The Christmas Farm: Unbelievably Catching

The Farm, 1958   Photo by David Porterfield

My grandpa loved me from the beginning.

He and I were both lefties, so maybe we had some sort of affinity.

Actually, he was ambidextrous…I developed some of those skills as the years progressed…like so many lefties (We learn to cope in a right-handed world.).

Or maybe as the next to the youngest grandchild…and a girl…I pulled at his heartstrings.

Or maybe he pulled at my heartstrings which pulled back on his because admiration is unbelievably catching.

All I know is that I loved him…and he loved me.

No questions asked.

I’m not sure how it developed

During our visits to the farm, I always wanted to go with him in the afternoon to feed the animals and gather the eggs…I think my dad and my sister were usually along.

So we would arrive at their house…and I would look forward to that particular part of the day in anticipation…it couldn’t arrive soon enough.

When it finally did arrive...when we walked down to the field where many of the cows would be out grazing in a pasture…I would get nervous around the big animals, and my grandpa would pick me up to carry me.

So I felt safe.

He would pick me up to carry me even when I became a bit too big to carry although grandpa was not a big man.  However, he was strong (all that manual labor).

He didn’t wear overalls like a stereotypical farmer, but he almost always had on jeans (Levis, of course) and a work shirt.  I think he had a denim jacket because I remember the feel of it under my fingertips when he held me.

My grandpa was a very self-disciplined man, by the way…he had to be in order to make a living on the farm.  And in my father, my grandparents raised a very self-disciplined son.

So you wouldn’t think there would be any whimsy to be found on their farm…but maybe Christmas brings out that softness…the whimsy…because one year we had something incredibly different show up in our stockings.

That particular year (and I’m not sure how old I was…probably around seven or eight), we arrived early enough before Christmas to end up at the grocery store in Plainview with my grandpa.

In truth, I think he may’ve been sent by my grandma to buy various items including things to fill up the eight grandkid’s stockings…and I remember my mother was along for the ride.

And--for some crazy reason--the grocery store had a big pile of coconuts on display which I found incredibly interesting probably because I loved (and still love) coconut desserts.

I was likely wondering what a real (unprocessed) coconut tasted like.

So I looked at the pile of coconuts…and I thought on it…and I asked my grandpa why Santa never left coconuts in our stockings.

Well…I don’t remember his response, but I do remember he and my mom looking at me and then at each other.

It wasn’t long before we paid for our groceries and left.

My Christmas-y Grandpa in a bright red jumpsuit (1980)

Christmas morning rolled around a few days later; Santa did show up.

My mom had previously made the kids felt stockings with our names on them (red and pink for the girls; green and red for the boys).  They were all laid out under the Christmas tree in a row…very orderly, very full and very self-disciplined.

However, when it was time for us to look into our stockings, I’m sure you can guess what we found.  Not only did they hold the obligatory apple, orange, nuts and peppermints…but a small coconut as well.

You see…a little bit of whimsy…of love…of softness had been added to our soldier-straight stockings in the form of a very hard, round, tropical fruit.

And every other year after, another would show up.

Merry Christmas

Comments

[Laura A.]

You're so right! Thanks for the compliment and for reading, Marie. Hugs!

[Marie]

`What a sweet story!! Those kind of memories are etched in our minds forever.

[Laura A.]

Merry Christmas, Suzy! Your comment is very true. Now, you're going to have to write up some of your own memories, I think. :)

Thanks for reading, multi-faceted girl!

[Suzy]

Laura - I spent my earliest Christmas holidays at MY grandparents' farm in West Virginia. What lucky rare birds we are to have had what is becoming a unique experience - that of a real farm. My Pop-pop didn't leave me coconuts, but my memories are pina-colada sweet, like yours! Cheers.