When you begin writing stories for your family tree, don’t forget to write your own! These stories are the most important, because, well, you were there. You remember things first hand and you’re still around to tell the tale. Make sure to write these memories down before you forget them. For example, here’s a crazy story from my own childhood:
My grandmother stared in horror as it sat on the dining room table. What would happen now? Would they get caught? Were the police coming? Would they haul the whole family off to jail? How could it have appeared in their yard?
What she really couldn’t figure out was why the rest of us were laughing. This was serious!
My uncle Fred had brought it into the house, a big, goofy grin on his face. He displayed it proudly to all of us as he announced, “Look what I found growing in the manure pile!” Grandma didn’t know what she was looking at, but after Uncle Fred told her, her gasp was heard for miles.
“Get that thing out of the house!” she ordered. Instead, he put it in a bud vase and set it right in the middle of the dining room table, taunting her.
By now you may have guessed what the offending centerpiece of this little story was. A plant of the cannabis variety. Yes, Uncle Fred found a pot plant in the manure pile. Grandma was beside herself. She had never done anything illegal in her life. Now this plant, banned in all 50 states and Canada, was growing on her property. Who planted it? Who was responsible? What was going on? Was she caught red-handed?
After several minutes of amusement watching my grandmother stew, my uncle finally put her at ease. The plant was not marijuana, but actually a hemp plant, one of the many that grew wild in the woods nearby. No one was growing pot in their manure pile and the police weren’t on their way to take them to the big house. Grandma could relax.
For days after, my younger brother and I broke out into fits of laughter when we’d think about this little incident. Grandma was straight as an arrow and would never have grown anything like that on the farm.
What I find even more interesting as I look back on that day is that my brother and I actually recognized the plant. I was only 11 or 12. When did we become so “educated”?
It could have been all the t-shirts, pins, necklaces, and other “hippie” paraphernalia that were so popular at the time. Which, of course, proudly displayed beautifully detailed cannabis leaves. I guess it’s not that surprising. Aah, the 1970s.
Image credit: Photo by Gerald Dilley
