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”Uncle Willie’s home
My brother Donald once said, “It’s so quiet in the country, the quiet hurts your ears.”
The Willie Williams’ home place on Ragged Ridge has been quiet a long, long time. But there is still life there, especially in spring. The dog wood tree near the woodland blooms white each April; wild flowers grow fresh and fragrant at the base of the Willie Bluff; and blue birds build nests in the fence rows behind the garden.
Ernest said he could remember when the Uncle Willie house was still standing. Uncle Willie’s son John told Donald that he could recall the day they moved from there to Calvary Ridge. The farm they were leaving was one of several smaller farms occupying a few acres, just a few acres, just large enough to raise a cow, to raise a garden, to grow corn for the pigs, to sow a wheat field. That was the nature of all the small farms comprising his father John Frank Williams’ original settlement.
Continue reading “Uncle Willie’s home”Terrel Durham and Jack Denny
There is another member of Aunt Artie’s family besides Carlos who should be mentioned because he relates to Reed and Deva, Linda’s mom and dad. That other person was Aunt Artie’s son Terrel Durham. He was a handsome man but I do not have a picture of him. . This younger son grew up to become a minister, and it. was he who performed the ceremony when my brother Reed and Deva were married in 1948. This was shortly after Reed had been discharged from the army.
Continue reading “Terrel Durham and Jack Denny”1966 Photo
I love this picture made in 1996 because it is full of people I love and miss seeing. L to R Clarence Emerson (wheel chair); Frank Williams, standing; Carlos Durham, cap and dark glasses; far right Ernest Williams, standing, blue cap. The apple tree in the picture was planted by Frank when he was a boy. Bet you recognize a lot of those people
Dad, Carlos Durham, Ernest and Reed
This picture was made in 1942. L to R, Marvice Williams, Carlos Durham, Ernest Williams and Reed Williams. Don’t you love how grown-up Ernest and Reed looked? But look closely at their faces. They were so young
Aunt Artie Durham Johnson
In the picture, the lady on the left with my mom and dad is my Aunt Artie Durham Johnson. She was born in 1893, a few years before my mom and dad. . She married Dad’s older half brother, Uncle Elvin Durham, 1887-1926. I never knew Uncle Elvin because he had passed away before I was born, and I do not have a photograph of him. But I was told he was a teacher and that he and Aunt Artie lived on Ragged Ridge when they were first married. This picture, about 1966, is a good depiction of my aunt’s personality. She was personable and pleasant just as she appears to be in the photo. I wish all our email group could have known her.
Continue reading “Aunt Artie Durham Johnson”“But time grows short when you reach September”
At times when I was young, more than once, I thought about what it would be like to get old. I remember one fall afternoon on my way home from high school, I was walking down the ridge road, enjoying the golden rods and pleasant weather, and singing the September Song. I remember the day clearly. I was just passing the old walnut tree that still stands in the field near the road not far from Donald’s house as I walked and sang.
In phone calls with my brother Donald during the past spring, he and I often talked about getting old and facing our Septembers. “You and me will soon be where the rest of our family has gone,” he said. I agreed. Confronting death is very serious and very sad. But when we talked together about being the last two remaining of our family, it was good not to dodge the seriousness and the sadness.
Continue reading ““But time grows short when you reach September””Dad carrying the mail
