The Roots That Raised Me
My story doesn’t make sense unless you meet the two people who shaped me long before I knew anything about heartbreak, rebuilding, or starting life over. My grandparents weren’t just grandparents — they were my foundation, my teachers, and the steady heartbeat of my childhood. They raised me on a kind of love that this world doesn’t hand out often anymore, and those quiet lessons are the reason I am who I am today.
My Grandmother: Soft Hands, Strong Spirit
My grandmother was a woman from a time that barely exists anymore — part homemaker, part hunter, part teacher, and part quiet warrior.
She hunted her own meat. Cleaned it herself. Canned vegetables from her garden. Made fresh bread, homemade applesauce, and jars upon jars of jelly that filled her shelves with warmth and sweetness.She taught me what it meant to live simply but fully — to work with what you have and make it beautiful.
But the real magic wasn’t just what she did.
It was how she taught.
She taught me gentleness.
She taught me patience.
She taught me that learning could feel like love.
Every question I asked was answered. Every curiosity encouraged. In her home, I was never “in the way.” I was wanted. I was welcomed. I was hers.
My Grandfather: Strength Wrapped in Tenderness
My grandfather maintained more than twenty acres of land — two ponds, an orchard, a massive garden, and a workshop full of tools he kept in perfect condition. Nothing ever broke without him knowing how to fix it and if he didn’t have the right tool, he simply made one.
I never saw something he couldn’t fix. I never saw him rush. I never saw him get frustrated, lose his cool or raise his voice...
...Especially with her.
He was as strong as a rhinoceros and as gentle as a baby mouse. A man who could weld, repair, build, lift, and restore — yet with me, he was soft, sweet, and steady.
He took me everywhere — to church, to vote on election day, to Democratic headquarters to eat dinner and watch election results roll in, even to the state house when I served as a page in first grade.
He taught me involvement.
He taught me responsibility.
And most importantly — he taught me devotion.
A Marriage Worth Learning From
They were married nearly sixty years. And in my time with them I never saw them argue. Not once. Their loyalty was the kind you don’t read about anymore — an unshakeable, unconditional and rare kind of love. You would never see one without the other.
As a child, I watched everything they did. I listened to the way they talked to people, to each other—kind, measured, respectful. I learned their patience, their gentleness, their work ethic. I knew they were the kind of people that other people respected.
When my grandmother became sick with dementia, my grandfather refused to leave her side. As she grew confused, scared, and restless, he stayed steady. He protected her, held her, anchored her. When she could no longer speak and eventually could no longer walk, he moved his recliner into their bedroom and stayed there with her day and night.
In her final days, when she could only lift her head toward her feet and then rest again, he moved to the foot of the bed so she could see him. He rubbed her feet gently—those same feet that had spent a lifetime walking alongside him.
He would look at her with the eyes of a smitten young man who had just met the love of his life and whisper over and over:
“You are so beautiful. Mom I love you so much. I’m right here.”
He held her feet and stood there until she took her last breath and then his head and shoulders dropped and I watched a part of him die too.
A WWII Purple Heart and Double Silver Star hero…crumbling in front of me.
He and I sat as they took her body from the house, with our foreheads pressed together as I held his hands—hands that had built, fixed, protected, and loved for nearly a century. And I felt his soul shatter.
It changed me.
I carry their lessons everywhere: work hard, love gently, protect fiercely, choose loyalty, and honor the people who walk through life with you.
What They Gave Me
They gave me:
Strength without harshness
Honesty without cruelty
Loyalty without conditions
Patience as a form of love
Resourcefulness as a way of life
The belief that anything broken can be rebuilt
Kindness as a strength rather than a weakness
Everything I do — this blog, this store, this journey — traces back to them.
Their fingerprints are on all of it.
If you understand them — even a little — you understand me.
Transform your living room into a warm and inviting sanctuary
o, and why I never stop rebuilding — you have to meet the two people who shaped me: my grandparents.
I grew up surrounded by a kind of wisdom you can’t Google, can’t buy, and can’t replicate. The kind you only learn from people who lived hard, loved deeply, and built everything they had from the ground up. They didn’t shout their strength into the world.
They lived it.
And I watched every second.
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My Grandmother: Soft Hands, Strong Spirit
My grandmother was a woman from a time that barely exists anymore — part homemaker, part hunter, part teacher, and part quiet warrior.
She hunted her own meat. Cleaned it herself. Canned vegetables from her garden. Made fresh bread, homemade applesauce, and jars upon jars of jelly that filled her shelves with warmth and sweetness.
But the real magic wasn’t just what she did.
It was how she taught.
She taught me gentleness.
She taught me patience.
She taught me that learning could feel like love.
Every question I asked was answered. Every curiosity encouraged. In her home, I was never “in the way.” I was wanted. I was welcomed. I was hers.
---
My Grandfather: Strength Wrapped in Tenderness
My grandfather maintained more than twenty acres of land — two ponds, an orchard, a massive garden, and a workshop full of tools he kept in perfect condition. Nothing ever broke without him knowing how to fix it.
And if he didn’t have the tool?
He made it.
He was as strong as a rhinoceros and as gentle as a baby mouse. A man who could weld, repair, build, lift, and restore — yet with me, he was soft, sweet, and steady.
He took me everywhere — to church, to vote on election day, to Democratic headquarters to eat dinner and watch election results roll in, even to the state house when I served as a page in first grade.
He taught me involvement.
He taught me responsibility.
And most importantly — he taught me devotion.
---
A Marriage Worth Learning From
They were married nearly sixty years. And in all that time, I never saw them fight. Not once. No bickering, no bitterness, no storms between them. They moved as one — an unshakeable pair.
When my grandmother developed dementia, their love transformed into something almost holy.
She was confused, angry at times, frightened. But he never left her side.
As her mobility faded, he moved his recliner into their bedroom. And in her final days — when she could barely lift her head from the pillow — he moved his chair to the foot of the bed so she could see him no matter what.
He held her feet in his hands as she took her last breaths, rubbing them gently, whispering:
“You’re so beautiful, you know that? I love you so much. I’m right here, Mom. I’m always going to be right here.”
A WWII Purple Heart and Silver Star hero…
crumbling in front of me.
Heartbroken.
Devoted until the very end.
I held him as he shattered — a lifetime of love slipping from his grasp.
I will never forget that moment.
Or the way it changed me.
---
What They Gave Me
They gave me:
Strength without harshness
Honesty without cruelty
Loyalty without conditions
Patience as a form of love
Resourcefulness as a way of life
The belief that anything broken can be rebuilt
Everything I do — this blog, this store, this journey — traces back to them.
Their fingerprints are on all of it.
If you understand them — even a little — you understand me.