Because the shift dress remained to be a hassle, I wore capris instead.
How else was I to ride my bike if my dress was too tight?!
This was a story I would always hold in my heart dearly about my grandmother.
A women who was born a wild flower, never settled, never wasted. She was brave, adventrous, creative, and a bit cocky.
But in a beautful way, the way that women are.
She was softly spoken but very oppininated.
Eager to learn and teach but also latched onto historys adventure.
She knew the ways in which the wind would sing to you, she understood the cries of a battlefield.
My grandmother knew the song that a hummingbird sang too well, and fell in love with the heart of a tribal dance.
She is a writer, losing her thoughts between pages and pages of exquisite words.
She is an explorer, hiking through the caves of New Mexico, making friends with the bats, and minning for gold deep within the soils of Calarado.
She is a historian, exposing crimes of the wild west with her testamonies.
She is a lover of wildlife, fond with the way birds sing and rescuing a puppy in need.
She is independent, never needing to remarry and who has to stand her ground unlike the grudges that the ex husband holds so close to heart.
Yet above all she is a daughter, a sister, a mother, and a grandmother. She is a caretaker, going out of her way to protect the ones she loves the most
this, is my grandmother. A weomen of perfect design in the eyes of a girls hope.
She is what freedom looks like, my grandmother, Tanya.