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”A story about a little boy
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”A little bit about my Mom’s early life
It’s awesome to think of it, but it’s true: my mother, Rose Zettie Emerson Williams, was born a hundred and twenty-six years ago. I feel very proud of her. I remember her every day and miss her.
My mom lived most of the first years of her life with her mother Florence Emerson Durham. She called her “Mammy”. That was a common way of addressing mothers in those days. The two lived in a small house on her Grandpa John Frank Emerson’s farm a little way off Calvary Ridge Road. Mom’s grandpa had a strong influence on her life. She loved him dearly. Her natural father was never there. When Mom was eleven in 1907, her mother married Billie Durham. Mom would sometimes talk about going places, (usually by walking), with her mother and Billie, but I know very little about him. Dad told me that Mom and her mother had life very hard, so perhaps things were a little better when Billie came into their picture.
Continue reading “A little bit about my Mom’s early life”My oldest brother Frank
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”My brother Ernest’s birthday
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.
Remembering my Mom in a happy time
The attached pictures are of the time when my brother Frank came home on his first furlough from the Navy. The pictures were made by my sister Hazel in 1942 with her little Brownie camera which she had bought for a dollar. The black and white photos themselves are remarkable, the originals only 2 1/2 inches by 3 1/2 inches, including the borders.
Casey County Fair 1944
This picture is of my sister Hazel with her students from Duncan Elementary School at the Casey County Fair in the fall of 1944. In the picture Hazel is at the end of the line, “trying to help Kirby Carman put his hat on”, she explained to me. Duncan School won first place for their school banner that year. In the picture it is carried by twin brothers Lloyd and Floyd Durham, who at one time lived in the house on Boone hill adjoining our farm. Lloyd and Floyd loved Hazel as a teacher. When she was moved and taught at Grove Ridge the next year (I think, it was), they went to Grove School. At least one of the brothers or perhaps both came to Hazel’s funeral, Donald told me.
Bluebell tepee, wash day, Mom, her mom, and my sisters
I think the first time I saw a picture of a tepee, I wanted one for a play house. On our farm I looked at corn shocks, wheat shocks, or anything in the shape of a tepee, and I wished Dad would let me play inside one. But I didn’t think he’d say yes, so I didn’t ask. The blue bell bush was really a wisteria climbing a pole beside a shrub, but our whole family called it the bluebell bush. It made a sort of upside-down tepee, but I decided it made a good enough place to hide and sort things out. I’d scoot myself back into a little space and listen to my mom and sisters as they did the washing just outside the kitchen door and talked about grownup things. At other times I would retreat to my tepee on Saturday mornings when I didn’t get to go to Liberty with Dad. I thought for sure the world would end for me because it was my only chance to get an ice cream cone. Dad didn’t go to Liberty very often, so you can understand how unfair it was for me to be left behind. Then also some time after a school day, I would scoot back into my blue bell tepee when I was mad at the girl at school who broke my red crayon when she didn’t even ask me if she could use it; and she cheated at about every game we played; and she shoved other children to get in line first. When I got home from first grade, I had plenty good reason to go into hiding for awhile. I would think about how I didn’t like that girl and how nice it was going to be in heaven some day because I was pretty sure that girl wouldn’t get to go there. That thought made it a little easier even if the teacher never did catch her being bad.
Continue reading “Bluebell tepee, wash day, Mom, her mom, and my sisters”