I always drop everything I do because I know this is going to be a special time with him. After all, he has cycled almost two kilometers to reach me.
After a glass of lemonade and a crunchie we each take a small basket to pick whatever there happens to be in the veggie garden. For the next half hour I have the absolute privilege of being transported into the wondrous world of an enthusiastic child. A half bitten sugar snap never tasted “so sweet and crunchy ouma – just taste!” In the strawberry patch he shrieks with delight as he uncovers each huge strawberry from under the straw. I leave him to discover the big whole ones while I pick off the left over of a bird feast. I teach him how to look for the right sized carrot to pull.
As he wobbles down the avenue of Jacaranda on his way back home with a fully
laden plastic bag hooked onto each handle bar of his bike I am overwhelmed with emotion. How very, very privileged and blessed I am to have my grandchildren near me. The words of gratitude and praise to God just poured from me. Through the Grace of Our Almighty Father we are still in our home on a tiny portion of our farm and my daughter in theirs, also on a fraction of their farm. Should this change, as it can any moment, and we are forced out, I will have precious memories to keep forever. I cried for those grannies who, through the unjust circumstances which scattered families over the earth, could not have the opportunity of making memories with their grandchildren. OUMA, by e-mailPost published in: Uncategorized