A Quilt of Love.
The sun streaked through the window as as the rooster crowed.I pried my eyes
open as the familiar scent of crisp bacon and hot coffee brewing filtered up the stairs.
The heavy quilt stifled my movements, and yet I felt safety and security under the bed, nestled under the heavy quilt.
The kitchen is the bustling centre of activity at Grandma's house.I would leap down the stairs to find a bottomless platter of bacon and a heaping plate of farm fresh eggs.Despite the abundance of food, my mind is focused on a special treat, limited to Grandma's house, coffee.
She used her special recipe consisting of one quarter coffee, three quarters milk, a spoonful of sugar, and a heap of love.I sat proudly and sipped the nectar, thinking how adult I am being.Grandma knows, I'm special.
After breakfast I would follow Grandma to the hen house.She would walk right up and bravely stick her arm under a hen to retrieve an egg. (` I only collected eggs unguarded. ).When the rooster charged towards us, she would shoo him away, never once flinching. I knew nothing could ever scare her.
It was a special treat when baby chic's had hatched. We would enter the special building, warmed by the softly glowing lights, to find rolling waves of fluffy, soft yellow. The little chics were excited as they peeped their songs in unison. They too must have recognised the twinkling love in her clear blue eyes.
We took the eggs we had gathered to the back porch. There she prepared them to be sold. She would clean each egg and hold it to the light to carefully examine it.
" Grandma, why do you that ? " I inquired.
She replied in a voice that crackled from age, yet was certain from experience,
" To make sure there are no baby chic's growing in the shell ". I knew there was no wiser one than she.
The garden was hidden from the house by giant dancing sunflower plants. Lilacs laced the air.
Everything in Grandma's garden grew bigger and better than anywhere else. Even the plants must recognise and respect this woman.
We picked all my favorites. We would snap the crisp green beens off of the plants, selecting the largest of the abundant pods. We walked down the rows of hovering corn stalks, peeling back tassels to select the sweetest, juiciest ears. The earth had a special musky smell, easily noticed as we dug up potatoes, and plucked the huge red tomatoes from the vines.
We took our treasures to the back porch to shuck the corn and snap the beans.
Grandma's hands flew as fast as a pounding jackhammer. I could not start to keep up with her.
She would then go to start supper. Since she is the worlds foremost cooking authority, my supervision wasn't required. Instead I would explore.
Chasing kittens through the yard, I headed to the barn to explore the loft. I would bravely challenge the territorial boundaries of the wasps living there. Standing in the open door of the loft I had a panoramic view of the farm. It stretched as far as I could see.
