I have to start this post with some reminiscing. I grew up in a tiny town in New Mexico called Bloomfield. It was about 3000 people spread over a large area. There was one stoplight, one grocery store, one gas station and a lot of cactus. We lived just down the street from my grandparents, and I have fond memories of growin up near them. My grandmother was a no-nonsense woman who told you how it was but was everlastingly patient. She had to be with 9 kids and too many grandchildren to count. She was the hardest worker I've probably ever seen. She was up before everyone cooking breakfast and starting on the day's chores. She taught me how to snap beans, pick grapes (oh, how I hated that chore), and enjoy music. I loved to spend the night at her house because the cooking was so good and the sheets smelled lovely.
My grandpa is the cutest little farmer you ever saw. He has the sparkliest blue eyes ever. He worked for the gas company for 40 years and had a couple-acre farm he worked by hand. When I was small he had chickens and a cow, too. We would play in the barn with the hay bails for hours. We would push them around to make forts, castles and ships to fight the Russians coming up the San Juan river. He goes on walks by the ditch almost every day. He taught me how to pick corn and shuck it, how to tell when a cantaloupe was ripe but most importantly he showed me his simple but strong testimony of the gospel.
My grandma passed away 4 years ago and my grandpa has since remarried. I hadn't seen him since her funeral, but he and his new wife came up this summer to visit. It was wonderful! He looked just like last time. It made me feel young again. I love you, Grandpa!