Grandma Bullard

By Lena Carroll

(Previously published in Hobbies, Etc., parent publication of Pencil Stubs Online.)

My dearest memories  of childhood, Are lessons not learned from books.

            To learn “lessons of nature,” You must visit her hidden nooks!

On flowers in early morning, Dewdrops like diamonds shone.

            Then comes the sun of noonday, It almost seems unkind.

And, yet, there are the places, The sunshine can’t peak in.

            The flowers are all sickly, So colorless and thin.

It takes dewdrops and sunshine, This is their lesson told.

            To wake the loveliest of flowers. And this was the lesson taught me,

By a Grandma wise and old, A Grandma tiny and precious,

            Her worth not measured by size.

Then that wise old Grandma ,Would look around and nod;

            And say, “Nature and all of its beauties, Were given to us by God.”

"Mydear,” she’d finally mention, “I thought that maybe we could,

            Gather up some of the nice dry drifts , that make such good fire wood.”

We’d gather up the drift wood; pile it all up, high and dry,

            Stacks of it in small bundles, To carry as we came back by.

All too soon the day is ended. Grandma said that we must go.

            The chickens will be hungry--And there’s supper to cook, you know.

So, back up the hill we started, Each of us bent with a pack.

            And, the road we had traveled so gaily, Was twice as far now, coming back.

Then, Grandma would ask her question, It always was her way.

            “I’m so glad you came to visit--Have you had fun today?”

Then, I would grin and tell her, “Grandma, I think you’re mean,

            To spoil a wonderful visit with all the driftwood to be seen.”

Then she would nod so sagely, And tell me straight from her heart,

            That the way she lived her life, Was always doing her part.

And, then, I can hear her now, As with thoughtful eyes she’d say,

            “My dear, whoever dances, Always the piper must pay."

That was many long year ago, That I, as a careless child,

            Was always taught by Grandma, Lessons Thoughtful but mild.

So, with a smile of knowing, Grandma her apron would shed.

            She’d say, “Why, dear, I’m glad you came. I’m tired of the stove and bed.

We will go to the river just now, The day is right to roam.

            This lovely day wasn’t given, To spend just working at home.”

Then down the hill we’d wander, And over the old stone wall,

            Carefree, gay and happy, With never a worry at all.

Grandma would tell me stories, Of all the birds we’d see,

            Of fairies and flowers and elfins. A new world she’d open to me.

© circa 1948 Lena May Carroll