Memories of Granny “O”
Last week I traveled to Connecticut with my mother and her siblings. The goal of the trip was to visit old homesteads of theirs and their family, as well as cemeteries. First stop was that of Granny “O’s” house, pictured. The new owner, of which name I will keep private was gracious and allowed us to enter her home after we explained why we wanted to take a picture of us on her front porch! It was a memorable experience for my mother and siblings.
Granny “O” as they call her was warm and inviting. Memories of her expressed by our small group as we walked through the house was softly revealed little by little. “Granny “O’s” kitchen was downstairs,” they said, “We used to walk down the sidewalk to the back to enter through the kitchen door. She sat right there in that corner in her rocker chewing her tobacco.”
Chewing her tobacco? I turned and looked at the corner and quickly took a picture.
“She used to spit in that sink,” one said. “No, she had a spittoon,” they other said. Spittoon?
Having seen one picture of Granny “O” I envisioned her in a plain dress, light in color, hemmed about midway between knees and ankles, sitting in the corner with snuff packed in her cheek as she smiled at her grandchildren coming through the door. Priceless!