Tuesday, October 7, 2014

My Grandma Dear

After doing a lot of research on my great grandmother Hattie Rozella Charlotta Jane Tuttle Anderson, I felt inclined to write a short poem about her. I do not profess to be a poet, but these were some of my feelings about her. 

                              My Grandma Dear
                 I was thumbing through old photos
                     From a box beneath my bed
                   Some were torn and others bent
                         Faces of kin long dead.

                   My passing glance soon focused
                        On a long-forgotten face.
                       I found myself transported
                     To a past and pleasant place.

                I strode a short, but well-worn lane
                        Toward the house of stone.
                   Its wooden porch was beckoning,
                     “Come stay, you’re not alone.”

                     The aroma of the kitchen air
                       Put memories in my mind.
                  Of bacon, bread and coffee cake
                      Which so many of us dined.

                     The creator of this lovely fest
                     Worked steadily at her chore.
                   She greeted me with loving gaze.
                  And said, “Come in, there’s more.”

                She used her apron clean and white
                          To grasp a sizzling pot.
                    Then once again she took it up 
                          To soothe her crying tot.

                         Some say a woman’s work
                          Is never quite complete.
                     Not even with the dishes done
                      There’s always rugs to beat.

                   I honor you, my grandma dear
                      For all your stalwart acts.
               You kept your family fed and cheered
                    And clothes upon their backs.

                  Things are all so different now 
                         But yet, that is not so.
                     We worry, fuss and bother too
                        Until our time to go.                         

                                         ~Cindy Eppich

Hattie Tuttle Anderson with son Dean
cir. 1925


  1. Nice job Cindy, and it even rhymes!

  2. What a sweet tribute to your grandmother. I love her apron!

  3. A very lovely tribute to your grandmother. i would say great poetry.