This is a photo of my Grandma Crosby in front of the Library I mentioned in my March 9th post. My brother, Grant, the family history genius helped me track down these pictures so I could share them with my faithful readers. Yes, I know that the sign says United Stated Post Office. She was the post mistress for Greer, Arizona as well as the sole librarian.
This building that housed the post office
was also home to the library and, if I remember correctly, the bunkhouse for ranch hands and the laundry room. Eventually, my older cousins and brothers had the chance to work summers in Greer. My Grandpa ran the store, gas station, horseback riding stables, and grew an enormous garden on the side of the hill next to the store.
Greer was a great town. I haven't been back in a million years. Grandpa's store is gone now and someone else lives in their old house. The library is in a different building.
Part of me would love to go back to Greer again--maybe I could be in charge of the library there. Another part of me just wants to go back in my mind and remember the flashes of memories that I have carried with me since I was a child. Memories of swinging on an enormous rope swing at the top of Hilltop. It had a metal pole that we sat on and I could feel the wind and touch the sky. The smell of the pines. The thrill of driving over the cattleguard that meant we had entered Greer, hearing and feeling the bumps. Lying underneath the cattleguard to watch cars drive over it. Going underneath the porch of Grandpa's store to hunt for dropped coins so we could buy creamsicles and listen to unsuspecting grownup's conversations. The smell of the barn and the dark coolness of it when Grandma would send us to gather the eggs. Grandpa sitting by me at the breakfast table making sure I ate every bite of my oatmeal (maybe it was Cream of Wheat). Playing pool in the gas station. Getting a soda out of the old soda machine, the kind with the cool glass bottles and the bottle caps that you couldn't open without a bottle opener (the openers were built into the pop machine). Helping my brother, Gerry dig worms to sell to fishermen. Grandpa let us dig up along the edges of his garden where the dirt was rich and black and loaded with worms. I especially loved the smell of Greer right after it rained. Every once in a while I still get a little whiff and then it is almost like being there again.
4 comments:
Oh my gosh! Those photos are soooo cool. And her middle name was Greer? They really had roots there I see.
Going to my grandparents house was the opposite adventure. They were immigrants that lived in the city. We had no grass to play on, and spent our time playing stickball on the street. We would walk to the convenience store and buy sodas and then on a Sunday we would attend mass in Portuguese at the local Catholic Church.
But the memories are something I wouldn't trifle with. I don't really need to go there (they are all gone now) to have that rush come back over me.
I'll bet you are a lot like your grandma. She sounds cool.
My grandma was probably the most important person in my childhood. Thank you for making me think of her again.
And thank you for sharing yours.
I love this post. We should sit down together and tell stories of Greer. And then you could write them up in your wonderful way.
My wonderful way? Really? Thanks Grant! I was ready to give up on blogging but now I will continue on.
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