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How a Blizzard and a Cow Fed Grandpa’s Family

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by Gail Jackson   

One of my favorite stories that Grandpa and Grandma would tell me goes like this:

One day, Birdie, the youngest, and her nephew Rocky, were playing out in the field.  They ran out of things to do so they headed to the milk house to see what they could get into.

In the milk house, Carol and Ray were cleaning out the barn.  It was terribly hot that day and they were miserable.  Rocky and Birdie looked in the window and saw the two of them.  Birdie grabbed the garden hose that was lying nearby.  Rocky locked the barn door and Birdie started spraying them through the open window.  By the time that Ray and Carol got out of the barn, they were soaked, and furious.  Birdie and Rocky got a good spanking for that one.

One memory that I have is so clear and vivid in my mind, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget it.

Grandma had gone to visit my Aunt Kate so, it was just me and Grandpa at the house.  We were out in the brooder house.  The brooder house was a little building hooked onto the chicken house.  Grandpa kept the egg boxes there, and there was a little counter that ran along one wall. 
At this counter, Grandpa would sit and check the eggs.  He used a round thing that was hung from the shelf above the counter.  It had a light in it and a hole.  He called it a candler.  He’d put the egg up to this hole and would be able to see the inside of the egg through this light.  This helped him to make sure the egg was good.  He wouldn’t sell any egg that wasn’t a good one.

He’s sitting at the counter checking his eggs and I’m playing over in the corner with my doll, Timmy.  All of a sudden, Grandpa slumps over the counter and grabs onto his chest.

I ran over to him, his face was so pale.  He was breathing real heavy and he told me in barely a whisper,
“Gail, run to the house and get my pills.”

“What pills?” I asked him.  Knowing that the medicine cabinet is full of all kinds of pill bottles.

“The brown bottle with the little white pills,” he said.

I took off at a run for the house.  The whole time I was running, I was praying,“God help me find the right bottle.”

Remember now that I’m only 9 years old when he died and this was quite a while before that.  So, I’m not sure how old I was.

I got to the kitchen and had to grab a chair and drag it over to the sink.  I climbed up and opened the little door to the medicine cabinet.  All three shelves were full of bottles. 

“God, please help me to get the right one,” I prayed.

I grabbed a brown bottle and ran back to Grandpa.  He opened the cap and put a little pill under his tongue.  He sat there, still slumped over, for a few minutes breathing real hard.

Finally, his breathing got easier and his color came back to his face.  When he was able to get up, we walked back to the house.

“Gail, honey, you did a great job, thanks,” he hugged me to him.  “But, you must never, ever tell anybody about this,” he warned.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because, they’ll think I’m not able to take care of you.  They won’t let us be alone together anymore,” he said.

I never did tell.  I sure didn’t want to not be allowed to be with my grandfather.  Years later, I did tell my dad about it.  He said that Grandpa knew they wouldn’t let him be alone with me but, also they’d probably take him to the hospital again.  And he did not want that to happen.  Grandpa would sit in his recliner in the evenings playing his harmonica.

I loved to hear him play that thing.  He would play, Swanee River, Red River Valley, Oh Suzanna, and The Old Apple Tree.  I can’t hear a harmonica with out thinking of him.

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