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Dauris Ann Jackson Granberry
Mar 14, 2011 | 1067 views | 0 0 comments | 6 6 recommendations | email to a friend | print
Dauris Ann Jackson Granberry
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Dauris Ann Jackson Granberry “flew away to heaven” March 9, 2011. Her giggling, girlish sense of humor was present with each conscious breath. She told each attending nurse or aid how handsome or pretty and wonderful they were, for a Southern Lady is always gracious. She taught her children that even when you have been slighted it is far better “to heap coals of kindness” upon the heads of those who irritated or vexed you than to berate them or be rude. “Besides,” she would say with an impish smile and wicked little twinkle in her eye, “it works better!” Dauris Ann was a strong, independent woman. A wonderful photographer, a knowledgeable rancher and a great lover of birds and wildflowers, a catcher of frogs, tolerant of snakes and a lover of all the outdoors. She was more at home in a sea kayak than a Cadillac, scuba gear than a cocktail dress, or a pair of jeans and a chambray work shirt holding the nasty, manure-laden tail of a calf about to be branded than at a ladies luncheon. All her cows were named, in a code that she and her soul mate, Bill, had contrived together. They could trace the lineage of a heifer back generations just by hearing the name. Bill, having a day job, left the day-to-day ranching operations to her. If the phone rang during supper, and it was someone calling about an ad for young bulls for sale, Bill would say, ”Hang on, let me get the expert on the phone”, and he would hand the phone to Dauris Ann.

She gave her children and grandchildren humor, a love of literature, and a strong streak of rebelliousness. She had her picture taken in front of the White House while standing on her head. It wasn’t political, it was just fun! She taught that you did things because they were right, not popular; you were polite, not because someone one earned or deserved it, but because you had to look in the mirror sooner or later, and you owed it to yourself to treat the world the way you wanted to be treated. If they didn’t deserve it, well, see coals of kindness above. She was a Cub Scout den-mother, and an (almost) tireless chauffer to gymnastics, little league and football practices. Once we could drive, and turn on the stove without burning down the house, she announced that she was resigning as a short-order cook, and she would fix what she and Bill wanted and, if we wanted something else, we could rustle for ourselves. She ensured that we learned to cook by fixing brussel sprouts, green beans and a host of other “healthy” stuff no self-respecting teenager could stomach. Sometimes, we felt a little sorry for Dad and snuck him something good!

She taught all the neighborhood kids how to ride their bicycles. She put on puppet shows, put up tents in the backyard, served gallons of Kool-aid to all the galloping hordes in the neighborhood. (Real cokes were reserved for trips to the ranch-limit two per day!) Bad grammar cost you a quarter. She did not give much of an allowance, but she and Bill paid anyone willing to work minimum wage. A lot of bicycles, air rifles and movies were paid for by money earned working cows or cleaning fence lines or hauling, stacking, or feeding hay, building fence, shredding pastures or any of the other numerous chores that stack up on a place.

She follows her mother and father, Dauris Ray Jackson and Ralph Semmes Jackson; and her brother, Ralph Semmes Jackson, Jr. (Uncle Brother); and her sister-in-law, Pat Jackson. She leaves behind to celebrate and tell her stories her husband, William D. Granberry (Bill); her brother, James Cade Jackson; her children, Billy and wife Christy, Jimmy and wife Bo, Sarah and husband Bryan Rooney; grandchildren, Haley and Travis, Hannah and James, Brady and Cade.

Our little bird has flown, and her soul has joined the spring migration.

A celebration of her life was held on Saturday, March 12th, 2011 at the First Presbyterian Church in Beeville, Texas, at 10 a.m. In lieu of flowers, please contribute to the charity of your choice.
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