I found that Grandma and her house, the dairy barn and her garden, all look similar. They’re weathered and old, and have an intriguing beauty about them. Grandma is full of stories, you just have to know what to ask. And who knows what she’ll say!
They have cared for people, creatures, and the land. They are caring for what they can now as much as they’re able.
She sets out dishes filled with table scraps and leaves them for the stray cats that hang around her place.
These sit on the ledge of a shed in her yard- the rock someone thought was pretty, the metal thing that got in the way of the mower. I want to know what happened, who picked these things up, how did Grandma develop such a love for little animals. I wish the dairy barn could talk, tell me about the storm that pulled up the corner of it’s metal roof, describe the family that spent so many hours there. I wish I could spend hours talking to Grandma, hearing her stories and asking questions and listening.
Things and people will always have stories, but they don’t always have to be told and sometimes can’t be told. Much of the beauty is in the mystery, the awe of the final product of a long life of experiences. Grandma Eavie is indeed one of the most beautiful people I know. So for now, I’ll just take photographs and let them explain as much as they care to tell.