When I say “home”, I am referring to West Virginia. Even though I wasn’t born there, it’s where my story began to unfold. It’s where my childhood memories live. It’s the heart of me.

Weekends at Mammaw and Pappaw’s

I was five years old when we moved to West Virginia. I have vague memories of the moving trip and the U-Haul. I have memories of our first home, where we lived until I was about 14. I have memories of family and growing up with my cousins, running around in the hills and playing in the creeks. We went to Mammaw and Pappaw’s house on Sundays, to help in the garden and to string beans, or can vegetables, or just to sit in the yard. One of my favorite memories is sitting in the yard with my mom and aunts and cousins (all the women) stringing beans and talking. My Mammaw asked me once when I was 15, “Tammy, when are you going to get married?” I remember laughing, but it wasn’t such an odd question to her considering how young she had married. The men would be out in the garden, helping Pappaw on the tractor or working on the tractor. There was a chicken coup and a few outbuildings. As kids, my cousins and I ran all over that yard, up the hillsides, and into the creek that ran through their property. Part of that creek ran underground for several yards and then opened up above ground again. I remember one winter we were outside playing and my brother slipped into the creek; he must have been about 4 or 5 years old. He was headed into the culvert when I was finally able to get my dad’s attention and he grabbed my brother’s leg and pulled him out of the water. (We have a history of trying to ‘off’ each other but that’s another post entirely.)

I remember family get togethers and cookouts at Mammaw and Pappaw’s. All of us being together were some of the best times. My cousins and I made up games, stayed outside all day long and wore ourselves out. My Uncle Dave’s boys would tease us, being older. They’d tell us there were bulls up on the hillside and that we’d better not go up there, just so us younger ones (my brother and I) wouldn’t follow them up the hill. In all my youth, the only animal I recall seeing up there was an old cow that basically stood still and looked off into the distance. If there were bulls, I never saw one.

At some point Pappaw’s well wasn’t safe any more, and so they would drive into town to our house every Saturday and fill up a dozen or more milk jugs of water. I remember my brother and I would watch for them to pull into the driveway because my Pappaw would pay a whole quarter or two to the first kid to get to the truck and carry the water jugs in for him. We would actually fight over this job and race each other to the truck. I don’t think it was about the money as much as it was about the competition. As we got older the pay increased, topping out at a dollar or two. (Inflation, you know.)

The Importance of Grandparents

When Mammaw and Pappaw passed, a part of my childhood was lost. I am so thankful I had the experience of growing up running around their property and just being a kid, outside. Pappaw passed about a year before my daughter was born; I often think about how much he would have loved her and she him. Of course she had similar experiences growing up with her Pop-pop, as he and Babcia would take her out in the country to play when she was little too. Lindy ran all over their yard just as we did our grandparents’ yard. I feel so lucky to have grown up close to family, and for my daughter to have had the same experience. My niece now enjoys the same closeness with her Babcia; she is at Babcia’s house at some point every single day. They are two peas in a pod, alike in all the good and the not so good ways. It’s a relationship she will one day look back on and treasure.

It’s this family time that helped shape me. It gave me an understanding of the importance of family. It showed me how intricately we are all connected not only through our name, but through our personalities and our mannerisms. I feel so lucky to be connected to such a quirky, fun, and loving group of people.