I grew up in Toronto Ontario, my grandparents lived in Northern Ontario in a beautiful area called Muskoka. We would often go up to visit on weekends and for weeks in the summer. We went to visit my mom’s parents and my dad’s mom who we called Nanny. It was about a 2-hour drive to get to the town they lived in, seemed like an eternity when I was small. I would fall asleep on the way there so the time would pass by. There was a wonderful roadside burger join we would pass and somehow I would always wake up when we were close. Look up Webers its a very cool place.

“Do, we have to Go?” I would ask. I would always get the same answer “Yes, Anna we do.”

My parents would leave us at my Nanny’s while they went on vacation, which I thought was extremely unfair at the time. Now as a parent I realize how wise it was on their behalf. I remember complaining about having to hang out with my old grandmother and the torture I would have to endure. How boring it would be, and no fun. No one else has to go to their grandparents, everyone else is at home. The list of complaints was long, but my parents would ignore it and keep on packing the car.

I think some of my not wanting to go came from not feeling loved by my Nanny. It was a time that boys were always favored as special, and girls were second class. I never felt the goosh of love, which I so much needed and desired. I felt I was an afterthought and was like a two for one deal. You didn’t want the second item but you brought it home because it was a good deal. My brother came first and I was the runner up, which is how I felt. I grew up thinking it was never fun to go, and always wanted to do something better. I wouldn’t make the effort to go or was excited by the thought of spending time there. I have to say I was wrong.

I have been doing some reflecting lately as my daughter was planning her summer vacation. I do remember all the fun we had at her house. The walks to hang out at the Lake with the neighbors. We would go to the lake and spend the day there, swimming, making sandcastles. The best part was the chips and dip, seemed like the best beach food. We would play in her yard, gathering vegetables, playing cards on the rainy days, learning cribbage. We would spend hours investigating the forest or the cow farm down the street.

We didn’t have cell phones, we just went and knew to be back by the next meal. I remember one-day catching frogs in the pond next door, we must have caught over 100. What we did with them I have no idea. Once we played dare with bulls, we ran from the electric fence to a rock hoping not to get chased on the way. What we didn’t count on is all the bulls surrounding the rock we were on. We had no way of escape. The rock was about 6 feet high and we must have stayed there for a few hours. The pure innocence of our fun gives me a laugh.

Our suppers we ate in front of the TV watching Mash. This was a treat that we wouldn’t do often at home. Meals where Pot Pies or Fish Sticks, usually with some of her vegetables. Foods that were rare to us. I am not sure if she ate this way normally or was it for us. As kids we would eat it up, knowing it was only here we could eat such treats.

My Nanny had the most beautiful flower garden, being from England she brought England to Ontario. The roses where stunning and what I remember most is the Black-Eyed Susans they remind me of her. In the back of her yard, she had rows and rows of vegetables. It really was unbelievable how big her garden was. I saw my first bear from her window at the back of her garden.

My brother and I would help her harvest, shucking peas and planting. At the time I thought it was free slave labor. Oh, I must have been a treat complaining and moaning the whole time. Asking multiple times why we had to do this and wasn’t there anyone else that could do it? I didn’t get it fully then, why couldn’t she just goto a store and buy her vegetables. Why did we need to plant everything? Looking back her garden was spectacular it went on forever. She would have peas, beans, pumpkin, berries and would make me gooseberry jam.

Now as an adult I would love to spend two weeks this way carefree and loving life. The freedom to come and go, be home by dark. The freedom to explore and not have a care in the world. We fight it as a kid and don’t realize the preciousness of it until we are much older. Almost 2 years ago I moved to a rural part of the area I live in. I am falling in love with being with farmers, and have the push to have a mini-farm of my own. Many memories of my Nanny have come flooding back, much of what she taught me during those visits. My love for flowers, birds, reading the clouds and fresh vegetables. My Nanny had books on birds that I would devour reading as a kid. Also, she would read the weather and phone it in weekly. She would keep stats on the temperature, how much rain each day. Her walls had pictures of all the cloud foundations on them, I was fascinated as a child. It was amazing to me that you could read the weather by the clouds.

I have come to realize that she didn’t show her love how I needed to be loved. She showed it by passing on her wisdom to me. Passing down her joy of flowers, and gardening to me. She treasured me in her way, and I finally get it. The saying you don’t know what you had until its gone is so true. I do wish she was around, she could meet my daughters. See who I’ve become in life. I would love for her to see where I live, and help me with my dream of owning my mini-farm. I have made a practice in life to not live with regrets. This is one I struggle with big time. I do at times regret not having her around until my adult life. I also do sometimes regret not appreciating her when she was still around.

My Nanny died when I was 18, and I wasn’t able to see her before she died. That sat with me for a long time, I wish I could have seen her, and tell her I love her once more. Today I am 49 and realizing that her love for me was enough. I know that I was loved and she loved me enough to pass on her wisdom to me.

Nanny, I love you and I thank you.