Today would be the ninety-second birthday of my granny, Evelyn Floree Fowler Gunter. She was born 14 April 1921.
Granny experienced the Great Depression in ways that many of us might never understand. Her story about the chicken dinner still makes me both tearful and angry for her. She grew up, got married, had babies, lost a baby, had good times and bad times. She lost her daddy in 1936 while she was only fifteen years old; he was only forty-four years old. She lost her mama in 1954. The majority of her family, including her two year old brother, was lost to influenza.
She was a great cook and made beautiful quilts and canned all sorts of things. I especially loved her apple butter. One discussion that I remember having with Granny was about quilting. She did everything by hand. I used a rotary cutter and a sewing machine. To this day, I can hear her quite clearly saying "That's not quilting!" Here is a section of a quilt that she made for our oldest son when he was a little boy.
I sure miss my granny and her bluntness. She wasn't the least bit afraid to speak her mind. You never had to wonder where you stood with her; she'd let you know straight out where you stood. She meant what she said when she said it, as one man that refused to leave her house found out one day. She told him to leave and he wouldn't. She said if he didn't, she'd shoot him. He didn't, she did. Question answered. Any doubts that she meant it were dealt with head-on. It wasn't a serious injury to him, but enough to get the point across. I don't think that he had any doubts about her meaning anything after that day.
All that spunk, banana pudding, and hugs, too. What more could anyone want?
I wish that I could be more like Granny.