Essay, Research Paper: Memories

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Rising at the crack of dawn I raced down the stairs into the kitchen to find my
grandmother cooking donuts! That remains one of my fondest memories of the many
summers spent at grandmother’s. The smell of the freshly cooked sugar or
glazed donuts was enough to drive anyone out of their deep sleep. The recently
made eggs and bacon, along with fresh squeezed orange juice, gave us the needed
energy to go out and start our daily routine of chores. As I remained the
youngest of the many of my cousins at the farm that summer, my tasks included
feeding the cats, helping with dishes, and pretty much trying to stay out of as
much trouble as I possibly could. My grandmother taught me many valuable lessons
those summers about life, including humanity, laughter, strength, and most
importantly the importance of family. Looking back at the all too short of a
time I got to spend with my grandmother, she taught me some of the most valuable
morals that I carry with me still today. One of the toughest lessons that I had
to deal with was the death of some of my most loved animals. When lambing season
came around, there were some very difficult decisions that had to be made.
Sometimes, throughout the process of lambing, things go wrong. I remember losing
my favorite ewe Breeze to a breach birth during lambing season. Through her
death we did come out with two beautiful lambs; which we named after her in her
memory. Decisions were tough but they had to be made in order to save the life
of either the ewe or the lamb. At the time they were not decisions that I
believed were acceptable. Now looking back, they are decisions I would never
want to make. Don’t get me wrong, I cope with death fine when it comes to
animals that are raised for meat, such as cattle or chicken. In fact, one of my
favorite meals is chicken. My grandma raised chickens and butchered them herself
whenever a dish called for the delectable birds. I remember specifically her
walking to the chicken coop and grabbing one of the unlucky chickens by the
feet. She then walked over to the worn beat up shed were she would sit down on a
dirty old stool next to a huge stump of what used to be a tree. Quietly and
swiftly, she’d place the helpless chicken across the stump placing the neck
outstretched. Then, with one quick movement of a hatchet, the head of the
chicken would roll to the ground. She would stand up and set the body of the
chicken on the ground and watch, as we kids would scramble to catch a headless
chicken. The chicken would run every which way, providing us with a brief moment
of chaos as we scrambled to catch it. My grandmother would laugh for hours
recalling all the different techniques that we tried to catch this headless
chicken. It was one moment in the summer that really brought every one together.
My grandmother wasn’t all laughs; she’d had her set backs, too. She lost her
husband, my grandpa, when my dad was a senior in college. My grandpa died of a
heart attack on Christmas Day, which ironically is my dad’s birthday. My dad
and mom, who were engaged at the time, rushed him to the Madison emergency room.
The distance ended up being too great, as my grandpa died in the car. My
grandmother went on running the farm by herself another ten years before her
death. It took every inch of her soul to keep going after the death of her
husband, but during that time she helped raise all thirty-two of her
grandchildren by keeping us on the farm whenever we weren’t in school. Her
example, back in my earlier years, remains the source of most of my strength
that I have today. Her strength was not the most important thing to my
grandmother. The most valuable possession that she had was her family. She loved
her family more than anything and spent every waking moment with them. She’d
send for her grandchildren whenever there was a moment’s break from our
educations. Raising us was a breeze, she’d always say, compared to raising her
own eight children. Playing with us was another of her favorite things; whether
it be, bottle-feeding orphaned lambs or picking apples for fresh pies that
night, she never passed up an opportunity to play with us. The family always
gave back to her, whenever possible. My uncles would come home to help with the
planting and harvesting seasons, as well as lambing season. My grandmother never
once, that I can remember, asked for help. Family, she always told us, would
always be there whenever she needed them. She would always say that if you
can’t count on family in life, you can’t count on much. That value has been
instilled in me since I was very little, from my grandmother as well as my
parents, and remains one of my most treasured beliefs that makes me who I am. As
I stand at the entrance of the farm looking down a long driveway of memories, I
thank God for letting me spend as much time with my grandmother as he did. A lot
of who I am and what I stand for started here on this farm on the outskirts of
Howard, SD. And though I don’t travel back as much as I would like to, the
memories and effects that the farm had on me will remain close to my heart the
rest of my life. A New Look at Old Memories Rising at the crack of dawn I raced
down the stairs into the kitchen to find my grandmother cooking donuts! That
remains one of my fondest memories of the many summers spent at grandmother’s.
The smell of the freshly cooked sugar or glazed donuts was enough to drive
anyone out of their deep sleep. The recently made eggs and bacon, along with
fresh squeezed orange juice, gave us the needed energy to go out and start our
daily routine of chores. As I remained the youngest of the many of my cousins at
the farm that summer, my tasks included feeding the cats, helping with dishes,
and pretty much trying to stay out of as much trouble as I possibly could. My
grandmother taught me many valuable lessons those summers about life, including
humanity, laughter, strength, and most importantly the importance of family.
Looking back at the all too short of a time I got to spend with my grandmother,
she taught me some of the most valuable morals that I carry with me still today.
One of the toughest lessons that I had to deal with was the death of some of my
most loved animals. When lambing season came around, there were some very
difficult decisions that had to be made. Sometimes, throughout the process of
lambing, things go wrong. I remember losing my favorite ewe Breeze to a breach
birth during lambing season. Through her death we did come out with two
beautiful lambs; which we named after her in her memory. Decisions were tough
but they had to be made in order to save the life of either the ewe or the lamb.
At the time they were not decisions that I believed were acceptable. Now looking
back, they are decisions I would never want to make. Don’t get me wrong, I
cope with death fine when it comes to animals that are raised for meat, such as
cattle or chicken. In fact, one of my favorite meals is chicken. My grandma
raised chickens and butchered them herself whenever a dish called for the
delectable birds. I remember specifically her walking to the chicken coop and
grabbing one of the unlucky chickens by the feet. She then walked over to the
worn beat up shed were she would sit down on a dirty old stool next to a huge
stump of what used to be a tree. Quietly and swiftly, she’d place the helpless
chicken across the stump placing the neck outstretched. Then, with one quick
movement of a hatchet, the head of the chicken would roll to the ground. She
would stand up and set the body of the chicken on the ground and watch, as we
kids would scramble to catch a headless chicken. The chicken would run every
which way, providing us with a brief moment of chaos as we scrambled to catch
it. My grandmother would laugh for hours recalling all the different techniques
that we tried to catch this headless chicken. It was one moment in the summer
that really brought every one together. My grandmother wasn’t all laughs;
she’d had her set backs, too. She lost her husband, my grandpa, when my dad
was a senior in college. My grandpa died of a heart attack on Christmas Day,
which ironically is my dad’s birthday. My dad and mom, who were engaged at the
time, rushed him to the Madison emergency room. The distance ended up being too
great, as my grandpa died in the car. My grandmother went on running the farm by
herself another ten years before her death. It took every inch of her soul to
keep going after the death of her husband, but during that time she helped raise
all thirty-two of her grandchildren by keeping us on the farm whenever we
weren’t in school. Her example, back in my earlier years, remains the source
of most of my strength that I have today. Her strength was not the most
important thing to my grandmother. The most valuable possession that she had was
her family. She loved her family more than anything and spent every waking
moment with them. She’d send for her grandchildren whenever there was a
moment’s break from our educations. Raising us was a breeze, she’d always
say, compared to raising her own eight children. Playing with us was another of
her favorite things; whether it be, bottle-feeding orphaned lambs or picking
apples for fresh pies that night, she never passed up an opportunity to play
with us. The family always gave back to her, whenever possible. My uncles would
come home to help with the planting and harvesting seasons, as well as lambing
season. My grandmother never once, that I can remember, asked for help. Family,
she always told us, would always be there whenever she needed them. She would
always say that if you can’t count on family in life, you can’t count on
much. That value has been instilled in me since I was very little, from my
grandmother as well as my parents, and remains one of my most treasured beliefs
that makes me who I am. As I stand at the entrance of the farm looking down a
long driveway of memories, I thank God for letting me spend as much time with my
grandmother as he did. A lot of who I am and what I stand for started here on
this farm on the outskirts of Howard, SD. And though I don’t travel back as
much as I would like to, the memories and effects that the farm had on me will
remain close to my heart the rest of my life. A New Look at Old Memories Rising
at the crack of dawn I raced down the stairs into the kitchen to find my
grandmother cooking donuts! That remains one of my fondest memories of the many
summers spent at grandmother’s. The smell of the freshly cooked sugar or
glazed donuts was enough to drive anyone out of their deep sleep. The recently
made eggs and bacon, along with fresh squeezed orange juice, gave us the needed
energy to go out and start our daily routine of chores. As I remained the
youngest of the many of my cousins at the farm that summer, my tasks included
feeding the cats, helping with dishes, and pretty much trying to stay out of as
much trouble as I possibly could. My grandmother taught me many valuable lessons
those summers about life, including humanity, laughter, strength, and most
importantly the importance of family. Looking back at the all too short of a
time I got to spend with my grandmother, she taught me some of the most valuable
morals that I carry with me still today. One of the toughest lessons that I had
to deal with was the death of some of my most loved animals. When lambing season
came around, there were some very difficult decisions that had to be made.
Sometimes, throughout the process of lambing, things go wrong. I remember losing
my favorite ewe Breeze to a breach birth during lambing season. Through her
death we did come out with two beautiful lambs; which we named after her in her
memory. Decisions were tough but they had to be made in order to save the life
of either the ewe or the lamb. At the time they were not decisions that I
believed were acceptable. Now looking back, they are decisions I would never
want to make. Don’t get me wrong, I cope with death fine when it comes to
animals that are raised for meat, such as cattle or chicken. In fact, one of my
favorite meals is chicken. My grandma raised chickens and butchered them herself
whenever a dish called for the delectable birds. I remember specifically her
walking to the chicken coop and grabbing one of the unlucky chickens by the
feet. She then walked over to the worn beat up shed were she would sit down on a
dirty old stool next to a huge stump of what used to be a tree. Quietly and
swiftly, she’d place the helpless chicken across the stump placing the neck
outstretched. Then, with one quick movement of a hatchet, the head of the
chicken would roll to the ground. She would stand up and set the body of the
chicken on the ground and watch, as we kids would scramble to catch a headless
chicken. The chicken would run every which way, providing us with a brief moment
of chaos as we scrambled to catch it. My grandmother would laugh for hours
recalling all the different techniques that we tried to catch this headless
chicken. It was one moment in the summer that really brought every one together.
My grandmother wasn’t all laughs; she’d had her set backs, too. She lost her
husband, my grandpa, when my dad was a senior in college. My grandpa died of a
heart attack on Christmas Day, which ironically is my dad’s birthday. My dad
and mom, who were engaged at the time, rushed him to the Madison emergency room.
The distance ended up being too great, as my grandpa died in the car. My
grandmother went on running the farm by herself another ten years before her
death. It took every inch of her soul to keep going after the death of her
husband, but during that time she helped raise all thirty-two of her
grandchildren by keeping us on the farm whenever we weren’t in school. Her
example, back in my earlier years, remains the source of most of my strength
that I have today. Her strength was not the most important thing to my
grandmother. The most valuable possession that she had was her family. She loved
her family more than anything and spent every waking moment with them. She’d
send for her grandchildren whenever there was a moment’s break from our
educations. Raising us was a breeze, she’d always say, compared to raising her
own eight children. Playing with us was another of her favorite things; whether
it be, bottle-feeding orphaned lambs or picking apples for fresh pies that
night, she never passed up an opportunity to play with us. The family always
gave back to her, whenever possible. My uncles would come home to help with the
planting and harvesting seasons, as well as lambing season. My grandmother never
once, that I can remember, asked for help. Family, she always told us, would
always be there whenever she needed them. She would always say that if you
can’t count on family in life, you can’t count on much. That value has been
instilled in me since I was very little, from my grandmother as well as my
parents, and remains one of my most treasured beliefs that makes me who I am. As
I stand at the entrance of the farm looking down a long driveway of memories, I
thank God for letting me spend as much time with my grandmother as he did. A lot
of who I am and what I stand for started here on this farm on the outskirts of
Howard, SD. And though I don’t travel back as much as I would like to, the
memories and effects that the farm had on me will remain close to my heart the
rest of my life.

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