened just the week before Easter, nearly seven years ago I believe. Chris and I had only been dating three or four months, and I remember a phone call from my own momma while I was flirting with my boyfriend in his fraternity house. Lighthearted conversation ceased and the tone and mood of the evening quickly became quite somber. I sat for several hours on the phone with my mom, crying with her, waiting for her while she would step away for a moment for the most recent update. Chris immediately became the shield for any unknowing, uncaring, ridiculous frat brothers who might burst through the door or create too much ruckus in the hallway. He kept his arm around me, keeping my tucked in away from anything that shouldn't be a part of these moments. The only time he got up for the entire conversation was to let some boys in the hallway know, more directly than politely, that they were too loud and needed to respect my privacy and phone call. In spite of the pain and sorrow of the evening, that was the night I fell in love with my husband.
My grandma is strong and beautiful. Somehow the fact that she plants marigolds next to her plants to keep the hungry bugs away makes her even more strong and beautiful in my eyes. Another little memory to put in my time capsule.
My grandma is so smart too. A former nurse, her knowledge extends far beyond the intricate health of the body, far beyond the blooms of perennials and annuals, it's practically endless in her granddaughter's eyes. She teaches and models and guides in all she does.
We also visited the retired gas station across the street...
A carefully placed park bench decorating the entrance, dedicated to my Great-Grandma Gussie, also an Ethel resident. I loved the way Grandma Gussie smelled. She was sweet and gentle and delicate and soft-spoken. My Pop writes beautiful stories about her, entitles them, Lady. A perfect title for a story about her.
This retired gas station has greater ambitions now, soon to be a place for ice cream, maybe served by my cousin...
But until then, it also serves as my uncle's art studio...
Home of creative brainstorming...
And masterpieces...
And this gas station is also a sort of stash for precious town memories, like the sign for my grandma's quilt and sweets shop just up the road...
My sister stayed in this tiny town for a week when she was almost ten. She made smoothies for the customers and got plenty of tips. We all have our own special time capsule memories.
And as much as we new mommies try to create and compile those time capsules for our babies, it's probably going to be the moments they capture on their own that they'll stash away. Perhaps the kitty, Chester, that Ellie was so very fascinated with...
Yes, perhaps he will be in her time capsule.
But maybe not. But he's stashed away in mine, now. Along with the other mementos I've rambled on and on about...
Who knows what will be in Ellie's... probably dreams and things I've not yet even begun to dream up, some bitter, some sweet, hopefully mostly sweet, most likely laced with the sweet love of family.
