Ever so precious young'uns

By CHRISTINE TAILER
HCP columnist

I held her in my arms. She was so very small, my newest granddaughter.

I felt my heart melt and knew that I did not want to ever let her go. She nestled into my arms so perfectly.

I smoothed the wisps of hair on top of her head as her big sister looked on. "Come here Nana. Come see my new bedroom!"

I followed her downstairs. There on the shelves were the treasures that we had given her over the years, the wooden teddy bear that I had painted, the pink hat onto which I had sewed butterfly and dragon patches, a photo of her father as a little boy.

She showed me her latest feather art project. It was beautiful. She gave me a tour of the cardboard secret house that her father had built and carefully taped to the wall in the corner of her room. She could sit inside and nobody could see her.

I could tell without a doubt that she was very proud of her new space, as she explained ever so earnestly that her room was a whole floor away from her parents' room, but the baby had to sleep right next door. She was a big sister now.

We returned to the living room. The baby passed from arm to arm, including those of her big sister, as we took turns eating a sumptuous carry-out dinner, self-served from the kitchen counter, buffet style. A warm room and happy talk of old memories and new dreams, all rolled up into the moment.

The time passed quickly. I blinked and the weekend was gone and it was time to return to the farm.

On the drive home, as I passed through the mountains, I saw snow covering the fields off to the side of the road. A chill wind blew when I stopped for gas, but I barely felt it.

As I got back into the car and snapped on my seat belt, I felt secure as I warmly imagined a summer day, not too far away, when all of the grandchildren would come for a visit and laugh and play at with us at the farm.

We would look for fossils in the creek and cover ourselves with the grey clay. We would pick wild flower bouquets and set them on the table before dinner. We would gather the salad fixings from the garden and then sit around the porch table exclaiming over every bite.

After dinner, we would pull chairs up to the fire circle and watch as Papaw lit the kindling. We would marvel as sparks danced up into the night sky, and then, when the fire died down, we would tell stories, and watch as the embers glowed warmly in the summer night.

The road ran on ahead of me, leading me home, across the mountains, as I happily dreamed of memories yet to be made. Memories shared with my ever so precious young'uns, no doubt some of whom are still just fire fly sparkles in their grandmothers' eyes.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.

We would look for fossils in the creek and cover ourselves with the grey clay. We would pick wild flower bouquets and set them on the table before dinner. We would gather the salad fixings from the garden and then sit around the porch table exclaiming over every bite.

After dinner, we would pull chairs up to the fire circle and watch as Papaw lit the kindling. We would marvel as sparks danced up into the night sky, and then, when the fire died down, we would tell stories, and watch as the embers glowed warmly in the summer night.

The road ran on ahead of me, leading me home, across the mountains, as I happily dreamed of memories yet to be made. Memories shared with my ever so precious young'uns, no doubt some of whom are still just fire fly sparkles in their grandmothers' eyes.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.