Remembering the woman who gave me a love for nature and exploration, if not much else.
The usual story I tell about my nanna is n’t really an outdoorsy one , although it did pop out outside . I was playing in my grandmother ’s backyard on a typically stickyFloridaafternoon . She be on a lake that on a regular basis saw animal patrol pull in out 13 - foot gators . My legs were covered in dirt and glitch bites , and I came rushing into the kitchen , desperate for a sip of water . “ Grammmmma ! I neeeeed water , ” I whined . My grandmother give me a bottle of clean-cut liquid state . “ Do n’t care , this is the best water , ” she said .
I chugged it . It was vodka . I spewed it everywhere .
It is one of the sweet account I have about my grandma — the one I tell at her funeral . Karen Lawler was a hard woman who doled out unvoiced love . We spend years apart because of her and my female parent ’s fraught kinship . Noel at her house often devolved into screaming compeer . When it was n’t a small state of war , it was Florida bedlam : climbing into a catch some Z’s bag from the attic that had become a Scorpion nest , defy cousin to jump in the water at sunset when the gators were hunting , getting bit by insects that could ( and did ) institutionalise us to the ER .
Rainbow Springs State Park
drop clip at grandma ’s family was never a abatement . The paries were delineate with 9/11 memorabilia ( we did not have crime syndicate that died in that tragedy ) , NASCAR decor , and a invitee bathroom that was American barefaced eagle - themed . When I went to college in New York , she refuse to visit . She hollo at me for criticise the confederate flag when I was 10 . She ’s probably rolling over in her tomb now that I ’ve ferment out to be a socialist writer who lovesFormula 1(too European ) . Despite my center name , Aren , being derivative of her name Karen , I do not imagine she ever considered me her namesake . In our last phone conversation , she seemed flustered and disappointed in me .
When she passed away in 2021 at the years of 76 , it was hard to aggrieve for her at first . She was a part and cause of so many unhappy memories . That ’s not the path we are learn to sorrow our grandparents — as blemished people who suffer and disappointed us more than they ever made us express mirth or smile . But as the geezerhood have passed , one set of memories , which accept place away from the battlegrounds of her menage or mine , have blossomed : our trips to province green .
My gran was an annual FloridaState Parkspass holder . She would embark alone with just her camera , photographing bird and trees , content to just take in nature solo .
But it was also where she brought her grandkids — all 13 of us . I imagine this was not only an opportunity to share her favorite places with us , but also one that was budget - friendly . And she took us to so many . In Central Florida , she take my siblings and I to Rainbow Springs and Fort Clinch . The springtime were ice cold and vitreous silica clear , and Fort Clinch was filled with historical old monuments and tramp trails . In North Florida , she showed us St. Andrews State Park , which featured an befittingly alligator - filled Alligator Lake and plenty of deer chewing on moss at sunset .
Princess Place Preserve , a registered historical site in Palm Coast , was the closest to her home . The dimension has its own whale mansion , owned at one point by an deport Russian prince . But the most beautiful feature of the park was its giant oak tree trees , grumble in every direction , with branches surface in pay heed moss . Back then , we were allow to rise the gargantuan trees — my grannie would rent us climb higher than my mother did , promote us to be a bit wild , to get our articulatio genus foul .
My grandmother transport in permit us thread around gardens and hiking trail , wanting us to take in the sundown and observe the birds sit down in the trees , point out the various spider and insects scrawl above and below . And the Park transform my grandmother — there , she seemed calmer , kind , and I commend hearing her laugh .
Walking and running through the parks with my grandmother , I remember go through a transformation of my own . My usual screaming meemies evanesce , my puerility anxieties eased . I could just focus on the chronicle of an onetime , abandoned fort or the feeling of an ice cold spring . She would take my hand or put an arm around me as we walked , content to share the distance in proportional ataraxis . And we could just be .
Three years after her passing , my grief comes back to these moments most . To hot and dusty parking lots where we extend ourselves in all - lifelike bug spray . To sandlike beaches where she encourage me to just unstrain and take in the surroundings . Today , as I continue to visit new state parks in unlike function of the nation with my friends or my partner , I feel grateful for her and this lifelong sexual love she instilled in me . As I take inscrutable breaths and scan the treetops for dame , I think of her .
I am not sure I will ever in full sympathise the woman my grandmother was , or mourn her in a way that accounts for all of her complexities . But , I will always have the many miles of state parks we digress together , and I can thank her for all the journeying that still look me .
