Growing up in a small town and in a family that normalized putting dead animals in the garage freezer, pending future burial, these are stories of childhood shenanigans, humility, resiliency, growth, and really terrible haircuts.
As a young gal, I would split my summer "vacations" between two places that are hotter than a hell-fire and filled with blood sucking mosquitos: Texas and Arkansas. Being from a small town in Oregon, The South was an exotic location in the eyes of my friends. However, when I returned with third degree sunburns and blistering welts all over my body, I reminded them that they were sorely mistaken.
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My mom's parents lived in Jonesboro, Arkansas ... land of water moccasins, frog legs, and racism. They owned a small farm, and now that they've both passed, that land is destined for apartments and high-rise living.
I've never seen two people work harder in my life.
My well-mannered Grandpa John enjoyed humid afternoon rides in his pride and joy, a cherry-red Ford pickup. It was his reward for working himself to the bone, and for listening to my grandma bark orders at him day and night. Though I found out later that he would turn his hearing aids down the minute she started griping.
My Grandma Lucille hoarded scary antique dolls.
She surrounded herself with these small children from a horror film because she "had nothing when she was a child". Every visit, I got stuck in the bedroom with multiple cuckoo clocks, and shelves of porcelain-faced antichrists dressed in crochet bonnets, waiting to steal my soul. With each tick of the clocks, I swear I could see their little glass eyes moving from side to side.
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All night, I found myself waking in a cold sweat, imaging a tiny porcelain hand creeping up the side of the box springs.
In the morning, I'd rise to the sound of roosters and zombie my way down the wood paneled hallway to take my pick of breakfast items. My choices were typically farm eggs, Grape Nuts, or Little Debbie cakes. Fueled by diabetes, I'd pop on my tennies and go see what the animals were doing on the farm.
Now, it's important to note that there weren't just live animals that inhabited the premises. My grandma was also fond of lawn ornaments. It's impossible for me to fully describe the mayhem which adorned every square foot of the yard, but I'll certainly do my best. It started innocently with a horse, and ended with giant plastic butterflies crucified on every tree.
