My great-grandmother's gift

What began as a gentle nudge to write, turned into a thread connecting me to a woman I've always loved, and am only just beginning to know.

A few months ago, I found out that my great-grandmother was a writer. My heart skipped a beat when I learned this. For the past year, I had been feeling a quiet, persistent nudge to begin writing again. In that moment, it felt like I was reaching back through time, touching her hand- or perhaps she was reaching for me. Either way, I felt an immediate connection to her.

Growing up, we made two trips a year to visit my grandparents and great grandparents on their quaint little farm in Oregon. A place that could only be described as paradise to us kids. My stomach would fill with butterflies the moment our car turned onto the old dirt lane that led to the farm. So many of my happiest childhood memories are tucked inside that beautiful, peaceful place.

I knew my great-grandmother as well as a child could. I always looked forward to seeing her. I loved the way her house smelled like freshly canned green beans and homemade pie crust. How her cherry red couch and green carpet felt like home. Her jet black hair, barely touched with gray. Her hands, lined and worn from years of hard work and service to her family. The way we were always just a little extra polite around her, knowing she appreciated it. And her voice. I could recognize her voice anywhere.

I knew a lot about her, but I didn’t know she was a writer.

According to family, she loved to write poems that were playful and whimsical, often in the style of Dr. Seuss. Others she wrote were more reflective and nostalgic like the one I will share below.

I truly believe that we are closely connected with our family members who have passed on. I know they are close to us and that there are pieces of them- gifts, quirks, passions- that live on in us, whether we know it or not. I hope I can honor my sweet grandma June by carrying on her love of words and continue to learn about the great legacy she left behind.

Love,

June’s great-granddaughter

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My Mother’s Apron
By June E. Standley

My mother’s apron did many things.
Besides cover her everyday dress-
It was practical and very plain
Except for her Sunday best.

With it she wiped the children’s tears
And held them one by one.
She used it for a hot pad
When the cakes and pies were done.

She waved it at the neighbors
Who lived upon the hill.
She waved it to the hay hands
To come in and eat their meals.

It carried eggs and chicks
From the nest-
A wrap in cold weather
Held close to her breast.

Oh how that apron could dust.
When she heard company on the lane
in the cold, cold days of Winter
She cleaned frost from the window panes.

She tied an apron around me
While making cookies for dad-
But the best aprons by far
Were the ones my grandmother had!