Fifteen years ago, on Dec 23, my Grampa Schaefer died. It was hard for my parents to lose him, but I'm sure it was compounded by having two young kids to bundle up to take to Iowa for the funeral at Christmastime.
I remember feeling sad not necessarily from a personal sense of loss (I was only ten and only knew Grampa through a few visits) but rather from a realization that death had affected my world for the first time. We got to open presents early that year, before leaving for Waterloo. I got a stuffed polar bear holding a Coke bottle, and probably some other toys. And Charlotte's Web, a book that would soon become my favorite.
I read that book on the way to Iowa with a concentration that resembled a religious trance. I was bundled in blankets and snow boots next to my sister Katie, warm except for the occasional icy contact with the frosty backseat window.
The funeral went as most big-family funerals go through the eyes of a child -- chaotic, confusing, but always safe. There was always somebody there to explain to the kids. Yes, grampa is still dead, my uncle explained, much to the surprise of my young cousin, Brittany. Yet the best part of a big family funeral is that it's not always sad. There are much needed breaks to the sadness. Get a big group of Schaefers together, and there will always be two things: strong coffee and funny family stories. I learned a lot from those stories, including that Schaefers were farmers.
Wait ... farmers? Like in Charlotte's Web? Even pig farmers, just like Mr. Zuckerman! My life suddenly became like the book I was growing to love.
After my grampa died, life went pretty much back to normal. I grew, learned more about my family. Like the fact that Great Grampa Schaefer had hogs (not pigs) on his farm. There's a difference. And none of them were named Wilbur. I also went on to bigger and more grown up books. But Charlotte's Web always stayed on the shelf. It's still there today.
Every year around Christmastime, along with the presents, food and games, we usually end up telling "Ol' Grampa" stories. My dad especially seems to think of him more and more as he gets older. I'm sad that I cant' remember Grampa as well as other members of my family, but I remember vividly the connection I felt with him and my history through the catalyst of Charlotte's Web that Christmas.
That may have been what compelled me, this December, to pick up EB White's collected essays. I wasn't expecting to recapture the feelings that only a child can have with her first favorite book. But i was curious to see if what White had to say to adults could be as meaningful as what he said to young people.
While I was right about not having that "Oh my god this book is about my LIFE" feeling, I was pleased by the simplicity, subtle humor and beauty of his essays. I especially loved the essays taking place on his small farm in Maine -- kind of a grown up version of his famous children's' classics.
I'm not fooling myself -- I couldn't make it on a farm today, let alone in the 30s and 40s. And I know that farming has its hardships. It's not all idyllic strolls and wholesome fun. But I feel a kind of connection, a kind of longing to experience nature, farms, animals as White did. As my dad, his dad and his dad's dad experienced it. My White-fueled pastoral fantasies are a good relief from a life that can feel so polluted, so complicated and so tiring.
