A few of the memories from my childhood that have stayed with me are of the trips I took with my father's mother 'down to the country' to buy eggs and occasionally raw milk. When I was older and thought about these trips, I wondered why she drove her Chrysler sedan from Lakewood, Ohio to Medina, a 50+ miles round trip, to buy a dozen eggs that she could have purchased from the A&P a few blocks from her home. In retrospect, I now think I understand.
She might have argued that the eggs were fresher, (they were also from free-range hens, though not an issue then), and that the unpasteurized milk was better for baking, (her frosted sugar cookies were without peer), but I now believe these were just sub-texts to the real story.
These day trips gave us unique time together apart from parents and cousins, time for her to get to know me, to watch me explore the farm with all of its wonders, to marvel at my growing up, to make a special place in her heart for me.
There was a legacy from these journeys to the country that I did not realize until later in life. I was living in a rural area, (when I could, I chose to live in farm country), out of work with a wife and three children to support and within two weeks of having to move out from the rental we were occupying when I had the chance to hire on as a dairy-hand on a large dairy farm. The plethora of scents—freshly fitted ground, new mown hay, grain in the mangers, large animal sweat, even manure—were familiar and touched with nostalgia. I enjoyed farming, though the work was often hard and uncomfortable, probably because of these excursions with grandma.
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www.bfoswaldauthor.com
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