If you had asked me as a child, I would have told you I had the best grandparents ever! Not only did I have both sets of grandparents on each side, but I also had 3 great-grandparents still living. Both sets of grandparents and great grandparents lived less than a few miles from each other.
Having this many grandparents to interact with from a young age gave me a sense of belonging and connection to family. Not only did I feel so blessed to have them all, but also the amount of stories and information about the past was fascinating to me.
Even as a young kid, I never took life for granted. Today, I credit them all for my love of family and history.
I would love to share with you how they all came to live down the road from one another, and what they meant to me.
coal mines, railroad, and Catholic Church in my hometown
My maternal Great Grandfather, Grandpa Bacil, came from a long line of German descendants dating back to pre-Revolutionary War. He was the first of 11 children born to a man named Enoch in Grundy County, MO. Enoch’s grandparents settled in Kentucky after navigating their way from Virginia. It was the first settlement west of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The journey of uncovering his ancestry has been a really neat adventure for my children and me. Grandpa Bacil married his bride in 1925, who I unfortunately never met because she passed away before I was born. Grandpa worked as a coal miner after WWI. He lived with black lung thereafter, due to working in the mines, and died at the age of 88 years old. I remember him always wearing the same type of clothing, was a quiet man, and very kind. He chewed tobacco and always had a spit can next to his rocker in the living room. He had a mule named Ribbon that I loved to talk to over the gate. I always wanted to put a blue ribbon around his neck because I thought he was the sweetest thing.
He had a large cherry tree next to the rickety, old farm house. I liked his enclosed porch (today would be called a sun-room of sorts) and sloped downward towards the entry door. To go upstairs to the bedroom in the attic, you had to enter the bathroom (which had been put in after running water became available to them). There was a small door opposite from the bathroom sink. When you opened that door, the stairs went straight up and entered into the middle of a large room. It was so tight up those stairs, you could see why the children would be the ones to sleep up there. Grandpa had to be over 6′ 5″ tall. He had all kinds of old tools and a neat saddle hanging in his barn. He lived very poor as a boy working on his father’s farm. He had light skin and red colored hair as a boy. He had many younger brothers and sisters, but a few died in infancy. I discovered one of those infants was named Noah, which I did not know until my son, Noah, was about 12. A fun fact: My son was born in 1999, exactly 100 years later from Grandpa Bacil.
My paternal Great Grandma Bernice was Grandma Jean’s mother. I do not know much about her lineage other than her parent’s names. Her family of origin is also from Germany. Grandma Jean never knew her father so I am not positive that Grandma Bernice was married when she had my grandma or not. Grandma Bernice lived a hard life and was very poor when she was raising her two children.
Grandma Rose was my maternal great grandmother. She was a neat lady. She was born in 1907. She married an immigrant man named Thomas, who came to America when he was about 12 years old. They married and had 5 living, adult children. She had outlived all of them but her youngest son, Bob. She had been a widow for many decades and she lived with her only daughter, Mary, my grandma, thereafter.
My entire childhood, and a lot of my adult life, I had the privilege of spending a great deal of time with her. She loved to play cribbage, could shuffle a deck of cards faster than you could burn rubber, and was quick to make sure my homework was completed when I came home from school. She was thorough in her efforts, and always kept from gossip. I loved when she said, “It’s none of my never mind.” and would head back to her bedroom. I loved her so much. She was quick to catch any mischief and nothing got past her. She and my Grandma Mary would go to town every week and run their errands, including getting their hair done, groceries, and heading to the library. I asked her a lot of questions about her life growing up in Massachusetts, and she only answered what I asked, never any more. She also shares a birthday with my husband and one of our girls bears her name. Sadly, after she was forced to move off of the farm, she chose to give up on her long life. At the age of 106, one of the last things she told me was, “No one wants me and I am a burden to everyone.” She quit eating and was soon gone afterwards. It was a terrible way to end her life and I will always miss her.
Some fun facts about Grandma Rose: Her lineage goes all the way back to the Pilgrims of the Mayflower. Have you heard of John Alden and Priscilla Mullins? There were a group of Puritans from England that tried separating themselves from King James’ oppressive rule over the people who were trying to worship God and read the Bible for themselves. John and Priscilla, along with other families, were among the famously known Puritans and Separatist that set sail for The New World in 1620. They battled storms at sea which caused them to land on the shores of Cape Cod instead of their intended destination. John and Priscilla soon married a short time after landing and had 12 children. To this day, they have the most decedents of any other Mayflower settler. Two of their very important decedents were American Presidents, John Adams and his son, John Quincy Adams. Grandma Rose wrote a family tree with dates of births and deaths to everyone leading all the way back to the Mayflower. She put a lot of time into this. In fifth grade, I had the privilege of taking a copy of that to my classroom for a history lesson. From John and Priscilla all the way to Grandma Rose’s children, those ancestors were born in Massachusetts. It felt really special to be a part of grandma’s life.
Soon after my paternal Grandpa Tony’s parents were married, they sailed to America from the country of Croatia. Grandpa’s father, Mate (Matthew) came over to settle first. Shortly after, his mother Jozefina (Josephine) boarded a ship with her two year old son and her infant. Sadly, she entered Ellis Island with only her toddler in hand. Her baby boy had gotten sick and died while traveling. I am sure that had to impact her for the rest of her life. That would be the first of many children they would lose to sickness.
Grandpa Tony and his twin sister, Katherine, were born about 20 years later after his parents landed in America. When they were both about 6 months of age, they caught the German Measles. He made it through the stages of that disease, but she did not. At one point, Matthew and Josephine had 5 sons in WWII simultaneously. How concerned she must have been. Grandpa had neat stories of his family and I soaked up all of the things he talked about.
That sums up a little background of my great grandparents. Now I would love to share a little of what I know about their children, my grandparents.
Grandpa Bill had 3 sisters. They had the bare necessities, and sometimes less than that… but were hard working. Once he graduated high school, he joined the Navy. He married and had a son named Terry. Their marriage quickly dissolved. When he was stationed on the East Coast, he met my grandmother at a military dance. She happened to be engaged to someone else at the time. Ultimately, she decided to end her engagement and married my grandfather. Very soon after, my mother was born, her brother followed 2 years later. Some time past and Grandma Rose’s husband, Thomas, died, and left her widowed. At this time, Grandpa Bill decided to move the family to California, Grandma Rose moving with them. There, grandpa worked his craft in upholstering Model T cars. They had another little girl in California. Grandpa decided to move back to Missouri where he would be closer to family, as his mother’s health started to fail. Grandpa told me that city life was no place to raise children, so he sent my mother and her brother on ahead to live with his parents (Bacil and Johanna) while they settled their estate in California. It took them a little more than a year to accomplish this. When they arrived in Missouri, they bought a farm close by his parents’ place. There they raised their children along with pigs, chickens, and cattle. Grandma Mary wasn’t too fond of the farm. She said it was messy and such hard work. Grandpa continued his work in the upholstery business, along with farming a small portion of cropland, and milking his dairy cows. Grandma Mary went back to school and graduated the year after I was born. She taught elementary school for many years, and after retiring she enjoyed quilting, reading books, and she was surprised to find that she really did enjoy the quieter, slower paced life on the farm. Who wouldn’t like a place that Shut Eye, Spring Creek, Green Grove, Bunker Hill School, and Blackbird Creek were all a part of your vocabulary?
In 1920, Grandpa Tony, and his twin sister, were born into a hard working, Catholic family on a farm outside of a coal mining community. Grandpa’s parents never spoke English and they always communicated in Croatian. He said he never knew English or his alphabet until he went to school (a one room school house). After graduating high school, my grandfather was one of many who volunteered to be a soldier during WWII. When he was overseas, he said that he wrote home to his mother every week, but it was in English. She had to have someone read it to her in Croatian. When she wrote grandpa back, she wrote in Croatian. Likewise, he had to have it interpreted. He spoke Croatian with his family, but he couldn’t read or write in his native language.
After he returned to the states, he met my grandmother in a little Five and Dime store. They married in 1950 and spent over 60 years together. During that time grandpa bought his first bulldozer, purchased a farm, and had 2 boys, one being my father. They raised chickens, had a huge garden, milked a jersey for their family, ran cattle, farmed cropland, and grandpa bulldozed for his main income. He was a hard worker and taught his boys the same. They were faithful to go to Mass every Sunday. My grandma respected my grandpa for the man that he was, and he loved her dearly. She was kind to everyone she knew, and they both genuinely loved life.
So… these were my grandparents. At times, I will be reminded of them in a lot of different ways. Long ago, I purposed to carry on some of what I observed in my grandparents. Life wasn’t perfect, nor were their marriages, but I believe it’s important to take the positive things with me. They had the most influence in my formative years and I would like to bring to light a little of what they meant to me.
I spent a lot of time with each set of grandparents. Spending the night was a normal occurrence. Their home was much more predictable than mine and I was safe there. Grandpa Tony and Grandma Jean always rose before the sun. There was one bathroom to share and it smelled like ivory soap. If you walked into her house, she would always say, “Are you hungry dear? What would you like to eat?” She was that way to anyone that came over no matter who they were. I believe that was her way of loving people and she enjoyed doing it. For some reason, I never cared for milk. When she would serve a bowl of cereal for breakfast, she would never make me drink the milk from my bowl. She would discard it when grandpa wasn’t in the room and wink at me. As everyone knows, grandpa wasted nothing, so you couldn’t either. If we needed to stay the night, I remember making sure I had packed everything I needed for school the next day. If I forgot something, she would happily run me up to the house to grab what I had forgotten. If my clothes were dirty, she would make sure it was washed, dried, and ready for me to wear to school the next morning. Because I lived on the county line, I was always the first one on the bus… and it came early.
Grandpa Tony during WWII, my grandparents homestead, Matthew & Josephine Grgurich, and Grgurich & Sons Trucking
She let me fix my hair, served me breakfast, and walked me out to the road to wait for the school bus. A lot of times she would have her robe on over her nightgown as she walked me out. She wasn’t embarrassed, but I remember wondering what the bus driver would say. Shirley, the bus driver, always opened the driver’s window to say, “Morning Jean!” My grandma was so kind to everyone. She was always asking how they were doing instead of redirecting the conversation back to her. I boarded and waved goodbye. I always wished I could have stayed home with her. She made my heart happy. You know, she didn’t have some kind of special insight. She just loved people where they were at, and smiled a whole lot everywhere she went. She was an encouragement to others when they became burdened and helped the needy. She didn’t have ulterior motives and truly was sacrificial. She put others’ needs before her own daily. She wasn’t perfect, but her kindness to humanity was evident by the fruit in her life. Those things shaped me. And I miss her dearly.
One time while waiting for the school bus, Grandpa Tony gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I believe I lit up like a Christmas tree of embarrassment! He gave hard squeezes and chuckled with excitement. He, out of all my grandparents, was the only affectionate one. (Observing grandpa’s brothers and sisters give big hugs and kisses on each cheek were typical greetings for the entire family.) I loved when grandpa smiled. He was a hard worker and generous with the poor. He never spent money on anything unnecessary, but that didn’t bother grandma. She was content without it too. I was proud of who he was. He took care his family the best way he knew how. They called the noon meal of the day, dinner. Dinner was always a special time to me. When I sat at their round table, grandma would always ask me to get the plates and cups out. Grandpa always liked to have butter on his bread so I made sure there was a knife on the table for him to use. I would ask him questions about his family and I loved listening to the stories he would tell of his family. He talked a lot about how his mother made bread every day. For dinner, she typically served homemade bread, a side of soup, and sauerkraut. (Fun fact: I make sauerkraut weekly at my house.)
Grandpa had strong family roots and I learned so much about who he was as a man just picturing his words. Telling me stories of holes in his shoes, what he did to fix them, stories of the great depression, how you can’t trust the banks, and stories of how he lost his buddies during the war. I placed myself in his shoes a lot and it was like listening to a storybook. Some times I wish I would have written all of those things down into a journal so I could write his life story. Wouldn’t that be interesting? I wondered what it would be like to be married and serve in the kitchen just like my grandma did. They were both shaping me through these experiences, and I didn’t even realize it. I am pretty sure they couldn’t have known just how impactful they were on my life either.
Grandpa had the traditional role in his home, bulldozed, worked in his shop on heavy machinery, running cattle, and plowing/planting the fields. That man worked hard and long hours, and that is exactly the way he taught his boys. Although I loved it when they let me come with them to the fields, what I loved best was staying with grandma, making them their meals, and running errands for them. I enjoyed making ham sandwiches and sweet tea. I liked running to town with grandma if we ran out of milk or bread. Grandma always made sure they were plenty fed. As dinner approached, she would get on the CB (yes this tells my age) to ask if they were ready to eat. I saw her light up with smiles each time she handed them their meals. My heart was so content by watching how cheerful she became from something so simple. It made me feel like I had helped her do something for them that they needed too. Those things shaped me.
There were many fun times with my cousins on this side of the family. We always played outdoors, whether that be in the creek, making mudslides, running on hay bails, or riding four-wheelers. There was one winter we decided to drive our three-wheeler on the frozen creek bed. My brothers and cousins were on other ATVs and it was a fun time had by all. The boys started going faster and I loved keeping up with them. I went around a bend in the creek, and as I turned, my three-wheeler flipped and landed on its side.
The only damage was the brake handle had this nice little curve to it. It still ran just fine; everything was in working condition so off we went.
Another “small” ATV accident I had was when my cousins and I were riding up and down a path less traveled, that led from Grandpa Tony’s to the back of Grandpa Bill’s farm. It was dry and hot out, so the dust was flying everywhere. No vehicle traveled this dirt path, so the maintenance was non-existent. As we were driving, we started to race. I ended up neck and neck with my older cousin and before we knew it, we both flew off our ATVs. It knocked the wind out of me. My cousin is hysterically laughing and I had no idea what had happened. I got up, shook it off, and as the dust settled we saw both of our ATVs had fallen into a hole in the road that wasn’t there before. As we investigated where it had come from, we realized the road had washed out from a wet weather creek. There was no whistle under that part of the road where water runs and it had collapsed. It was a wild ride.
One of my earliest memories is when I was four. That December, we went up to the back 40, as my dad referred to it. It’s a section of land where my grandparent’s old homestead used to be. I can recall exactly what that landscape looks like, like the back of my hand. I can tell you every groove, every tree, each hill, and ditch. I loved the farm. Anyway, my dad, uncle, cousins, brothers, and I went sledding that day. All the boys particularly liked this area because it had the steepest hill. We were there for a few hours sledding and it was my turn to go again. My dad started to push me and got me going pretty fast. When he says, “Hold on!” you should not always take that so literal. I started heading for the only tree on that hill and couldn’t seem to steer it away, but I was holding on! I kept getting closer and closer to it and could hear my dad hollering. I knew if I held on any longer I was going to hit that tree, so I bailed. And as I did, I face planted and rolled across the ice. As I got up, I saw blood on the snow covered ground. I walked back up the hill crying my eyes out. I think I was more scared of the blood and the anticipation of something terrible had happened. My dad always carried handkerchiefs in his pocket and I used that to hold it against my nose. He took me back to grandmas and I remember her reaction. She gasped and had that worried look to follow. That made me cry even harder. Sledding was over for me that day. We cleaned my face and bandaged up my nose. To this day I have a pretty good scar on my face as a reminder of my first sledding accident.
Spending time with both sides of my grandparents made life interesting. I was never a bored child. After school, Shirley, our bus driver, would ask me which grandmas I wanted to be dropped off at. I thought having the choice on any given day was great! Looking back, I now realize that my grandparents filled the vacant role of my parents. I am so grateful God gave me grandparents. Life was predictable with them and I loved their company. Sure, they argued, but like most healthy relationships, their moments were harmless. There were times that I felt guilty that I was spending time with one grandma over the other. In my child-like thinking, I believed Grandma Rose may be sad if she knew I wasn’t going to be home after school playing cards with her, or I imagined Grandma Jean sitting in her recliner not having anything to do. I made a plan to spend every other day with each of them. One day, Shirley would drop me off with Grandma Rose, and the next day was with Grandma Jean. They both were beautiful to have in my life and I smile when I think about my days after school with each of them.
When I was 3, my parents built a house on the far north corner of Grandpa Bill’s farm. As I had mentioned before, grandpa ran the dairy farm, cropland, and continued to upholster his entire life. His shop was full of everything you needed to reupholster leather furniture, to the insides of a Model T. I loved making buttons for his tufted chairs and watching him sew for hours and hours. I would answer the phone and take messages for his business. I enjoyed filling out receipts for his customers. I felt like a real secretary, although I am sure he was humoring me by allowing me to assume the position. I liked going to town with him. He would always play big band music and have chocolate turtles in his pick up that needed devouring. He would always stop at Pidley’s to grab a Pepsi and chat a bit. In the summertime, he liked stopping by roadside produce stands where the locals always sold their goods. He loved corn on the cob and watermelon. He typically dealt in cash only, but occasionally he would have a checkbook with him. Grandma believed he was illiterate. If I wasn’t filling out his checks at the store or his receipts for customers, grandma was. Grandma always took care of the checkbook and he only signed his name for those things. He did well for himself despite those challenges. My grandma was definitely significant in her role to help him navigate as well as he did.
I paid attention to directions when grandpa had me hose out the manure in the barn after he was finished milking. I loved feeding the silage when we milked. One of my favorite calf stories is when there was a terrible lightning storm in the middle of the night. This mama cow was struggling to birth her baby. I remember my grandpa and uncle getting a chain to tie around the calf’s legs to pull him out. That mama was bawling and bawling. I felt like crying and I was cringing inside watching this unfold. Eventually grandpa stuck his hand down that mama to grab the calf’s feet. He looped that chain around his little legs and hooves and pulled that baby calf, to what seemed forever.
Grandpa was known to throw around a few colorful words and became loud doing so. Eventually, all of that mess along with a wet, little baby calf came out. Then… she was still birthing. Twins! During this lightning cracking above us, I remember sitting on a bale of hay just watching this unfold before my eyes. I had seen mama’s births before, but this was the most dramatic, a twin, in the middle of the night, in the barn, and during a crazy lightning storm…. And I got the privilege of staying up into the night watching it! At the time, my thoughts were all over the place. I was a little scared thinking about lightning striking the barn and it burning down. What if the mama cow died along with her babies? Just sitting to the side, I am positive I was absolutely quiet. But there they were, two baby calves, wet, and glad to be on the flip side.
I could go on and on about stories of farm life, but I’ll turn to my grandmas for a minute. There was a time when Grandma Mary used to pay me a penny to grade each of her student’s papers. Little did she know that I felt like a real teacher. Because Grandma Rose had lived with them since she had been widowed, I had the two of them to help me study for tests and finish my homework in the evenings. When I was a junior in high school, I had an English project I was to complete with a group of classmates. I thought it would be fun to take them to my grandparent’s farm to show them where I grew up and possibly finish our project out there. One particular person was in our group and he was loud and obnoxious. We were about to finish up, so I went to tell Grandma Rose goodbye and that we were heading out. She walked us out to the car and gave us all a polite farewell. This classmate, who couldn’t contain himself, said something naughty, and everyone just froze in silence. I looked at grandma not knowing what she was going to say, and this boy said, “Oh, don’t worry, she can’t hear me anyway. She’s too old.” (She was 90+ years old at the time.) Grandma was quick to say, “I can hear you just fine young man.” And gave him the look of disappointment. And in that moment I smiled. She never missed a beat.
There were times that I would go check cattle with my uncle and grandpa on the three-wheeler. I loved it. I typically sat in front of them when I was small. There were some pretty big hills and I never liked going sideways downhill. My uncle was driving on this particular afternoon and started downhill again going along sideways instead of straight. Like so many times before, I put my foot on the brake, but instead of it slowing down, this time it threw my uncle and me over the handlebars. We tumbled all the way down the hill and the three-wheeler came with us. I never put the brakes on again after that!
I do not believe that my grandparents set out to teach or train me, or purpose to parent me, but they did provide my clothing and food regularly. I am grateful that they included me in their daily workload. It was a choice they made to allow me to be a part of whatever it was they were doing. I enjoyed farm life and all that it entailed. I would like to think they are credited in raising me to work hard, be kind, keeping my nose to the grindstone, and desiring to carry those things on into my family. I know they tried setting the best examples that they knew how, and I am so grateful for all of their influence in my life. I clung to their every word and good deeds. I am grateful I had their direction in life skills and their provision. I am very proud to be their granddaughter and I know God took care of my basic needs by placing them in my life. The connection that I had with them I will always cherish.
My purpose in writing this is to bring honor and give gratitude to all of 7 of them. They all played a part in the shaping of the person I am today. My life wasn’t a perfect one, but authenticity and transparency have always been 2 qualities that I take very seriously. Real relationships do meet real needs. Being kind, connecting with people, and to be a light in other’s lives meet needs that they may not get elsewhere. It isn’t hard to be sunshine in the rain and the rainbow that follows.
Through my writings, I find a lot of healing. Mercy, grace, tolerance, kindness, and love are all essential attitudes that cultivate a sense of safety and security in relationships. I am constantly reminded of the importance of living a life devoted to the Lord. The choices we make today will have a major impact on the generations to come. I can look beyond my past circumstances and hardships because God is the Author and Finisher of my faith, not man. I ask myself often, “Do I have real relationships in my life that bring forth fruit? Am I a fountain? Do I speak life into others? Do I give of myself and want nothing in return? Do I praise where praise is due? I pray that I am… for it is a huge responsibility to leave a heritage and one that matters to God.
These are a few photos of my grandparents with some of our children. During the last few years they were alive, Grandpa Tony and Grandma Jean were well enough to make a few trips down to visit Jason’s parents with us. The picture in the doorway with our 3 oldest was the last time they traveled south. They lived to see 5 of our children and Grandma Rose lived to see our first 7 children. I feel so blessed to have so many memories of them.
Natalie
Psalm 61:5