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Hollerin’ for Grandmother Where I grew up was nothing more than a wide place in the road. We were dairy farmers and lived near my dad’s parents. My mother and grandmother were “stay at home wives.” They did the child rearing and most of the rest. It was a known fact to us children that if you wanted to go to Grandmother’s house you had to complete two very crucial tasks: You had to convince Mom that Grandmother wanted to see us very badly, and that Grandmother would meet us at the field gate. After a phone call, you completed the first task. Now for the fun part. We would leave our house and climb the hill from the backyard. We would cross the cow pasture and come to our “hollerin spot.” From here we could see Grandmother’s house. We hollered in unison to let Grandmother know we were there. She would come from the house, her apron strings in the wind, and walk the quarter mile up the dirt drive and meet us. As we passed the milk barn back to the house we would tell her of our adventure, Grandmother “oohing” and “aahing” as if we were world travelers. Paul Senter |
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