Working in the garden with Grandma on Saturdays during the summer was a lucrative business. She paid her grandchildren well for weeding her large flowerbeds and loosening up the earth around the plants. When the work was done, Grandma paid in cash and said, “Don’t mention this to your grandfather. Then he’ll give you something, too.” And Grandpa often did. He’d get his check book, not cash, and write out a check for five dollars. His handwriting was wonderful and his signature impressive.

The grandchildren worked in the flower beds. Grandpa cut the grass with his power mower. He’d rev up the motor to a deafening high speed and start out. The devil take the hindmost! Grandpa pushed the powerful, roaring lawn mower over everything, mowing down not just the grass but all of the stones, rocks, twigs and anything else that was in his path. Above the din of the motor, you could hear the blade shearing off pieces of everything that got in Grandpa’s way. The man who sold mowers loved Grandpa because a mower seldom lived longer than one season.

In the mid ’70s Grandma made me another kind of offer to make a few dollars more. While going to seminary, I had grown large sideburns or mutton chops. Grandma was “not amused.” When she realized that her verbal objections were to no avail, she offered me $50 to shave them off. That was a lot of money for a young student. If felt it was a matter of principle to reject the offer. Maybe my refusal also had something to do with Bloomfield stubbornness.