.
My Grandfather
grew up on a small farm in Ephraim. He was born there, and his parents died
there. I lived in their home on the farm for several years during my childhood.
There was an antique barn and several sheds full of treasures, complete with
broken down old tractors and tools. I spent a lot of time exploring the
property, creating significant memories. My Grandparents chose to sell the old
family farm to fund the building of their dream home, a brand new structure
typical of suburban developments. Several years later, my Grandpa was diagnosed
with cancer. He quickly passed away. Unfortunately, shortly after the farm was
sold, the new owners destroyed it. They tore out all of the trees and lilac
bushes, broke the windows, and we watched as the home slowly deteriorated.
Eventually, the house, barn, and sheds were demolished and the rubble hauled
away. The land now sits empty and uncared for with only a few scraps of stone,
wood, and metal to hint at the life that once was there.
I have always felt a deep connection to my
Great Grandparents even though they died long before I was born. Perhaps it is
because I was able to spend so much time in their home surrounded by things
that they loved. Places, particularly homes, soak up the life, love and memory
of those who have resided there. I was able to call their home my home, a
connection that transcends time. Even now with the house no longer standing, I
am fortunate to have a collection of their things. Things that were used in
that home, things that remind me of my childhood and connect me to the past. There
is a phenomenon that occurs when one is reunited with objects of the past. The
textures, smells, and sounds of objects all work together to prompt memories
and create stories. Without these objects, some memories might otherwise be
forgotten or never realized. These objects hint at the life my ancestors lived
and act as a portal to the past, allowing me to recreate experiences or imagine
them for the first time. These objects have become irreplaceable.
This roasting pan belonged to my Great Grandmother. She used
it to prepare meals for her family, including my Grandpa. He was a tall man
with a workers build. Strong and sturdy with feet and hands capable of carrying
a heavy load. I remember his hands very well. They were calloused and big and
gentle. He was the gentlest man I’ve ever known. This roaster had a role in
preparing the meals that enabled him to grow into the gentle giant that he was.
I can remember sitting in church with my Grandpa when I was
about 4 or 5 years old. He wore a suit, and in the pocket of his suit, he
always had candy. I used to call him “Candy Grandpa”. I remember sitting on his lap looking up at
him, noticing the grey hair in his nose and ears, and the way he smiled and
held back a chuckle when I asked him about it. Church was a big part of his
life, he had solid beliefs and convictions. In his humble quiet way he made it
clear to everyone that he was a man of faith. These shoes took him to his
church meetings and carried him back home to his family.
This spoon was given to my Mom by her Dad shortly before he
died. He told her it belonged to his Mom and that she used it in the kitchen
regularly. He said it was the thing that both he and his brother wanted most after
she passed away, but his brother was nice so he let my Grandpa have it. It is
hard to imagine that there was a moment in which my Grandpa was not the nicest
person in the room. That speaks volumes about the kind of man his brother must
have been. I often think about my Great Grandma, even though she died when my
mom was just a baby. I often wonder what kind of a woman she was to have raised
two boys who were such gentlemen. She raised them on her own after her husband
passed away when the kids were still young. I imagine her kind and gentle but
very strong.
My Grandpa frequently wore a hat when he was hard at work,
which was often. He and my Grandma spent years dreaming up a home in Manti. In
the last few years before he died he was able to make that dream a reality. He
designed it, built it and loved it. He was diagnosed with cancer and passed
away just as the finishing touches were being put on the house. His hats are
all well worn, dirty, paint splattered, and torn, evidence of the hard work and
love he poured into that home.
These dog salt and pepper shakers belonged to my Great
Grandmother. I doubt that they were used much, as they don’t show any signs of
wear. She probably displayed them somewhere in her home. Likely on the mantle
near the wood burning stove that was in her living room. When my family lived
in that home, many years later, my mom displayed these among her own
knick-knacks on that mantle.
My mom found this toy in one of the sheds at my Grandpa’s
old farm. When she showed it to him, it struck a memory and he said that he
remembered playing with it as a child. His family did not have a lot of money;
it would have been one of very few toys that he owned. He learned to work hard
at a young age, his Father passed away when my Grandpa was only seven. Having
boys of my own that are about that age now, makes that situation even more
heartbreaking. I can’t imagine them being hit with such tragedy. I wonder if
this toy may have kept him company during the sad days after his father passed
away.
This miniature stove belonged to my Great Grandmother. She
kept it as a decoration. It is similar to the actual stove that was originally
in her home. At some point the stove was moved out of the house and into a
nearby shed. I spent hours playing with that big antique stove, not having any
idea how rare it was to have one, or how much money it was probably worth, but
treasuring it nonetheless.
I can remember there
being a big antique Bible in the home that belonged to my Great Grandparents. I
imagine my Great Grandma using these glasses to read passages of scripture to
her boys, instilling her beliefs into them. I can’t help but wonder what other
books she read them, what else helped to shape them into the men they became.
My Grandpa used to love retelling the stories of Brer Rabbit, I wonder if his mother read that to him. I
remember sitting in the living room surrounded by cousins, listening to him
tell stories complete with unique voices for each character and facial expressions
that only he could make. I loved laughing along with him.
My Grandpa moved away from Ephraim as an adult, he joined
the military, and had a variety of other jobs that kept him away. But he was
always a farm boy at heart. Overalls and suspenders were everyday attire for
him. I can remember him hooking up a little trailer to an old ATV type tractor,
wearing his overalls. He lined the trailer with blankets and attached a few
simple decorations to the sides creating a mini parade. He let each of the grandkids
take a turn riding in the trailer, throwing candy. He was always willing to
create fun memories for us.
There were a number of old sheds on the little farm where my
Grandpa grew up. Several of them had multiple rooms with doors and windows. I
can remember the way the doorknobs felt. They were small, smooth, but rusty
around the edges, and covered in a greasy layer of dust. I loved exploring
those old sheds. I found a variety of items there, I especially remember
finding old chicken feeders, and grain scoops. I always felt like I was
discovering something special. There seemed to always be chickens on that old
farm. Some of those chickens became my pets, I used to sneak them into my
bedroom and dress them in doll clothes. I watched them grow from tiny chicks
into big adult birds.
My Grandpa worked for an explosives company called, Ireco.
They gave him a lot of company merchandise over the years. Everything from belt
buckles, to hats, mugs, pens, and note pads. He incorporated it all into his
style. It seemed like Ireco became his personal brand. After he passed away a
lot of the family ended up with these items. They have become some of my
favorite keepsakes, reminding me of how humble and practical he was.
This was my Grandpa’s first pocket knife given to him when he
was young. Having boys of my own, I know what a significant rite of passage
this knife must have been. My Grandpa loved to take all of the family camping
for reunions. I remember him sitting by the fire, using a pocket knife to
whittle the end of a stick that would become a marshmallow roaster. Soon each
child would be sticky with marshmallows and the family would start to sing as
my Grandma passed out glow sticks. These events were the highlight of many of
my summers.
This box of rusty little trinkets is a mixed collection of
small items found at the old family farm, as well as other places. They were
gathered by my Mom and Grandpa as they found them. Their love for antiques is
something that they have is common, the older and rustier the better. I have
also inherited a love for these types of things. I like to imagine up stories
about what they might have been. The mystery of such items is intriguing.
Knowing that part of myself was passed on to me through my Mom, from my
Grandpa, creates a feeling of unity and belonging.
The focal point of my Great Grandparents home was a
beautiful wood burning stove. My family spent winters relying on it for heat. I
loved to play with the tools, the pokers, and little shovels. I learned how to
light a fire there. I remember standing in front of it early in the morning
before school, heating my clothes so that they would be warm when I put them
on. There was a vent in the ceiling above the fireplace that allowed the heat
to travel upstairs. I used to lay on the floor face down over that vent. I
still remember the way the warm grate felt against my face, and the musty smell
of floorboards, looking down into the living room below.
This was my Great Grandmothers sewing basket. It still
contains everything that was in it at the time of her death. Among scraps of fabric, zippers, thread,
needles, and buttons, there is a quote cut out from a magazine. It reads, “Only the heart knows how to find what is
precious.” Fyodor Dostoyevsky. How fitting. I imagine her lovingly mending
the holes that were sure to appear frequently in her sons clothing. Reattaching
buttons, letting out the seams in pants they were outgrowing, sewing handsome
new outfits to wear to church or school. Making quilts to warm her family.
Sewing items that I am sure were precious to her heart.
Among all of the items that could be found in the sheds, old
tools were the most common. Most of them had belonged to my Great Grandfather. I
imagine him fixing his tractors when they broke down, mending fences, building
sheds, chopping wood, irrigating his crops. There is no doubt that he was a
hardworking man. Evidence of his work ethic can still be found among the
remains of the home. Sadly, he passed away much too young, the cause of death
is uncertain but most likely cancer. He left behind a widow and two young boys.
I have several photographs of him, wearing overalls, standing with the same
posture that my Grandpa had. It’s amazing at how many similarities there seem
to be between them, even though my Grandpa was so young when his father died.
In the early years of my Great Grandparents marriage, before
they were able to have any children of their own, they were asked to take a
baby girl into foster care. The baby’s mother had a severe case of postpartum
depression that caused her to become unable to care for her baby girl. My Great
Grandma very willingly took the baby and loved her as her own. She had her for
nearly two years, when the mother came back for her daughter, having made a
full recovery. It broke my Great Grandmas heart to say goodbye to that little
girl. Some years later she was able to have children, two boys joined their
family, but she was never blessed with a girl. This dress is the only remaining
piece of evidence that there was ever a baby girl in that home, there are no
records to show who she was or how to find her. My Grandpa and his brother
never met the baby girl that their mother loved so dearly.
My Grandpa served in the Army for two years. This was his
military duffle bag. The bag helped him carry his belongings from place to
place while he was away from home. The bag is now at my parents house, it is
frequently used for outdoor adventures. I love the idea of using the same
duffel bag to transport our necessities from place to place. My Grandpa loved a
good adventure, I imagine him watching us happily as we use his bag to have
adventures of our own.
The barn was the focal point of
the farm. At the peak of the barn there was a pulley with ropes, used for
lifting heavy objects into the loft. In my childhood, the barn was old, pieces
of the roof were missing, some of the wood slats were rotting and broken, but
it was still sturdy enough to be used. I played in the barn often. I climbed up
the ropes to play in the loft. There were deer that would come into the barn to
find shelter, sleep, and eat the old hay. I loved discovering signs of them
being there. A few times I snuck into the barn at night, hoping to catch a
glimpse of the deer. I remember sitting up in the loft, surrounded by darkness,
in the cold nighttime air, just listening. There was a still peaceful feeling
in that old barn.
