My parents both came from rough shod backgrounds. They grew up by the ‘skin of their teeth’, as they used to phrase it. But they were smart enough to find mentors when they married. These two people, that befriended my parents, became my surrogate grandparents. Even though they weren’t the real McCoy, they treated my brothers’ and me as their own.
Horace and Christine Gage embraced people with love, such of which the breadth and girth is undefined, so great that it was.
My dad’s father passed away when he was an infant and never knew the love of a daddy till he met Gram pa. Gram pa taught him many things in very visual ways. Dad said it was the closest he has ever had as a dad
Although these two wonderful people are now residing in heavenly places, my memories remain in their home and out line my desires in life.
Gram mom and Gram pa had a sweet old fashioned house that Gram pa’s dad and he had built when they moved to little town Pennsylvania from Philly. The house was a crisp white with a dark green trim, indigenous to the area Welsh houses.
Gram mom’s house was always pleasantly warm, open and sweet smelling. She spent her earlier years as a Home Economics teacher and even after she retired she continued to sew, cook and teach all the neighborhood girls to do the same. She was always patient and kind and never criticized your work.
Gram mom and Gram pa had a garden that was rich with flavors. Their plants were always large and abundant with fruit and vegetables which Gram mom canned or froze all summer long. Their garden was always tended to naturally, no insecticides or man made fertilizers. Gram pa took his time and rotated his crops, in his garden, which gave the soil a rest between and let it stock its minerals.
Their garden consisted of every vegetable capable of growing in the area and it was skirted by fruits and berries. The yard was flanked with trellises of roses and grape vines that were pruned to perfection. I delighted in the knowledge that I was able to have strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, blueberries and gooseberries any time I wanted. Rhubarb grew along side of the back of the house and the yard was sprinkled with fruit baring trees.
I would sit under a blossoming cherry tree, next to the rain barrel, in an Adirondack chair sipping cool lemonade on a hot summer’s day. I can still picture that yard and the sweet delightful aroma of growing life and I often thought that Gram ma and Gram pa understood what Eden must have been like.
Inside there was a sunroom where Gram pa, a retired dentist, had a huge swing arm magnifying glass. I have seen so many things up close under that device and have had nasty splinters removed easily because of it. It also housed a large davenport, which I learned was a couch of sorts that Gram pa could be found napping after his lunch. They had a set of wooden blocks that housed hundreds of different shapes in which we spent many days building and creating architectural designs. Gram pa had many unusual and delightful games he had collected in their travels and he was always up to a challenge.
Gram ma’s house was full of memories and I would ask of them all, a handsome picture of their son who died in the Vietnam war, the many odd artifacts that were given to them from one of her daughter who is in missions and traveled globally, the pictures of her grandchildren who I was invited up to play with when they came to visit, a large conch shell that voiced the ocean inside, and her collection of Eskimo and Indian babies that she sheltered in a dark oak cabinet that her daddy built for her when she was married.
There was a visiting room, a front room, where the chairs and couch were regal and high-backed with ornate legs and arms. I was told that they were old and special and passed down in Grams family and were only used for special guests. This room had a painting that captivated me. It was a small but intricate picture of a castle in England; I often twirled dream-stories about it in my head. There was a round windowed corner in this room just big enough for an elegant stand on which perched the most extraordinary plant that had long white furry stems under its leafy foliage. Gram ma told me it was called a rabbit’s foot fern, and indeed it did look as such.
Gram ma had a foyer at the top of the staircase leading to bedrooms, this contained two day beds and the most wonderful bookcase. I was given permission to sit on the bed and read Gram ma’s books. Since I was a creature of the outdoors, I am sure I was quite ratty at times in attire and cleanliness, so it was habit to wash my hands when I came into the house and most importantly before reading a book. I know now that much of these books were priceless and original productions. I recall the tenderness of pages and the yellowed edges.
I read and filled my mind of far off places and learned things that I may never have acquired had I not met these works of written art. This was my first visit with Heidi, Alice in Wonderland, and Little Women, among other literary delights.
Gram ma and Gram pas’ family were distinctly different. Her daughter Elizabeth and William lived in Maine and they were a robust fun filled family whose children were olive toned and red cheeked. Their play was much like what I was used to, digging in creeks for clay, catching crawdads, kick ball and bike riding. They consisted of two boys and a girl my age, named Kathy, I enjoyed them immensely. They were unlike Christine and Charles, who were from the upper part of Philadelphia. Their two daughters brought the shy part of me out. Ruthie and Frannie were dark haired and white as ghosts. I had never seen anyone so pale. They always wore dresses and talked with a rich full accent. They were elegant and made me feel clumsy, yet were always friendly and liked to take me under wing and teach me something new about the arts and theatre and such things that I had yet to know existed. They giggled much over my slang and I would tell them things I knew about the Amish, about the country and the simple things I did. They would listen to my stories and their eyes would dance in merriment over my ‘scandals’ as they called them. My folks referred to them as ‘shenanigans’. I believe we entertained each other well.
When I left off for college I guess I never thought of Gram ma and Gram pa being anywhere but home. But shortly there after I received a call that Gram pa passed away. I often had a reoccurring dream about Gram pa after that, it was haunting yet sweet. I think it was my way of slowly letting him go instead of the sudden release.
Gram pa and Gram pa Gage were the definition of the term ‘God loving’ people. They represented Christ through their lifestyle and actions. Gram ma never ever made us feel unwelcome, if she had guests she introduced you and acted as if you were as special to her as they were.
They were married for over 50 years, and Gram would always say that she missed her sweet man and can’t wait to get to heaven to see him again.
Gram ma stayed alive well after I married and she met my girls. The gardens weren’t as big but the crops were sweet and Gram had them to offer. She loved all that came through her door and was Gram to many who had much and who had nothing to their name.
Gram would often sew clothing for the unfortunate children along with the others. I had many outfits that I helped Gram ma make for myself, and suddenly neighborhood children had sweet clothes in place of the run off clothing they had previously and since Gram had you sew along with her, it never seemed like charity but strictly love.
Slowly Gram ma’s mind wandered and a few years ago my mother called to tell me that her daughter came and took her home. It wasn’t long after that that Gram joined Gram pa in heaven. The last time I was at mom and dads we drove by their adoring home. It had changed so much that a part of me grieved. The stately colonial now is decked in a tan vinyl with dark rust shutters; a deck stretches out the back yard eliminating the luscious berries and where the gardens once abundantly fed the neighbor hood, now graces a pool.
Although the change was large, I could still see myself sitting in the back listening to the drone of honey bees fertilizing the plants, the soft whir of the sprinkler satisfying the thirst of a well tended garden, the flirting of a butterfly on the tip of the grape vines, and the soft voices of my Gram ma and Gram pa sharing their love.
