My Granny and Me

By Ginny Campbell

As a little girl, I lived in a very dysfunctional family. Because of this, I went to live with my dad’s parents.

Granny was a Quaker Mennonite — part of what was known as the radical Mennonites. She taught me many of the traditional skills of the Mennonite community: sewing, baking, knitting, and cooking. She was very strict but also kind and gentle. When I was mischievous, she would call me home in Gaelic, as she was also from Scotland. She also knew how to use a “twitch” — a long, thick stick — though it didn’t get used very often!

I lived with her for a couple of years while still working with horses and going to school in Weston, Ontario. Granny loved horses too. We would pack a picnic lunch with sandwiches, drinks, and, of course, apples and carrots. Then we’d head out on our backroad adventures, excited to find horses along the way. When we did, we’d stop by the fence and feed them some of our tasty treats.

Eventually, I had to go back to my parents’ home, which was still quite dysfunctional. My dad sometimes took me to the horse farm where I rode, and I’d stay there for a while before going back to Granny’s. But eventually, I had to return home to look after my dad and younger sister. My mother suffered from severe mental illness and wasn’t able to care for us. School and horseback riding became my way of coping — my form of self-preservation.

When I was thirteen, I was sponsored to go to England, France, and Germany to ride and train horses. I was home-schooled there and absolutely loved it. I wrote many, many letters to Granny and my dad, and my dad told me how excited she was to receive them. Unfortunately, when I was fifteen, I had to return to Canada — but I came home with plenty of trophies, ribbons, and wonderful memories.

The first person I visited, other than my dad, was Granny, who was then living in a nursing home. When she was well enough, my dad would bring her to my local horse shows. Sadly, when Granny was ninety-four, she passed away. I was the last person to feed her her final meal; she passed early the next morning.

I still miss her and think of her to this day — along with my dad, who passed away sixteen years ago. They both encouraged me to follow my dreams, and for that, I will always be grateful.