I sat in stunned silence as the old 8mm video panned across a field of dead sheep, then stopped with a closeup of a stiff ewe.

I had heard the story years before, of how my Grandpa had bought a herd of sheep, just to have them die shortly after of liver flukes. Times were hard, and the wool was worth quite a bit of money, so everyone (kids included) went out and plucked the wool off the dead animals – farm families don’t let assets go to waste, regardless of the smell.

Like family stories so often are, I had assumed this one was exaggerated with the passing years. But here I was, watching the spinning, splotchedy film document their family outing. I was horrified. It was all true. Their girls, the youngest looking about 6, were all participating. I didn’t know which was worse: that their little girls really were plucking away? Or that my grandmother had videoed it?

Then I started to laugh, a deep belly laugh. I hadn’t thought I’d smile again, but the quirkiness that was so endearing in life, suddenly made my grandmother’s passing more bearable. My laughter didn’t mean the damage from cancer didn’t existed, just that the cancer was no longer in control.

“She … was quite a lady,” one of the sympathy cards read.

And it was right, she was. My grandma was a little bit parent, a little bit teacher, and a little bit best friend. All rolled into one huggable, lovable little lady with a hint of mischief always twinkling in her blue eyes. And through that unexpected mischievousness of filming the dead sheep, I found myself smiling once again.

It made me think back to the passing of my other grandmother. We were still shedding tears when it came time to open her safe. She had given a combination to two people – both were different, and neither worked. After a bit of debate, the guys decided to hack into it … literally. Out came the axes and torches, and after a few hours they had broken through.

Inside the safe, we discovered my grandmother’s most valuable possessions: treasures so special she had locked them away and thrown away the combination. There were no important documents, no priceless jewelry, instead it was filled with – candy canes. Every flavor of candy canes imaginable. Candy canes so old one couldn’t tell where the plastic ended and the candy started.

It was just what we needed to break out the smiles and the laughter.

I thank God for dead sheep and candy canes. Those quirky memories provide a way to hold on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose, without quite so much pain.

Brianna Walker’s Farmer’s Fate columns run occasionally in the Blue Mountain Eagle.