Descriptive Essay : ' Grandma '

Slightly mournful, soft coos floated into the quiet bedroom; dove song borne along by the same gentle breeze which ruffled the white eyelet curtains. The aroma of frying bacon and homemade biscuits baking delighted my nose, overpowering my fleeting desire to stay snuggled in my cozy bed. I dressed quickly in the dim early morning light, I knew I could not appear at Grandma’s huge farm table in my pajamas. I joined my two brothers, Randy and Roger, along with my Grandpa at the chipped, white painted table. Grandma, dressed in a floral cotton housedress, her stockings rolled and tied at her knees, was stirring milk gravy in a black cast-iron skillet. Grandpa was first to be served a heaping plate of bacon, eggs, biscuits and gravy, followed by Randy and Roger. Grandma and I always ate last.
During our meal, she pronounced that she and I would be heading out to pick fresh greens as soon as the kitchen was set to order. I knew it was a momentous occasion because normally Randy, her preferred helper would have been her first choice. Picking wild spring greens was not a task Randy enjoyed and she knew being seventeen he would rather be doing just about anything else. I had gone along a few times although, never just Grandma and me. In my eleven-year old heart, I understood the importance of this first time alone with her. I did not know this “first time” would also be our last time.
I carried the white-enameled wash bowl and a brown paper grocery bag to Grandma’s rusty, red Plymouth Valiant. I sat in the coveted front seat for the very first time; being the youngest, I never had the opportunity to sit in the front. I was feeling pretty special as Grandma drove slowly down Mackyferry Road. Driving slow was a...

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... to caress the fragile, golden beauty growing there. I was completely delighted, I understood the gift Grandma had given me and I sensed this was a profoundly holy place and moment. I picked as many flowers as I could carry and made my way back to my waiting Grandmother.
My story didn’t seem to impress my brothers, my father or step-mother. I guess it was a “you have to be there” kind of thing. Grandma understood; it had been our adventure. She didn’t tell me how to feel about it nor did she try to explain it or define it. Being ever a practical woman, the mystical, magical moment ended when the work of cleaning the mound of greens began. Our experience ended and yet the gift of that day; continues to have life, to give life and love to me. Someday, I hope to know how she knew of her twenty-nine grandchildren, I was the one who would need this blessing.