#AmWriting 52 Week Blog Challenge Pickin’ Apples #MFRWauthor

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Wow, can you believe this is week 21? The Topic this week is: “A Childhood Memory.”

Remember, I haven’t participated every week, but some authors have, so try to visit their blogs since this is a BLOG HOP. I’m excited to see their childhood memories.


A Childhood Memory:

I grew up in Detroit in my grandmother’s large brick home. I don’t remember the day we moved in with Grandma, but I do have an early memory of living somewhere else. But this isn’t the childhood memory I will mention today. My other grandmother, my dad’s mom, lived in what we call “Up North” about fifty miles south of the Mackinac Bridge. I’m combining a couple memories that took place at her cottage home on a Lake.

We didn’t go up there often, therefore, I barely remember my paternal grandfather. One memory I have of him is when we went apple picking down the road from Grandma’s house. He had an old pickup truck. I’m willing to bet the truck was a Ford. All my family “up north” drove, and, today, still drive a Ford truck or car. How weird, because now I do to. Back to the memory…

Bushels of apples were being loaded into the back of Grandpa’s truck, but my most important memory was having my Grandpa lift me up into the back of the truck, too. He and I were laughing, which tells me we were happy together. I don’t know how young I was, but it might’ve been before I started school. It’s the only memory I have of him.

I think my female cousin was there. She and I are the only girls out of twelve cousins and brothers. Later when I was in school—maybe kindergarten, my dad received a phone call from his middle brother who lived near Grandma and Grandpa. After the call, my dad called his youngest brother who lived near us. (My favorite uncle)

I remember a lot of running around and my dad being sad, then my uncle appeared. Dad had packed a suitcase. This got me in trouble a lot, but I was an inquisitive child, so I asked why everyone cried. My grandpa had passed away, and my dad and uncle rushed up north to be with my grandma. I don’t remember a trip up north or a funeral, but I do remember my dad being sad for some time.

Another memory I have of the lake house was ice fishing with my dad in freezing cold temperatures. Once, on the way out the back door to the lake, I paid attention to Grandpa’s overall’s hanging frozen on the day porch. Funny, I remember the frozen overalls, but I don’t remember Grandpa being there. Something about those frozen clothes hanging on a line stuck with me. LOL. Four of my cousins still live up north, and a fifth has vacation lake property. The sixth lives in Florida. Larry, the youngest cousin of the bunch, took this picture of what used to be Grandma’s house on the lake.

Back to ice fishing. I remember being so bundled up, I could barely move. I trudged out there on the frozen lake with my dad early one morning. Once we arrived to his “spot,” he drilled the hole. After a few minutes of sitting at this silly hole in the ice, it was the last place I wanted to be because my feet were already freezing. I stuck a pole in for a short time. It wasn’t like I never fished with my dad before, but ice fishing was boring.

Oh, sure, I had brothers, but I’m the one who fished with Dad. I stood the cold for as long as I could before making my way back to the house, which seemed like a mile though the cottage stayed in sight. I remember asking my grandma about the frozen clothes. She laughed because it seemed odd to me. “How could clothes dry if they were frozen?” I’d asked.

I wasn’t one of Grandma’s favorite grandkids. Six other grandkids lived close to her and she talked about them all the time. In fact, I didn’t much like her either. She wasn’t a caring and compassionate grandma. She’d make fun of me for crying when my parents went out on the town with my aunt and uncle. She called me a “baby” for crying. At home in Detroit, my parents didn’t go out on the town, so I wasn’t used to being left alone with a near stranger. Besides, she and my maternal grandmother were total opposites, and Grandma Alice loved me like crazy. It wasn’t until I had grown that Grandma Gertie and I became friends and I did grow to love her.

Oops, I combined more than a couple childhood memories. If you’re still reading, I hope the memories weren’t as boring as the ice fishing. Thanks for reading if you made it this far.

Remember, this is a blog hop! Hoppity hop right on over to the Marketing For Romance Writers Blog Hop page. Thanks for visiting. Enjoy your weekend.

Other than the lake house, images are from Pixabay.

Link to the Blog Hop participants.

This is a Blog Hop!