My Grandma’s House

(Dolores Allred shares her memories of visiting her Grandmother Mary Alice Tolman’s house.)

It was a dirt road that passed in front of Grandma’s property. A rickety bridge over the small irrigation ditch led through a swinging iron gate into the grassy yard and up the path to the beloved brick house. The old fashioned porch was covered with creeping green vines which shaded the ornately carved windowed front door. Inside was the living room with high ceiling and transoms above the doors and a squeaky floor.

Grandma’s bedroom was to the right, and then the other door which led upstairs. This was the house Grandpa built for her just after they were married, many years before. Since then a kitchen had been added to the back of the house, a washhouse nearby and other outbuildings, including a barn and granary. The once small poplars were now tall spires and there were friendly vegetable and flower gardens.

I remember well the old dog Tippy, who was really a member of the family, and all the batches of kittens that had been brought forth by the white mother cat. I’ll never forget the three horses, Brownie, Midget, and Betsy; the cow, Old Boss, and all the white chickens which scratched about the yard. Out by the barn was the pigpen, a big sow, and a litter of piglets. I enjoyed making the rounds to see the animals, although I was always a little afraid that the cow would chase me, or the horse would kick me, or that the chickens would peck my fingers when I was gathering eggs. But I was never frightened of the spotted calf, or the cats and dog.

I loved to wade in the ditch that ran by the granary but Grandma very seldom said, “Yes,” when I asked if I could. I never grew tired of playing upstairs with all the old knickknacks I found there. My Aunt Zina, who was only a little older than I, would find treasures of old beaded dresses and fancy hats and purses in the trunks and we would parade around in them from dawn until dark.

I would gather flowers from Grandma’s well kept garden and pick apples from the low branches in the orchard. Many were the days when I explored the whole area from the front gate to the barn and from the trough in the lane to the chicken coop, saying “hello” to all the animals and talking to myself, pretending many fantastic adventures.

Once in a while we would run through the back fields, across the tracks, and jump into the “old swimmin’ hole,” but I was never brave enough to do more than dog paddle around in the shallowest places. Sometimes Zina and I had the responsibility to tend the cows in those fields by the tracks.

Always a dreamer and a lover of stories and fairy tales, I would read all the books I could find, often perching on the limb of an apple tree or sitting in my favorite chair in the kitchen, reading and munching. Grandma’s bread and cinnamon rolls are a bright tasty memory. I especially remember the tall bookcase and the set of tiny books of the Bible. And I first discovered Shakespeare in Grandma’s attic!

We children slept upstairs, boys on the south side and girls on the north. The walls up there had never been “finished” and we were constantly in horror of bugs and mice and spooks and spiders but I can’t remember running up against anything more horrible than a daddy-long-legs. Always I was the first one up in the morning and sometimes attempted to slide down the banister with often tragic results. If the weather was cold, we would rush down and dress around the black potbellied stove.

Although I spent only summers at Grandma’s house, I remember my childhood in terms of Grandma’s cooking, the animals and the fields, and the experiences I had there. My brother Joe Raymond and I used to travel the twenty miles there on the old “choo choo” and the friendly conductor always stopped the train and let us off at “Larson’s Crossing.”

We would climb the fence and cut through the field and holler all the way so Les and Louise and Ozzie and Zina would hear us and come to meet us.

I can’t help feeling that Grandma’s house had a soul, when I think about all that happened there. Grandma’s first two little babies were born there, but later died while Grandpa was in Colorado on a mission. Then twelve more were born there during the years which followed. Grandpa died there suddenly and unexpectedly when Zina was just six months old. There was sickness and there were hard times, but there was fun and happiness, too. The bonfires, the candy pulls, the ball games and the family prayers… the work and the play… so much living! And the soul of my grandma’s house witnessed it all.

I know that if I went back now, I would feel the presence of something or someone, very old and wise. And though other children might play there now, it would still be “Grandma’s House” to me.(Written by Dolores Allred)

Visit FamilySearch to learn more about Mary Alice Tolman. Also visit the Thomas Tolman Family Organization to find out how you can get more involved in family history.

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