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Memories Essay Research Paper Rising at the

Memories Essay, Research Paper Rising at the crack of dawn I raced down the stairs into the kitchen to find my grandmother cooking donuts! That remains one of my fondest memories of the many

Memories Essay, Research Paper

Rising at the crack of dawn I raced down the stairs into the kitchen to find my

grandmother cooking donuts! That remains one of my fondest memories of the many

summers spent at grandmother?s. The smell of the freshly cooked sugar or

glazed donuts was enough to drive anyone out of their deep sleep. The recently

made eggs and bacon, along with fresh squeezed orange juice, gave us the needed

energy to go out and start our daily routine of chores. As I remained the

youngest of the many of my cousins at the farm that summer, my tasks included

feeding the cats, helping with dishes, and pretty much trying to stay out of as

much trouble as I possibly could. My grandmother taught me many valuable lessons

those summers about life, including humanity, laughter, strength, and most

importantly the importance of family. Looking back at the all too short of a

time I got to spend with my grandmother, she taught me some of the most valuable

morals that I carry with me still today. One of the toughest lessons that I had

to deal with was the death of some of my most loved animals. When lambing season

came around, there were some very difficult decisions that had to be made.

Sometimes, throughout the process of lambing, things go wrong. I remember losing

my favorite ewe Breeze to a breach birth during lambing season. Through her

death we did come out with two beautiful lambs; which we named after her in her

memory. Decisions were tough but they had to be made in order to save the life

of either the ewe or the lamb. At the time they were not decisions that I

believed were acceptable. Now looking back, they are decisions I would never

want to make. Don?t get me wrong, I cope with death fine when it comes to

animals that are raised for meat, such as cattle or chicken. In fact, one of my

favorite meals is chicken. My grandma raised chickens and butchered them herself

whenever a dish called for the delectable birds. I remember specifically her

walking to the chicken coop and grabbing one of the unlucky chickens by the

feet. She then walked over to the worn beat up shed were she would sit down on a

dirty old stool next to a huge stump of what used to be a tree. Quietly and

swiftly, she?d place the helpless chicken across the stump placing the neck

outstretched. Then, with one quick movement of a hatchet, the head of the

chicken would roll to the ground. She would stand up and set the body of the

chicken on the ground and watch, as we kids would scramble to catch a headless

chicken. The chicken would run every which way, providing us with a brief moment

of chaos as we scrambled to catch it. My grandmother would laugh for hours

recalling all the different techniques that we tried to catch this headless

chicken. It was one moment in the summer that really brought every one together.

My grandmother wasn?t all laughs; she?d had her set backs, too. She lost her

husband, my grandpa, when my dad was a senior in college. My grandpa died of a

heart attack on Christmas Day, which ironically is my dad?s birthday. My dad

and mom, who were engaged at the time, rushed him to the Madison emergency room.

The distance ended up being too great, as my grandpa died in the car. My

grandmother went on running the farm by herself another ten years before her

death. It took every inch of her soul to keep going after the death of her

husband, but during that time she helped raise all thirty-two of her

grandchildren by keeping us on the farm whenever we weren?t in school. Her

example, back in my earlier years, remains the source of most of my strength

that I have today. Her strength was not the most important thing to my

grandmother. The most valuable possession that she had was her family. She loved

her family more than anything and spent every waking moment with them. She?d

send for her grandchildren whenever there was a moment?s break from our

educations. Raising us was a breeze, she?d always say, compared to raising her

own eight children. Playing with us was another of her favorite things; whether

it be, bottle-feeding orphaned lambs or picking apples for fresh pies that

night, she never passed up an opportunity to play with us. The family always

gave back to her, whenever possible. My uncles would come home to help with the

planting and harvesting seasons, as well as lambing season. My grandmother never

once, that I can remember, asked for help. Family, she always told us, would

always be there whenever she needed them. She would always say that if you

can?t count on family in life, you can?t count on much. That value has been

instilled in me since I was very little, from my grandmother as well as my

parents, and remains one of my most treasured beliefs that makes me who I am. As

I stand at the entrance of the farm looking down a long driveway of memories, I

thank God for letting me spend as much time with my grandmother as he did. A lot

of who I am and what I stand for started here on this farm on the outskirts of

Howard, SD. And though I don?t travel back as much as I would like to, the

memories and effects that the farm had on me will remain close to my heart the

rest of my life. A New Look at Old Memories Rising at the crack of dawn I raced

down the stairs into the kitchen to find my grandmother cooking donuts! That

remains one of my fondest memories of the many summers spent at grandmother?s.

The smell of the freshly cooked sugar or glazed donuts was enough to drive

anyone out of their deep sleep. The recently made eggs and bacon, along with

fresh squeezed orange juice, gave us the needed energy to go out and start our

daily routine of chores. As I remained the youngest of the many of my cousins at

the farm that summer, my tasks included feeding the cats, helping with dishes,

and pretty much trying to stay out of as much trouble as I possibly could. My

grandmother taught me many valuable lessons those summers about life, including

humanity, laughter, strength, and most importantly the importance of family.

Looking back at the all too short of a time I got to spend with my grandmother,

she taught me some of the most valuable morals that I carry with me still today.

One of the toughest lessons that I had to deal with was the death of some of my

most loved animals. When lambing season came around, there were some very

difficult decisions that had to be made. Sometimes, throughout the process of

lambing, things go wrong. I remember losing my favorite ewe Breeze to a breach

birth during lambing season. Through her death we did come out with two

beautiful lambs; which we named after her in her memory. Decisions were tough

but they had to be made in order to save the life of either the ewe or the lamb.

At the time they were not decisions that I believed were acceptable. Now looking

back, they are decisions I would never want to make. Don?t get me wrong, I

cope with death fine when it comes to animals that are raised for meat, such as

cattle or chicken. In fact, one of my favorite meals is chicken. My grandma

raised chickens and butchered them herself whenever a dish called for the

delectable birds. I remember specifically her walking to the chicken coop and

grabbing one of the unlucky chickens by the feet. She then walked over to the

worn beat up shed were she would sit down on a dirty old stool next to a huge

stump of what used to be a tree. Quietly and swiftly, she?d place the helpless

chicken across the stump placing the neck outstretched. Then, with one quick

movement of a hatchet, the head of the chicken would roll to the ground. She

would stand up and set the body of the chicken on the ground and watch, as we

kids would scramble to catch a headless chicken. The chicken would run every

which way, providing us with a brief moment of chaos as we scrambled to catch

it. My grandmother would laugh for hours recalling all the different techniques

that we tried to catch this headless chicken. It was one moment in the summer

that really brought every one together. My grandmother wasn?t all laughs;

she?d had her set backs, too. She lost her husband, my grandpa, when my dad

was a senior in college. My grandpa died of a heart attack on Christmas Day,

which ironically is my dad?s birthday. My dad and mom, who were engaged at the

time, rushed him to the Madison emergency room. The distance ended up being too

great, as my grandpa died in the car. My grandmother went on running the farm by

herself another ten years before her death. It took every inch of her soul to

keep going after the death of her husband, but during that time she helped raise

all thirty-two of her grandchildren by keeping us on the farm whenever we

weren?t in school. Her example, back in my earlier years, remains the source

of most of my strength that I have today. Her strength was not the most

important thing to my grandmother. The most valuable possession that she had was

her family. She loved her family more than anything and spent every waking

moment with them. She?d send for her grandchildren whenever there was a

moment?s break from our educations. Raising us was a breeze, she?d always

say, compared to raising her own eight children. Playing with us was another of

her favorite things; whether it be, bottle-feeding orphaned lambs or picking

apples for fresh pies that night, she never passed up an opportunity to play

with us. The family always gave back to her, whenever possible. My uncles would

come home to help with the planting and harvesting seasons, as well as lambing

season. My grandmother never once, that I can remember, asked for help. Family,

she always told us, would always be there whenever she needed them. She would

always say that if you can?t count on family in life, you can?t count on

much. That value has been instilled in me since I was very little, from my

grandmother as well as my parents, and remains one of my most treasured beliefs

that makes me who I am. As I stand at the entrance of the farm looking down a

long driveway of memories, I thank God for letting me spend as much time with my

grandmother as he did. A lot of who I am and what I stand for started here on

this farm on the outskirts of Howard, SD. And though I don?t travel back as

much as I would like to, the memories and effects that the farm had on me will

remain close to my heart the rest of my life. A New Look at Old Memories Rising

at the crack of dawn I raced down the stairs into the kitchen to find my

grandmother cooking donuts! That remains one of my fondest memories of the many

summers spent at grandmother?s. The smell of the freshly cooked sugar or

glazed donuts was enough to drive anyone out of their deep sleep. The recently

made eggs and bacon, along with fresh squeezed orange juice, gave us the needed

energy to go out and start our daily routine of chores. As I remained the

youngest of the many of my cousins at the farm that summer, my tasks included

feeding the cats, helping with dishes, and pretty much trying to stay out of as

much trouble as I possibly could. My grandmother taught me many valuable lessons

those summers about life, including humanity, laughter, strength, and most

importantly the importance of family. Looking back at the all too short of a

time I got to spend with my grandmother, she taught me some of the most valuable

morals that I carry with me still today. One of the toughest lessons that I had

to deal with was the death of some of my most loved animals. When lambing season

came around, there were some very difficult decisions that had to be made.

Sometimes, throughout the process of lambing, things go wrong. I remember losing

my favorite ewe Breeze to a breach birth during lambing season. Through her

death we did come out with two beautiful lambs; which we named after her in her

memory. Decisions were tough but they had to be made in order to save the life

of either the ewe or the lamb. At the time they were not decisions that I

believed were acceptable. Now looking back, they are decisions I would never

want to make. Don?t get me wrong, I cope with death fine when it comes to

animals that are raised for meat, such as cattle or chicken. In fact, one of my

favorite meals is chicken. My grandma raised chickens and butchered them herself

whenever a dish called for the delectable birds. I remember specifically her

walking to the chicken coop and grabbing one of the unlucky chickens by the

feet. She then walked over to the worn beat up shed were she would sit down on a

dirty old stool next to a huge stump of what used to be a tree. Quietly and

swiftly, she?d place the helpless chicken across the stump placing the neck

outstretched. Then, with one quick movement of a hatchet, the head of the

chicken would roll to the ground. She would stand up and set the body of the

chicken on the ground and watch, as we kids would scramble to catch a headless

chicken. The chicken would run every which way, providing us with a brief moment

of chaos as we scrambled to catch it. My grandmother would laugh for hours

recalling all the different techniques that we tried to catch this headless

chicken. It was one moment in the summer that really brought every one together.

My grandmother wasn?t all laughs; she?d had her set backs, too. She lost her

husband, my grandpa, when my dad was a senior in college. My grandpa died of a

heart attack on Christmas Day, which ironically is my dad?s birthday. My dad

and mom, who were engaged at the time, rushed him to the Madison emergency room.

The distance ended up being too great, as my grandpa died in the car. My

grandmother went on running the farm by herself another ten years before her

death. It took every inch of her soul to keep going after the death of her

husband, but during that time she helped raise all thirty-two of her

grandchildren by keeping us on the farm whenever we weren?t in school. Her

example, back in my earlier years, remains the source of most of my strength

that I have today. Her strength was not the most important thing to my

grandmother. The most valuable possession that she had was her family. She loved

her family more than anything and spent every waking moment with them. She?d

send for her grandchildren whenever there was a moment?s break from our

educations. Raising us was a breeze, she?d always say, compared to raising her

own eight children. Playing with us was another of her favorite things; whether

it be, bottle-feeding orphaned lambs or picking apples for fresh pies that

night, she never passed up an opportunity to play with us. The family always

gave back to her, whenever possible. My uncles would come home to help with the

planting and harvesting seasons, as well as lambing season. My grandmother never

once, that I can remember, asked for help. Family, she always told us, would

always be there whenever she needed them. She would always say that if you

can?t count on family in life, you can?t count on much. That value has been

instilled in me since I was very little, from my grandmother as well as my

parents, and remains one of my most treasured beliefs that makes me who I am. As

I stand at the entrance of the farm looking down a long driveway of memories, I

thank God for letting me spend as much time with my grandmother as he did. A lot

of who I am and what I stand for started here on this farm on the outskirts of

Howard, SD. And though I don?t travel back as much as I would like to, the

memories and effects that the farm had on me will remain close to my heart the

rest of my life.

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