Both my grandmothers were young adults during the Great Depression. They were strong, resourceful women. They were accustomed to hard work. They knew how to grow tomatoes and apricots, churn butter, put up pickles and peaches, bake bread, and make a perfect Sunday pot roast with brown gravy. They developed clerical skills so that they could support themselves and their families. They more than encouraged their children and grandchildren to get a good education. They absolutely insisted upon it. They believed in the gospel and in following its teachings. They’re both gone now, but certain smells can bring them right back to me. Geraniums or tea roses. Fresh raspberries. The scent of rising dough. Jergens lotion. I wouldn’t be the person I am today if I’d never known them. And someday, I hope to get the chance to tell them that.
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