Anna Gardner
Mauldin Elementary PTA
Simpsonville, SC
Read This Artist's Statement
My favorite place is my Grandfather's farm. I spend part of every summer there, and I take my golden retriever Spenser. During the week, I canoe on the pond, pick blackberries with Grandma, ride their quarter horse Big Ben, and let Spenser swim in the creek while my cousin and I build forts in the woods.
Sunday afternoons are my special time with Grandpa. One Sunday afternoon, like always, after dinner dishes were put away, he said, "Anna, let's not waste a nice afternoon inside. Let's take a little walk about the place." I called Spenser, Grandpa grabbed his walking stick, and off we went.
Grandpa had told me so many stories about farm life long ago that I could imagine girls in the henhouse gathering eggs in their aprons, hear the creak of a fresh pail of water being drawn in the wellhouse, and see mules plowing straight furrows in the fields. I really could smell a whiff of manure and hay! Grandpa and I walked down the sloping grassy pasture to the woods. Spenser ran ahead, golden tail up, stalking squirrels and rabbits. Right before we reached the stepping stones to cross the creek, Spenser gave an excited yelp. He had found a runaway hen and her nest of eggs! She squawked and began to chase him, so he tucked his tail between his legs and ran to me for protection. As the hen headed toward me, Grandpa finally quit laughing and scared it away with his walking stick.
We crossed the creek and headed up the hill to the old family graveyard inside a low stone wall. A huge oak seems to guard the cemetery, and Grandpa said it had been planted by his grandfather when he was a boy. Grandpa and I sat on the wall, with Spenser flopped at my feet panting. It was time for stories.
First I told Grandpa about the time Spenser had herded me back from the road when I was a toddler and had slipped out of the house. Grandpa chuckled and reached down and scratched Spenser between the ears. I had told Grandpa that story before, but I felt like I needed to say something to make up for the way Spenser had been so chicken about that chicken.
Then Grandpa told me a story about my Great-great Uncle William. When William was a little boy going to school in the one-room schoolhouse beside the church, the teacher told him to go to the spring to get a bucket of water. Much later, William came back with his clothes torn and dirty, cobwebs in his hair, and only one inch of water in the bucket. The teacher exclaimed, "What on earth happened to you?" William said, "You told me to go straight there and straight back, and the church was in the way, so I had to crawl under it!"
I laughed so hard that I slid off the wall and woke up Spenser. Grandpa has told me lots of good stories about my relatives buried in the family graveyard. "Grandpa," I said, "I feel like I know all these people." "That's one reason why I tell you the stories," he said, "We're keeping memories alive."
After a while we walked back to the farmhouse so that Grandpa could rest his eyes and I could play fetch with Spenser. The whole summer was full of wonderful days like that one. The farm was special because of my grandparents, Grandpa's living memories, and all the fun things I did with Spenser.
One morning that fall, I woke up to find Spenser still asleep on the foot of my bed. When I reached to pet him, his body was cold. The vet said he had died in his sleep of old age. I was heartbroken. I asked Grandpa if we could bury Spenser on the farm because it was his favorite place. Grandpa and I picked out a spot near the edge of the woods not far from the creek where he loved to swim. We marked his grave with a large stone. For the first time, I was too sad to enjoy the farm. For weeks I had nightmares that Spenser was whining for me and I couldn't reach him because an enormous rock was in the way.
When I visited my grandparents during spring break, the farm still seemed dreary and sad. I didn't even know if I wanted to visit that summer, but I finally decided to go. When I arrived in June, I stepped out of the car and thought how empty it was without Spenser. Suddenly, a ball of fur raced into my legs and almost made me topple over. It was a brown cocker spaniel puppy! Grandma and Grandpa came out to the car. "We thought you might need some company this summer," Grandma said. I picked up the puppy, who attacked me with her bright pink tongue. She was nothing like Spenser, but she was adorable. "I think I'll call you Spice," I said.
Although I still missed Spenser I was too busy training and playing with Spice to mope around. The next Sunday, Grandpa and I took Spice on our Sunday afternoon walk. She was so funny, falling all over her feet and ears. I was beginning to enjoy the farm again, but when we arrived at Spenser's grave I was struck again by how much I missed him. Grandpa and I sat down on a big log. "Maybe you should tell Spice about Spenser," Grandpa suggested. I took a deep breath, pulled Spice into my lap, and began. "One time Spenser was scared by a nesting chicken," I said. I looked up and suddenly I could imagine Spenser running toward me down the path, and I understood what Grandpa meant about keeping memories alive. "When I was little Spenser herded me away from a busy road. He loved to chase squirrels and play fetch. And Grandpa's farm was our favorite place." Spice nuzzled my hand with her nose, Grandpa patted my knee, and I realized how lucky I was to share my favorite place with the people and pets I loved.
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