I love this photograph of my Grandma and Grandpa Jones. Although this was taken before I was born (as my grandfather was in it) this is how I remember my grandmother looking. Round-faced and smiling, and just a bit plump. Comfortable to snuggle up against. (Grandma’s are supposed to be plump, right? I hope so, because I’m working on being a good Gramma.)
I wish that my grandfather had lived long enough for me to meet (and remember him), but this Carnival of Genealogy post is about my Grandma Carrie Breneman Jones, who died when I was eight years old.
When I was just a little bitty girl, my mama told me that her mama was really unhappy that they had named me “Sherry”. She said that Sherry is also the name of an alcoholic beverage, and her mama just wasn’t happy with her for giving me that name.
So I guess it’s no wonder when I went to grade school and I really didn’t know what my Grandma’s last name was, that when the teacher began talking about Kansas’ Carrie Nation going into bars with an axe to fight for temperance I kind of wondered for a short time if that was my Grandma Carrie that did that. I don’t know why I didn’t run home and ask my mom about it, but I didn’t, but I did figure out, after awhile, that my Grandma Carrie wasn’t the infamous axe wielding Carrie in my history book. (The above doesn’t look like the picture of an axe-wielding Grandma, does it?)
My Grandma Carrie was a very crafty lady. Her hands were always busy making something. She loved to crochet, from the very tiny delicate flower shaped earrings to the beautiful heirloom bedspread that she made for my mother, and that my mother later gave to me.
She crocheted doll clothes for my dolls and when my new favorite plastic horse needed a rider and there were none to be bought in the correct size, she created one. My Grandma Carrie created an Indian, excuse me, a Native American brave complete with tiny leather fringed breeches and shirt, and bendable legs so he could sit a horse. I still have him, tucked away (somewhere) and when I find him, I’ll try to add the picture here.
And as I write this, I just realized that she may have fashioned the brave after the Native Americans that came to their cabin in Nebraska asking for food when she was just a very small girl, and they lived on the Nebraska prairie where my Grandma herded cattle on horseback by herself on the prairie during the day.
When she was older, Grandma Carrie taught herself to paint and she loved the National Geographic magazine for its beautiful photographs that often inspired her painting. She also painted a picture of my brother’s 4-H Dairy Cow “Jenny,” too, for him, and “Jenny” hung on our kitchen wall while I was growing up.
I wish my Grandma had lived long enough for me to get to know her as an adult, because I think I inherited many of my interests and talents from her. Like my Grandma, I’m crafty, though I’ve not had much time to do it lately, and if I can see something, particularly a fabric something, I can often make a pattern for it or create it from one I find. Also like my Grandma and my mom, I painted for several years till I learned I was sensitive to the oil and turpentine smells, and like my Grandma and my mother I love a good book!
And, I wish she had lived long enough to ask her all those many genealogy questions that I now wish I had the answers to!
Wordless Wednesday: Stocking & Jones Family
Wordless Wednesday: Constantine Breneman & Carrie Breneman Jones & family