Those Places Thursday.....Grandma's Shanty

Those Places Thursday – do you often think back to places where you lived and worked at one time? What about those places where your ancestors spent time? Post about “those places” with photos and stories on Those Places Thursday. This has been an ongoing series by Cheryl Palmer of Heritage Happens.


The pictures and poem below come from my cousin Molly. Her dad, my Uncle Jimmy, is an artist and he created a planter box for Molly from Grandma Nell's old mailbox. He wrote the poem and gave it as a gift to Molly for her birthday. I've been unable to find a good picture of Grandma's little yellow house in my own collection of photos. I know that one exists and I'll post it and write about the "shanty" when I find that photo. But for now, these photos will do. 

"Gramma's Shanty"

I hope that this old box brings you good memories of the little yellow shanty

like those of the old black purse and all its treasures and candy

memories of sleeping in the big wooden bed and all the nightime stories so often said

memories of helping in the little kitchen and the yummy meals that appeared as if done by a magician

memories of sitting in the rocker on the tree shaded deck, cuddling for a hug and a peck

memories of time spent with one that loved to go for a walk or to just sit and have a good talk

memories of the little bathroom with the big metal tub with the flowery bubbles that made it so fun to scrub

memories of a gramma who loved you so much, whos life we now cherish so much

Jim Borgreen

Written for Molly’s birthday

Those Places Thursday...The Cabin

Johnstone-Borgreen Cabin est. 1936

This is "The Cabin". It was built by my grandfather, Carl Borgreen 

and my Uncle Steve Johnstone, who was Grandma Nell's brother.

Our family has been coming to this place ever since 1935. There is no

electricity or running water; no plumbing or any type of modern

convenience. There is no TV, computer and no cell phone service.

This spot is truly Heaven on Earth. There are no neighbors or stores

no street noise. There is nothing but the pure silence of the mountains

and the creek running by. 

The inside of the cabin contains many of the

same items that have been there since the very beginning. The old wood stove

and picnic table have always been there. The oil lamps and pots and pans

are the same ones that I've always known. The water bucket and dipper 

are the same ones from back in the day when we could actually drink the 

water straight from the creek. 

There have been small changes over the

years and improvements like the new roof and fresh paint. But the things

that matter, the things that make this the cabin have remained the same.

The history of this place swirls around me when I step out of my car to

open the gate. To be so firmly rooted to a place is holy. I have always come

here and I will always come back. And when my time comes to leave this 

life, I want my ashes scattered here.