I loved growing up in Grandma's warm and loving household.
A special place were the greatest stories were told.
I remember listening to tales of the old west,
All the memories that Gramps remembered the best.
Grandma was the first white child,born on the Oregon side.
She grew up with Indian children from far and wide.
I guess that is why we attended the tribes celebrations.
Where they danced in full dress and demonstrations.
That told the history of all the Indian generations.
Grandma knew what most of the costumes meant.
What different colors and feather came to represent.
However my childhood years seem to fly .
I was left with memories of my own on which to rely.
My folks had been gone to heaven long ago .
Thirty-five years and I returned home to Idaho.
Where first I met the beautiful -Navaho.
Joy and sadness intermingled on this visit .
Along with the loss of my loved ones I admit,
I saw the old farmhouse in ashes from a fire.
This was a happening so terribly dire.
My relatives who remained in that small town.
Wouldn't allow me to feel very down.
As they reminded me the house was gone.
But the memories I had would linger on.
I just thank God that I had that time.
With people who made it truly sublime.
© Carol G Oliver
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