The Weeks We Fought For

Earlier this week, we said goodbye to my Grandma Verna.
And if you asked any of her grandkids, we would all tell you the same thing: she was our favorite person.

We used to argue over who got which week of summer at the Ranch with her. Those weeks felt like winning the lottery. The Ranch wasn’t just a place — it was a whole world that only really existed when you were there with Grandma.

I am a homebody. When I was little, I got homesick being away from my mom and dad. Truthfully, I still get homesick — only now it’s when I’m away from my husband. But I loved my time with Grandma, too. When I was young, I would sometimes start missing home after a couple of days at the Ranch. Funny enough, that was usually right when Grandma would suddenly start feeling “sick” and decide it might be time for me to head home so she could rest.

It took me years to realize what she was doing.

She was protecting my pride — letting me go home without ever making me feel like a baby for missing my mom and dad.

Eventually, she started letting us grandkids come visit in pairs, under one condition: we weren’t allowed to fight. Naturally, Syd and I ended up going together. We were already neighbors growing up, but I truly believe those weeks at the Ranch built the foundation for our lifelong friendship. There’s something about shared summers, barn basketball, horses, and Grandma’s table that ties people together forever.

Grandma loved a good deal — and most of her deals involved money.

She absolutely hated water snakes. Unfortunately for her, the yard had a creek running through it. Her standing offer was five dollars for every water snake we killed. Looking back, it could’ve been a gold mine… except I hate snakes just as much as she did, so I never really capitalized on that one.

The deal I did capitalize on was Grandma’s mouth.

Every time she swore, she owed us a dollar. But there was a catch: if we ran into the house screaming “Grandma!” at the top of our lungs, we owed her a dollar.

Syd loved yelling Grandma’s name.
I loved collecting Grandma’s dollar bills.

Syd usually went home in the negative. I usually went home with pockets full of ones.

Some of my favorite memories weren’t really about the Ranch itself — they were about the quiet moments with her. I am not a horse person. Honestly, you couldn’t bribe me to get on a horse. But up at the Ranch with Grandma, I rode every day. Not because I loved riding, but because I loved riding with her.

Every morning and evening we’d go out together. She would tell stories as we rode through the coulees, along the trees, and across the hills.

My favorite ride was the mid-morning trip over to Aunt Barbara’s house. Grandma would sit, and gossip, and Syd and I would sip iced tea like we were part of the conversation.

Evenings were slower. After dinner, Grandma would teach Syd and me card games at the table. And before bed, we’d sit by the fireplace while she read Hank the Cowdog out loud to us.

At the end of Grandma’s life, she lost much of her memory — but she never lost her sass.

When I was pregnant with Tein, she looked at me with complete honesty and informed me that I had gained some weight. She might be the only person in the world who could tell me I was getting fat and not get punched in the arm.

That was Grandma — direct, funny, sharp, and completely herself.

Losing someone like her leaves a quiet space behind. When I think about Grandma Verna, I don’t picture the nursing home or the hard parts at the end. I picture early mornings on horseback, the crisp morning air, a deck of cards on the kitchen table, and her voice reading stories by the fire.

And somewhere in my mind, that’s exactly where she still is — riding across the hills, telling stories with my Dad, making deals, and keeping everyone on their toes.

And if there happen to be water snakes in heaven, I have no doubt she’s still paying five dollars for every one of them.