Jars of Wildflowers

I was very privileged to know my Great-grandma very well. She died when I was well into my twenties, shortly after I had my 4th daughter.I have so many memories of Grandma Ranck.

My Great-grandparents owned a home that had been renovated into a duplex. They lived there in the winter time, during the summer they spent their time at a ranch they owned in Wyoming, called the By-Belle Ranch. I loved living next door to them. Grandma was forever crocheting something and Grandpa spent his time watching games shows, like “The Price is Right”. There was always a small fire going in the fireplace and a kettle of water sitting on top. She had a special drawer full of paper and coloring books, an old cookie tin served as a holder for all sorts of crayons. For a time while we lived there our TV was broken, so Grandma and Grandpa let us sneak over on Saturday mornings and watch cartoons. My sister and I would quietly, with the volume turned very low watch Saturday morning cartoons and color.

Most of my memories of Great-Grandma Ranck had to do with the Ranch. We would visit at least once, sometimes twice during the summer. The ranch was a child’s dream; pastures and forests full of possibilities. Many long days were spent playing all sorts of childhood games in the wilds of the ranch. We would hunt frogs, pick flowers, pretend we were running away, and getting kidnapped by Indians.

Grandma was always there, cooking, cleaning up a meal or visiting while crocheting. She could cook for an army without even batting an eye. In the kitchen there was a long table one side lined with chairs for the adult, the other side had a long bench where the kids would just pack in. Grandpa sat at the head of the table, and Grandma, right next to him. After dinner, the children would usually scatter, while she and the ladies cleaned up, I can still see her now washing dishes by hand (until she got a dishwasher) at the kitchen sink. At night the floor of the living room was covered with sleeping bags, Grandma always left a light on in the kitchen, so we wouldn’t be scared and could find our way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Grandma was always happy to see us kids, she would smile, kiss one cheek while patting the other. She was always interested in what we were doing.

Grandma stayed behind a lot. One of the highlights of a ranch visit would be a long horseback ride. All the men would catch the horses and line them up along hitching posts, the kids would hang around brushing the horses while the men saddled up. Grandma and a few ladies would always stay behind to listen for the sleeping babies. Grandma would stand on the front porch and wave to us as we left.

When it came time to go home Grandma would always kiss and pat our cheeks goodbye, then sit on the front porch and wave as the car would drive down the lane.

Of all my memories of Grandma, there is one I love the most. I guess it isn’t really one single memory; it is a whole group of memories. As a little girl I loved to pick the wild flowers. All of us little girls did. We would gather fist-fulls of flowers; sago lilies, Indian paint brush, yarrow and various others that I don’t have names for. We would bring big handfuls to Grandma; she would take every fist-full and smell it, then place them in a big mason jar and set the wildflowers on a self in the kitchen. Every single flower was handled this way, sometimes there would be many jars of flowers on the shelf, but there was always room for one more. I love thinking of those mason jars of flowers, she made us feel so special and she loved every single flower that every little girl brought to her.

Whenever my little girls bring me flowers, even dandelions, they always get a little cup of water and a special place on my window seal…and I think of Great-grandma Rank.

It has been several years since Grandma passed. The ranch is now owned by my uncle and his family; they love it like a second home. They built a cabin up the lane from the ranch house, and on the window seal my Aunt Beki always has little jars of wild flowers. I think of Grandma, and I smile.