Category: Siblings

One morning when Cleo was about four or five, he was playing near the barn and watching our neighbor’s guineas that had come visiting. Guineas are not like ordinary farm animals. They are built something like chickens, but they are much more dominant and loud. I can see that it would be easy to become irritated with guineas, especially their noise.

Continue reading “The Guinea Fowl Story”

“When we lose an elderly person, we lose a library of knowledge.”

I don’t remember the source of the above quotation, but I believe it expresses a truth.  When I think of a person with high regard for the elderly, I immediately think of my sister Clarice. Perhaps her caring nature and unusual maturity came from her experience as the oldest sister to 10 siblings in our family. Clarice was friendly to every one, but especially she was patient and kind to older people, even when most of her peers were not much interested. Clarice’s retention of names was impressive, but she also could recall various family narratives and how families were connected. Her warm personality caused people to trust her and love her. It is no wonder she became a nurse.

In the past on Memorial Day weekends, all my sisters, Clarice, Alline, Hazel, and I would visit several cemeteries. We enjoyed going to the grave sites, leaving flowers, and talking about the past lives of our loved ones. But Clarice had a broader focus. She would pause and read the head stones of individuals that my sisters and I had not thought about for several years. She could recall the details of many people although so many of the names she spoke sounded as if they belonged in a time of the long ago. There were names such as Greenberry, Lucretia, Gabriel, Louvenia, Jency, Isaac, Ardenia, Serexie, Coleman, and on and on. I loved hearing Clarice’s voice reading those names. It brought back warm thoughts of hearing my mom and dad going over their own recollections of those very same people.

Thank you, Clarice, for remembering all of them for all of us. My dear sister, what a blessing you were for anyone who touched your life.

I remember a happy afternoon in the spring of 1948 when my brother Cleo and his future brother-in-law, Sherrill, were together at our house. I cannot recall why we were there, but I do remember it was close to high school graduation. On this afternoon, I was particularly focused on my brother because he seemed to be in an unusually good mood. He and Sherrill were very smart students and were to be the salutatorian (Cleo) and valedictorian (Sherrill) of their graduating class. Both were looking forward to being honored, I think.

Continue reading “Cleo’s honor”

You may have heard this tale because it was one of my sister Clarice’s favorites. She was especially attached to our brother Cleo when he was little. She would laugh every time she talked about him and what he did one summer morning when he was about three or so.

Continue reading “A story about a little boy”

When I think of my oldest brother Frank on his birthday, I miss him in a lot of ways. I miss his big smile and the friendly way he always greeted people. I miss him singing bass with Marcella’s alto in the row right behind me at Mt. Olive church. I miss the days when he and Ernest would play baseball with the children at our reunions. I miss Sunday nights at his house when all of us would watch “Bonanza” or “Hee Haw,” just relaxing and laughing, drinking pop, eating popcorn, or some times, snow cream. And when Frank and Marcella were about to leave after our reunions, maybe you remember how he would say, “You better come and go with us.” I miss that, too.

Like Ernest, Frank was willing to help others even though he was a busy man every day. I could give many examples of Frank helping me. This little story is about only one situation. There were dozens more.

When my children were still very young, Bill was away overseas for six months in the US Navy two winters in a row (1961-1963). I had little money, so I really needed a job and a way to get to work. Frank and Marcella invited me to live with them so Marcella could take care of Mark and Kim during the day, and I could teach school.

Continue reading “My oldest brother Frank”

I’ve been thinking of my brother Ernest this morning.  It’s his birthday. Wish I could see him again. Wish I could hear him laugh.  Remember at our gatherings how you could hear him enjoying a good story with a group of people. Others were attracted to him, I think, because he could find humor in every-day things.  He had a good heart and a lot of friends.  He also had a lot of courage.  Here’s a little story that Dad told me. 

Before Dad had bought the Owen Warfield’s farm, there was “new ground”, as farmers called it, to be cultivated along a hill road back of the Ethel Warfield place.  It had partially been cleared of saplings and rocks and stumps, but it was still very, very rough ground, never cultivated before. Dad set the task of plowing that ground to Ernest. It was later that he realized what an enormous job it was for a boy so young. It would have been an extremely hard job for any experienced adult man.  Later Dad was sorry he had given Ernest such a hard job. “He was too little. I shouldn’t have made him do it.”  And yet Ernest did it.  You can imagine a young boy trying to keep the horse pulling and the plow plowing. But Ernest didn’t give up easily. That’s courage.