OMG, these two were a piece of work if I've ever seen one. Henry and Emma were my great-grandparents on my father's side. I had the wonderful privilege of knowing Henry until I was 17 and Emma until I was in my late 20's. They gave me more insight into my family heritage than I care to think about today...
Henry was short, only 5-foot tall at the most, Emma was even shorter, even in those little old lady heels she loved to wear. If you tried to hug either one of them you just ended up grabbing open air. In profile he looked remarkably like Woody Woodpecker and face-on she bore a striking resemblance to a dried currant. I swear, she had a face like a topographic map!!! He "puttered" and she canned everything she could lay her hands on. And they both gardened like crazy. The stuff that they grew on that farm was amazing.
Henry was the more "ribald" one. He loved to tell jokes, especially bad ones. He loved a shot of whiskey to "keep him moving" and cigars. Cheap ones. REALLY cheap ones. His workshop was mind-blowing, he loved to make lawn ornaments and he would paint absolutely anything he could lay a brush to. He wore suspenders. And a belt. At the same time. Apparently that 18 inch zipper in the old man pants he wore that came up to nipples must have been really heavy. Up until the time he lost his corneas to cataract surgery he drove a 1957 Plymouth Savoy sedan. Two-tone swimming pool blue. Inside and out. Three on the tree. After that it was glasses with Coke bottle lenses. Of course until the day he died he would go out to the garage once a month and fire that car up just to keep it in running condition. With the garage doors closed. The tires eventually gave up the ghost under the weight of that behemoth but he still kept her in "running condition". Once every six months or so he would have my uncle bring him another 5 gallon can of gas so he could keep her "filled up and ready to go".
Emma was a bit more reserved. She cooked. She canned. Oh god, did she can!!! You name it and she could put it in a Mason jar and preserve it. Her jams were amazing. And everything was from the farm. They grew so much stuff in that garden you could have fattened up Haiti. Her blackberry preserves brought me to my knees and her apple-butter made be pray to a god I didn't even believe in. I would sell what's left of my soul to have those recipes. She taught me how to make homemade noodles and how to can. In the summer kitchen. While we kept an eye on the sheep in the front yard. And shared slices of fresh apples from the trees in the back yard that we dipped in her fresh caramel. Life was so good... And she had a "thing" for salt and pepper shakers. Over 1200 pairs of those things. They were freaking everywhere. Henry built her display cases all over that house. She loved those things. They were from all over the world...
Emma found Henry dead in the workshop one afternoon in 1971. With a paint brush laying next to him. He died doing what he loved best, puttering. I can't think of a better way to go.
Emma live for another 11 years and died in the house that she was born in and that she and Henry had expanded after they had gotten married. The original house was actually a two "room" sod house that her parents had built when they homesteaded the forty acres they were given to develop. She and her younger sister, great-great aunt Betty were born in that house. As were grandpa Glenn and his younger brother Everett. And my dad and his older sister Jeanne. And Aunt Jeanne's three kids. They tried desperately to have me born there too, but I just wasn't ready to have that happen I guess. I came along 3 weeks later in Arkansas. OK, stop laughing. I'm a Southerner and I know it...
In 2000 grandpa Glen died and I went back for his funeral. It was a much needed catch-up time for all of us. At one point a cousin of mine mentioned that a lot of the framed pictures from Henry and Emma's house were upstairs in storage in the attic so we went to take a look. I found amazing stuff and suggested that we should take these things into have copy negatives made of the originals so we could preserve them. I started popping these things out of the frames to get a better look at them. When I opened what they told me was Henry and Emma's wedding portrait I was amazed. I actually found their wedding certificate!!! What I saw next blew all of us away.
We had always known that there was an age difference between them. But we finally discovered which way it went. Henry wasn't Emma's senior, she was his. She was 21 when they got married. He was 14. FOURTEEN!!! FOURTEEN!!! My great-grandmother wasn't just "landed gentry" she was a freaking cradle robber!!! With forty acres, a house and some grazing land. And a boy-toy. Wow!!! How southern is that!!!
As my cousins, Debbie and Becky, lay up in the attic, on their backs, doing a deer in headlights thing I calmly walked downstairs and cracked open another half case of wine. The family was gonna need it. Fasten your seat belts, folks, it's gonna be a bumpy night... Great-grandma Emma was a MILF!!! With a taste for veal... Baby veal...
Oh, god, I am SO from the South...
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