Memories of My Grandma

My maternal grandmother died last week. When I heard the news, I recalled two very strong memories of my time with her, and I want to write them down as a way of honouring her, and processing my own feelings.

Most of my memories of you are from my childhood, from holidays spent in Cornwall. I remember us on a Cornish beach, sky and sea blue and breathtakingly vast. We made a village of small sandcastles together, and collected things from the beach to decorate them with: seaweed, small shells of different shapes and sizes, pebbles of interesting colours and textures. We made patterns with the little objects, circles of shells around the roofs of the small dome houses, fences of pebbles, roads of seaweed.

I remember us walking down the lane of the small hamlet where you had a cottage. You knew the names of every wildflower in the hedgerow, and named each one for me, like a spell. We picked examples of each, and took them back to the cottage to press—I with my purpose built press, and you with your magazines that you’d wedge under every sofa cushion.

You invested the natural world with such magic for me. Thank you.

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