👩‍🌾 I Wanted to Be Ann Baker

🏡 When you live on a farm and you have city cousins, you never run out of company—or entertainment. Uncle Walter and Aunt Lois’s place was the place to be. Even if you weren’t family, even if you were just a friend, it was still worth hanging around. The coffee was always hot ☕️, the kitchen always smelled like something good was baking 🍞, and a chicken was usually involved somewhere 🐔.

Now, I could write stories about the cows 🐮, the pigs 🐷, the horses 🐎… or maybe the bullfrogs 🐸 that lived in the pond out back—or the turtles 🐢 we used to catch in the wash tub. I’ve probably told stories about all those critters at one time or another.

But today? Today I want to tell you about one cousin in particular—Ann Baker 🤝.

Ann was the oldest grandchild on the Sweet side of the family. She was twenty years older than me and had a baby boy 👶 just three months before I was born. And oh, did I think she hung the moon 🌕. In my eyes, she was everything I wanted to be—strong 💪, assertive ❗️, and capable 💼. When Ann spoke, people jumped 😲. She was one of those women who got things done and didn’t take lip from anybody ✌️.

Now, that might not have been the whole truth. As a kid, I saw my mother—who was quiet 🌺 and gentle 🧡—as weak. But looking back now, I realize she just led differently. She was soft where Ann was firm. Loving where Ann was loud. Neither one of them was wrong—they were just different brands of strong 🌿.

🏃‍♀️ Drop and Dash

One of my favorite memories of Ann and her crew was how they arrived at our house 🏠. Now, our place sat at the edge of a lake—or maybe you’d call it a slough 🌊. Honestly, it was really just an oversized, overgrown, muddy puddle 🌱, but it had water in it and that was enough to give it some importance.

Dad used that water to irrigate the hay field 🌾, which sat between the lake and the road. Instead of taking the long way around the field, Ann and her husband Ernie had a better idea. They’d pull the car over near the clearing by the road 🚗, drop the kids off like it was a race 🏆, and then they’d drive the long way around.

The kids—David, Warren, Lynn, and little Ron—would tear across that hay field like their lives depended on it. Feet flying, arms flapping, shrieking all the way to our house 🌧️. It became a full-on race: who would make it to the kitchen first, the kids or the parents?

Most days, the kids won—depending on how much energy Ann and Ernie had, of course. I’m pretty sure Ann and Ernie knew exactly what they were doing—maybe even parked and had a little picnic 🍽️ while the kids made their mad dash.

In my memory, David won the most 🏅. Warren gave him a run for his money. Lynn might have pulled it off once or twice, but little Ron? He had short legs and a big grin—he was more likely to get distracted halfway through 😅.

📉 A Little Slice of Adventure

Then there was the day I got my war wound 💊.

I was coming home from the neighbor’s place, probably thinking I was faster than I was, and decided to leap over a pile of scrap metal ⚠️. Let’s just say the metal won that round. I sliced my ankle clean across and did what any self-respecting farm kid would do—I ran home as fast as I could, blood dripping onto my foot 👊🏼.

Ann and Mom were in the kitchen at the time, up to their elbows in chickens—plucking, cutting, and making a mess of feathers and guts 😳. I burst in, hollering and bleeding like I’d lost a limb 🚨. Mom gasped, but before she could move, Ann sprang into action 🚒.

She grabbed me by the arm and hustled me to the bathroom before I could track blood across the floor (priorities 🚗). Sat me right on the toilet lid and got to work. With a steady hand and a look that dared me to flinch, she cleaned up the cut, poured peroxide, and slapped on a couple butterfly stitches like a pro 🩺. No drama. No panic. Just business as usual 🤜🏼🤛🏼.

I was so proud of that cut 🤎.

As soon as she was done, I ran right back outside to show it off to the other kids—limping dramatically and loving every second of it 🏃‍♀️😎.

Ann wasn’t just the cousin I looked up to—she was the cousin who showed me what it looked like to step up, take charge, and still make time to laugh 🤣. Whether she was stitching up a kid, wrangling four of her own, or casually commanding a kitchen full of chaos, she made it look easy 🚀.

I never did grow up to be exactly like her. But sometimes, when I jump in without hesitation or handle something without flinching, I think… maybe a little bit of Ann rubbed off on me after all 🤍.

🌤️ Wanda-ism of the Day: Some people leave fingerprints on your heart. Others leave butterfly stitches on your ankle.