One hundred and two years ago my maternal Grandmother was born on September 26, 1911. The daughter of a farmer and his wife. For eighteen months she would feel safe and loved, then her mother would die.
This photo was taken when she was two or three. By that time she was living with her father’s sister, a lady they called Grandma Anderson. Menfolk couldn’t be bothered with a girl. Later her father would order up a mail order bride to really mess the family up.
Depending on your birth order, you remember different things. Take for instance my baby brother and I. I remember Grandma teaching me how to gut a chicken and clean the heart, liver and gizzard very carefully. My brother remembers her grabbing a chicken and wringing it’s neck. ( I think he said at the time he told me about that memory “ Not exactly warm and fuzzy feelings about the little old lady that is your Grandma.”)
I have no doubt that his memory is as good as mine is…both things happened...at different times seen by different children.
When I think of Grandma, I think kitchen and cooking and lemon bars, Russian Dill pickles, apples and raisins in the dressing at Thanksgiving, and fresh peas and potatoes in white sauce in the summer. My brother and the rest of my siblings probably don’t remember all those good foods…or perhaps they had their own favorites.
Grandma in 1990, she would live another five years until 1995. I am pretty sure she was at Aunt Leila's in this photo ( Grandpa’s sister). Land sakes alive someone had crochet/knit up a storm!
Somewhere along the line, I think my Mother took a photo of the town named after Grandma. It was either my Mother or my brother…I think this is Elsie, Oregon.
Grandma would die before the name Elsie became popular again. She has a Great Great Granddaughter named Elsie now. I think that would have pleased her:)