Verna Zell Walser (Swicegood)
“Grandma Walser”
I have many childhood memories of my grandmother Verna Zell Walser. Verna Zell was one of J.O. Swicegood’s (my great-grandpa) eight children and my mother’s mother. Verna Zell Swicegood was born February, 3rd 1917.
I spent the first 16 years of my life getting know her. Distance wasn’t a problem since I lived next-door to her. Grandma Walser seemed to always have a good nature about her. I rarely remember her getting upset. She was always very hard working and I have seen her fingers literally bleed from working outside in the fields. My cousin Keith and I would take turns spending weekends with grandpa and grandma Walser in the summer months. Keith and I weren’t allowed to both stay the weekend at the same time because it was just too much mischief created when we were together. While I’m on the subject of mischief there are a few stories to tell about harassing grandma Walser.
Being little boys, Keith and I loved playing jokes on grandma Walser because she was an easy target. Keith was three years younger than me and grandma favored him most of the time when it came to him and me getting into fights. I usually won the fights and grandma would say “now you know that Keith’s smaller than you”. Meanwhile, I’ll get back to the jokes. On one occasion Keith and I tied a rubber snake with monofilament fishing line, pulling it through the grass directly in her pathway. Oh course we were out of sight and giggling like crazy as she yelled “you boys should be ashamed”. Later we got more sophisticated with our pranks. I had purchased a booby-trap that consisted of a spring, a trigger, and a hammer that struck a “play gun” exploding cap when tripped. It worked on the same principle that the trip-wire bombs work in jungle warfare. The booby-trap was tied to a tree. A thin wire or string was tied to the trip-mechanism on the “bomb” and then tied to another tree with the wire only clearing the ground by a few inches (just enough to catch your foot). This trap was set and then left for future entrapment and didn’t require us to remain present at the “crime scene”. Sooner or later we would hear a bang and then a short scream; mission accomplished! I know we shouldn’t have played tricks on grandma, but it didn’t stop us. You can’t reason with young brain-damaged kids sometimes.
It wasn’t always fun and games on their farm. Grandpa and grandma owned more than forty acres of land and most of it was “under-plow”, meaning crops were being raised. I was just old enough to help with the smaller chores, but not quite old enough to handle the more heavy-duty work of the farm. I helped “slop” the hogs, feed the chickens, gather eggs, occasionally help skin a rabbit or squirrel, or assist with killing a chicken. As I got older I was trusted with hoeing the garden and helping prime tobacco in the fields. One incident I’ll never forget was one of the rare times that my grandma got mad at grandpa.
Grandpa was driving the tractor and grandma was steering the hand plow to dig out potatoes from the row. She would yell to grandpa which direction he needed to go to make digging the potatoes easier. She would yell “up the hill” or “down the hill”, depending on which direction she wanted him to steer the tractor. One instance I remember her getting perturbed at grandpa because he wasn’t driving the tractor to suit her. Grandma yelled out “you fart blossom” which was her form of cussing.
Another story comes to mind that involves a tractor as well. This time grandma was driving the old ‘red-belly’ Ford tractor. Keith and I were riding on the back of the tractor, sitting on opposite fenders. We were headed home from doing some field work and she was driving on a tractor road along the edge of a field beside the woods. She was so busy watching to make sure we didn’t fall off that she ran out of the road, hitting some bushes and almost running into the woods. I must admit her distraction was set in motion because of Keith and me acting stupid to begin with. Boys will be boys.
One of my favorite events was “comin’ up to eat” at lunch time while working in tobacco. Grandma, and sometimes my aunt Phyllis or my mom would stop off early enough to cook lunch. After giving ample time for cooking, everyone would gather under two large maple trees in the back yard and wash our hands before lunch. You didn’t dare go in the house with tobacco tar on your hands. Keith and I always made a contest out of our black, tar stained hands. We would rub or peel the tobacco tar off of our hands and roll it into a ball. The person with the biggest ball had done the most work that day. It probably only indicated who got the dirtiest instead; the working part was questionable! Meanwhile back at the house. We ran hot water in small pans and used clothes washing detergent to remove the crud from our hands. I recall one of my favorite pastimes was pouring out the old wash water on the ground and waiting a few minutes for earthworms to come out of the ground. It drove the worms crazy!
The meals grandma cooked were always great. Most of her meals were homemade (from scratch) and not from the can. I’m talking about cholesterol filled, heart stopping, sugar saturated good ole home cooked food. Back then (1960s) there were no microwave ovens or fast-food restaurants and folks took time to cook and enjoyed “gettin’ together”. I admit the fatback meat, lard, or sugar-packed desserts may not have been the healthiest of foods back then, but they were good!
We have certainly come a long way with our mono and diglycerides, monosterates, partially hydrogenated oils, beta carotene, calcium propionate, and numerous other food additives that boggle the mind, but have we really added anything to our quality of life? Heart attacks, sugar diabetes, and obesity are on the increase like never before. Fresh vegetables and can goods are now imported with threats of E.coli and our children’s toys are laden with lead paint from
Almost every Sunday my family could be found eating lunch at grandma and grandpa Walser’s house. My aunt and uncle (Phyllis and Terry) would usually be there with my cousin Keith (a few years later his sister Lisa was born). We went to the same Methodist church and thus we all got out of church at the same time, making scheduling a breeze. Mom, dad and I usually ate there unless we made the trip to
One fond memory is that of grandma frying ‘fresh caught’ fish. Someone had caught and cleaned some bream (blue-gills) that had been caught from a nearby pond. I remember as if it was yesterday. Grandpa Cleve and I were sitting at the dining room table while grandma was frying the fish. Grandpa and I were eating the fish as fast as she could fry them. She laughed and told us to slow down!
Grandma and grandpa had the first color TV in the neighborhood. I remember watching “Dialing for Dollars” and “Winn Dixie Horse Racing” on that TV. In this modern age of plasma TVs it’s unreal to image watching black and white television. To the younger generation I know that it is hard to believe but, once upon a time-‘Ripley’-there were only black and white “boob tubes”.
One evening while visiting my grandparents the discussion turned to mom telling about our daily family activities. She made the comment that we were in a hurry so she had me to “take a bath in the sink”. Translated, that means that I ran water in the sink and used a wash cloth to wash off instead of taking a regular bath. My grandma started laughing and laughed until she cried. She had envisioned me setting in the sink taking a bath, which would have been an accomplishment for a pre-teen. I was recording the whole story on my new cassette recorder, but unfortunately sometime later I unknowingly erased it. I wish I had that recording today; it would be priceless!
Stubbornness can lead to our own ruination. My grandmother was not an exception. I’m told that my grandmother found a small lump on one of her breast when she was in her mid 50s, but delayed getting it looked at by a doctor. One thing leads to another and she had to eventually get a double mastectomy. Regrettably by this time the cancer had spread to her liver. Near the end she didn’t suffer because of heavy doses of morphine, but never the less at the age of 56 her body lost its battle with cancer.
I was sixteen in 1973 when grandma Walser died. My wish now is that I would have taken more time to really listen and learn more about grandma while she was living. When you are young, one doesn’t give much thought about people around you dying. When death suddenly comes to people you love, it’s too late to do anything about it. Grandma would not have wanted me to dwell on what could have been, so I will think on the good times we had instead. Nothing can change the past; however, good memories can help shape our future.
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