I can still see her sitting there. Unless the day was quite cold, my grandmother did a fair share of her daily work sitting in the battered rocking chair on her front porch. Many’s the time I’ve seen her with a pan of peas or beans on her lap, her gnarled fingers selecting and snapping and dropping. Or with a garment that needed mending, her gray head bent over the fabric as she guided the needle through its proper places. Or with her Reader’s Digest Condensed Bible with its worn, pillowed green cover, open on her aproned lap, bookmarked with newspaper clippings (mostly obituaries) and leaves and pressed wildflowers. But…