Grandma, Tell me a Story

Grandma, Tell Me a Story

Whenever my family gathered with my grandparents, the day would always end with someone asking, “Grandma, tell me a story.” These were no ordinary stories. They were rich with history—tales of covered wagons heading west, real cowboys and cowgirls living on ranches in the foothills of Colorado. We’d hear about life on a ranch, sheep camps, and the spirit of family helping family. Although we no longer lived in that beautiful state by the time we were children, we couldn’t help but believe it was the most magical place on earth.

The adults—grandparents, aunts, uncles, mom, and dad—would settle into the couch or nearby chairs, while the grandchildren crowded the floor, eager to sit as close as possible to the woman we adored. No one wanted to miss a single word. Even though we’d heard these stories many times before, we listened intently every time. We loved hearing about the adventures of the past. Occasionally, one of the little ones would ask a question, or another adult would jump in to add their own version of events. Each story felt like a living, breathing connection to our past, and it gave us a sense of pride and direction as we learned how it all began.

Those precious moments tied us to a family history we hadn’t known but grew to cherish. We felt a deep connection to our heritage, passed down through generations, and we loved every story that came with it.

Today, I am blessed with my own little ones—grandchildren who call me Honey. And now, it’s my turn to keep the tradition alive, to share the old stories and create new ones for them to treasure in the years to come.

I dedicate this sweet journey to my beloved family: my daughter, Leslie, and her husband, Aaron, and to all my wonderful grandbabies—Mathew, Cameron, Sierra, Jessica, Kylie, Connor, and Jaxon. It’s my hope that you’ll enjoy these tales and learn a little about where it all began. Love you all!