Page 28 - Firehouse Pond

I remember the hobos stopping by the house. It was a common occurrence.

Grandma would insist they clean up before they could eat. She could often be
heard saying: “Water is free – dirt is dirt – get it off before you come to the
table.”

My grandma’s fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and fried green
tomatoes were the best in town – if not the world.

When I stop to reflect, I know how she fed and treated the broken-spirited
hobos not only made a difference for them; it made a lasting impression on
me. I cannot recall a single time that she used harsh words or denied a

stranger something to eat. She was and continues to be my best teacher.

We often lived with Grandma and Grandpa. Grandma would get ready for

bed; get all “cuddly warm” under the bed covers and call me into her
bedroom. We would talk about the events of the day and the people we had
met. We’d acknowledge that we had it better than the hobos and should be

thankful for what we had.

We were poor and rich at the same time. After chatting for a while, Grandma
would open her Bible and read to me. One way or another, she seemed to

always find scripture that matched the events of the day.

I would go into her bedroom and listen to her talk. Often the words had

insignificant meaning to the little boy that I was then. But I grew to
understand she was “storytelling” and teaching me.

Her favorite song was The Old Rugged Cross – there is no doubt in my mind

that she "exchanged it one day for a crown. She knew her final days were
near.

I miss you, Grandma.