Where I'm From

Where I'm From

by Shelia Parker Nelson

I am from cast iron skillets, from Hi-Ho crackers, JFG peanut butter and Bessie's unpasteurized, unhomogonized milk.

I am from the hill in the holler, from a tar-papered house that embraced a home.

I am from wild white dogwoods, sweet pink mimosas, orange ditch lilies, and from the fleabane and Queens Anne's lace that lined the sides of a pig-trail road.

I am from a Friday night supper of homemade hamburgers; Sanford & Son on a new color TV set.  I am from Momma 'n Daddy keeping their family together.

I am from Thanksgiving Dinner served at noon.  I am from letting the men fill their plates first.  I am from Lawrence and Alyne, Parkers and Burchards.

I am from my grandparent's front porch.  I am from "come on in and pull up a cheer."

I am from talkers and listeners.

I am from cracklin' AM radio and from scratchy vinyl records.  I am from Mac Wiseman, the Browns singing about Three Bells, Hee Haw, Lawrence Welk and Porter Waggoner.

I am from "don't touch the dog when it's a'lightnin'". I am from "yuns put your bicycles in the cellar, come on in the house and watch Billy Graham."

I am from rarely saying grace, but always giving thanks.

I am from cotton dresses worn to school under a warm coat.

I am from the southern end of Appalachia, from one whose lineage can be traced to the Mayflower, and from one whose roots disappear into the soil of the early 1800s.

I am from "ain't" and "pillers", from "yonder" and "yuns".  I am from East Tennessee twang.

I am from hik'ry switch stripes on my legs.  I am from encouragement and selfless love.  I am from parents who intended to raise me right, no matter what it took.

I am from a Momma who had a good example to follow, and did it right.  I am from a Daddy who didn't have a good example to follow, but did it right anyway.

I am from the foot of an old Appalachian mountain spur.  I am from a sunset that slides to the south of the mountaintop to let me know we're heading towards winter, and creeps north to give my spirit hope that winter will end.

I am from land given to my family as a death settlement in the last century.  I am from people who held onto this land like a bulldog.  I am from daguerreotypes and tintypes, I am from black and white, I am from color, stored in boxes and albums and held in trust by three strong, sweet women.

I am from Appalachia, beginning in New England and ending in Tennessee.

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A few months ago I was searching the internet for all things Appalachia when I discovered Tipper Pressley's blog "Blind Pig and The Acorn".  I love my Appalachian heritage and Tipper's blog has taken me back so many times to a time when the challenges of life could be overcome with common sense, humor, ingenuity, and determination. Her blog is an expression of an Appalachian life of quiet dignity, simplicity and innocent fun.

Tipper posted the "Where I'm From" poem template on her blog and asked her readers to share their own life stories. I will admit to shedding a few bittersweet tears while writing mine.  Life is both sunshine and shadow, my friends, and I hope you will use this template to write your own "Where I'm From" story.

You can find Tipper's blog at   http://www.blindpigandtheacorn.com/  I guarantee you'll enjoy it!

Thank you for reading my blog,

Shelia



 

The Reading Tree

When I was a little girl there were no shopping malls or summer camps or swimming pools. During our summer break from school my oldest brother and I attended community church sponsored Vacation Bible Schools (which I loved), we sat on the front porch and played games, and we played in the yard and roamed the woods behind our house. I looked forward to my Summer Weekly Reader (delivered by the United States Postal Service on Tuesday mornings), and we went to the summer library program provided by our elementary school.

The library was open Wednesday mornings during the summer months.  The limit was three books, so I chose my books carefully.  My favorite authors were Laura Ingalls Wilder, Beverly Cleary, and Sydney Taylor. I also read a great many biographies, because there's nothing more interesting than people's lives. The non-fiction books held great interest for me too. Doesn't every little girl want to know the location of the great rivers of the world?

Back home from the library, I'd put one of my books, an old pillow, a bologna or potted meat sandwich, a Little Debbie snack cake and a  thermos of Kool-Aid in an old pillowcase, tie it up with a string and go to my grandparent's house. They lived across the pasture from us, and they had the best-climbing tree you ever saw in their front yard. It was a mimosa. A lot of people don't care for mimosas. They are not native to Southeast Tennessee, they are invasive, they are messy, but they are pretty, they smell good and they are easy to climb!

About five feet up, three limbs made a perfect seat. I'd climb the tree, holding the pillowcase, and when I reached the three limbs I'd get my pillowcase out and make myself comfortable. Leaning back against the limbs, I'd get my book out and loose myself in the story for the afternoon. When I got hungry, I'd reach into the pillowcase for my sandwich. When I got thirsty, I'd drink the Kool-Aid from my thermos. And I always looked forward to my Little Debbie Snack Cake. It didn't matter what kind it was.

I traveled many miles in that mimosa tree. I went back to the past and met our Founding Fathers. I spent time on the prairie with Mary and Laura. I learned about honeybees, how to braid hair, I met five little Jewish sisters who lived in New York City in the early 1900s, I read about dogs and horses and birds, learned about the constellations and cycles of the moon, and different rivers of the world, I spent time with four Little Women who lived during the Civil War. I read about the cities of our great country, I read about the earthquakes that formed Reelfoot Lake and I read and I read and I read........

Five feet off the ground in a sweet smelling tree filled with pretty pink blossoms, with a good book, a pillow, and a little food in a pillowcase. That's all I needed to make me happy back in those seemingly innocent days.

My Reading Tree has been gone many years, but I can still take you to the place where it used to be. And every year when the mimosas bloom it takes me back to those days when I was a little girl in my corner of Appalachia.

The pictures of the mimosa trees included in this post were taken this afternoon. Two mimosas drape over my driveway.   In the early mornings, when it's dark and still outside, while Hub and I sit on the porch  and have our morning coffee together, their fragrance glides through the air.  Yes, they are messy! But, if you ever smelled their delicately sweet smell you would think they are worth the mess.

Why I Love a Clothesline

I've been looking through my Momma's pictures again and found what I have named "The Clothesline Series".  Professional portraits are nice, but nothing illuminates real life like a snapshot.

Here in Appalachia, or at least in the Appalachia I remember as a little girl, we never said "I must go do my laundry." We said, "I'm a'goin' to warsh clothes." Somehow, a soft, slight "r" found its way in between the "a" and "s". I don't hear it so much now, since the Tennessee Appalachian twang is quickly disappearing. But, one day, back in July 1959, my Sweet Little Momma and My Beloved Mamaw got together to 'warsh' clothes.

They look so pretty! No one dresses like this anymore to do daily household chores. I wonder what they talked about? And what was the little dog's name? Do you see potholders, or are those little baby bonnets? Tiny undershirts? Towels? Diapers?

My Sweet Little Momma and Beloved MaMaw must have washed all morning to get the clothes on the line. Finally dry, Momma would fold, hang or iron the clothes, put them away and do it all again a few days later, if the weather cooperated. I remember the smell of those clean clothes; they smelled like summer to me.  Years later we got an electric dryer. Momma still used the clothesline, but she never had to depend on the weather to be clear and sunny and the electric dryer was used a lot during the long winter months.

I love this picture of my Sweet Little Momma. The wind is flapping the clothes and whispering against her skirt.  A bush is blooming in the left hand corner. Notice the clothesline pole?  I wonder what she was thinking while looking over her shoulder?  I wonder if someone was in the outhouse, peeping through the cracks?

Each load of clothes was hung on the line as soon as the washer stopped. By noon, the line was full and Momma always hoped for a steady afternoon breeze. Did you know a steady breeze will soften your clothes? If there's no breeze to flap them dry, they'll dry stiff as a plank!

Ahhh, this picture makes me smile! Three generations of Appalachian women at the clothesline!  Yep, that's me in the chair and my Beloved Mamaw standing behind me.

When Hub and I married married and settled into our first home, my Grandparents bought us a new washing machine and dryer.  I didn't see any sense in using the dryer on warm, sunny days, so Hub and I strung up a clothesline between two trees in the backyard and I used it for a few years. It finally broke, so I used my just-like-new electric dryer. Then the dryer stopped working after many years of use and I hung  our clothes out on the back porch for an entire summer. It may have inconvienced some people, but I didn't mind in the least. I'd wash clothes in the evenings and hang them on the porch rail before I left the following morning for work. They'd be nice and dry by the time I got home. Unless it rained.  Back to the washer they went, except for the towels. I figured the rainwater would only make them softer.

Finally, Hub and I purchased a new electric dryer, but I still wanted a clothesline. I guess my love of clotheslines began when I was a little girl and I've never gotten over it! We bought a fancy, twirly umbrella clothesline and Hub installed it in the backyard.   I used it for a long time (never convinced it was the real thing) until earlier this month. It toppled over, with a freshly washed blanket hanging from it.

Well, Hub, being a man of action, finally decided it was time for a Real Clothesline. Last week he went to the local hardware store and bought 4x4s, a bag of concrete, a new clothesline and all the hardware to build a genuine, heavy-duty clothesline!

It's a modern, tricked-out version of an old-fashioned clothesline.

 You won't see a clothesline pole, because Hub placed turnbuckles on the line. If I have a heavy blanket, all I have to do is adjust the turnbuckle. We had some lattice stored away from a long-ago porch and Hub used it on the end of each 4x4.

What happened to the store-bought umbrella type clothesline, you might ask? That's it on the far right hand side of the picture. It's found a second purpose as a bean trellis. It's always exciting when things can be repurposed!

"Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without!"

An old stump comes in handy when you're hanging out clothes.

I sure do love my new clothesline!

And I want to thank Hub for not only making it functional, but pretty!

Every Saturday morning, when the skies are blue, I will hang out clothes on my new clothesline and sing every old gospel song I know. For a few minutes the world will be clean and fresh-smelling and for some reason less chaotic and troubled. Everybody needs some kind of therapy, and I reckon hanging out clothes must be mine.  

I hope you've enjoyed your visit to My Corner of Appalachia!

Shelia

Talkin' on the Porch

Back then I thought ever'body talked like us.
I'd heard the same kind of talkin' ever since I was born,
and then settin' on the porch in the evenin' with Daddy and Momma,
Mamaw and Papaw, Aints and Uncles, all talkin' and tellin' stories.

Us kids would play in the yard ketchin' lightnin' bugs, or ridin'
our bicycles aroun' the house. The grownups would set on the porch
and thay'd start talkin' and then thay'd all laugh. I'd ride my bicycle close
to the porch and I'd wonder what thay was'a laughin' at.

Well, the sun would start to go down over the mountain and I'd act
like I was gettin' tard. I'd go set beside my Momma or one'a my Aints
on the settee. I'd lay my head in thayr lap and close my eyes and listen
to them and I thought ever'body talked thataway, rich and hearty, funny and wise.

"They was a snake in the outhouse he took a hoe to it, everwhat happened to them people
that lived up the road a piece, the jarflys are loud this summer, how big'a mess'a beans
did you git outta that pokeful, them Kennedy's, I cleaned all the winders t'day,
I'm a'goin' to trade t'mar do you need to go, somethin's dead somewheres I can smell the kyarn."

"The truth'll stand when the world falls, the kids gommed up the kitchen right after I cleaned it up,
George Wallace, Gov'ner of Alabama, and we might could tare that part'a the floor up and put new down,that was some good okry we had for supper, Martin Luther King, them Beatles from England. Hey kids! stay away from the road now, and don't be ridin' so fast off that sidewalk."

"I couldn't git to sleep last night to save my life, my piller felt like it was full of rocks,
He got $2 in the mail today with a note sayin' I'm sorry I stole your dictionary when we was in school no it wadn't signed, once I found all my Christmas presents and then told Mother ever'thing I wanted and she asked me you've been lookin' ain't ye? C'mere kids and getchuns a banana popsicle."

Sometimes the talkin' would stop and it'd get real still
and I'd hear the Fox family that lived on the other road, settin' on thay're porch.
The night air carryin' their laughin' and talkin' and I reckon that was a 'nother reason
I thought ever'body talked like we did.

Then I got big and found out right fast that not ever' body did.
Thay're was no invitation to 'pull 'y self up a cheer and set down'.
And you ain't likely to get nowhere much if you say 'I reckon', or 'I'd druther not',
or the worst of all 'yuns'. It's all right to say ya'll, but don't say yuns or people with think your ignert.

Leave your native tongue at home, as hearty and rich as it is, you got t'leave it on the porch where
it belongs and talk homogonized talk out in the world. It's as bland as unsalted butter, but
it's 'acceptable' and nobody will take you serious if you spit out 'yuns' or tell somebody
'you look awful nice t'day' or let's go git us a cole drank'a water.

But it still sounds like honey to me, smooth and golden, like them evenin's I spent listenin'
to all that talk and not knowin' that ever'body didn't talk thataway and I feel right sorry
for them. Nobody much sits on the porch now anyways and kids don't play outside
but we all got cell phones and contact lists so I reckon kids'll be remembering about that in 50 years.

Then and Now, Graham Road

My family has lived in East Tennessee many years. In fact, except for the first couple years of marriage, I have lived on the same road all my life. It's old family property that was given to my maternal great-grandparents, George and Ida Graham, by the McDonald family.

George (Pappy) and Ida (Mommie) had seven children. Ethel, Alice, Lester, Trewhitt, Ruth, Georgia and Granville. Granville worked for the Home Stores, a chain of small markets owned by the McDonald family. He was killed in a work-related accident on December 23, 1933 and Mr. McDonald gave Pappy sixty two acres as a death settlement. Granville was a young man of 25 years and his death hurt his family very much.

My great-grandmother, Ida Emerling Graham standing in front of her home on Graham Road.  

Now the road I live on is called Graham Road, named after my great-grandparents, but over seventy-five years ago, there was just a little wagon trail meandering through the sixty-two acres. No houses, no electric lines, no city water.  Pappy divided sixty acres between his remaining six children and kept two acres for himself.  There was a tiny little house on his two acres and he and Mommie lived there until he built their house. 

Ida Emerling Graham

These pictures were taken sometime in the early 1950s. Pappy died when I was just a baby, so I have no memories of him, but I do have memories of visiting Mommie. I remember Pappy's garden spot and the well, with its windlass, bucket, dipper and fresh cold water.  Behind their home was a grapevine, an outbuilding, and behind the outbuilding was the outhouse. I have about a 5 second memory of staying with Mommie. She was babysitting me and I remember standing on a short stool in her kitchen, watching her throw a piece of wood in her cookstove. After she threw it in she put her arms around me and gently got me off the stool.

George Graham in front of the house he built on Graham Road. The little dirt road that runs alongside the house went to his neighbor's, Lorenzo Newman.

Eventually, all but one of George and Ida's children sold their land. Their youngest daughter, Ruth Graham Burchard, my Mamaw, lived on Graham Road until she went to Heaven six months after my Papaw, in 1985.  The ten acres given to my grandmother was increased as surrounding property became available and now Ruth's daughters, and a few grandchildren and great-grandchildren, live on Graham Road.

Graham Road was a quiet little country road when I was growing up. Hardly any cars passed our house and when one did, we ran to the front window to see who it was! We fell asleep at night listening to the call of whipporwills and awakened to the sound of Bessie, my grandparent's milk cow, mooing in the pasture between our homes.   My brothers and I would play all day, stopping only to drink a glass of KoolAid, or to sit on the porch and read or daydream. I can remember Momma telling us to be quiet, not to holler or talk loud,  when a funeral was taking place in the cemetary nearby.  

Until the early 1980s, Graham Road began at Back Valley Road at it's west end and ended about four miles to the east at State Highway 27. I can remember at least a dozen or more homes scattered on the four miles of curves, steep hills and dark hollows.  Graham Road had grown from a short, rough wagon trail to a four-mile paved road in less than 50 years.  

My great-grandmother Ida finally came to live with her youngest daughter Ruth, my Mamaw. Her old home was sold and my Daddy's brother, my Uncle Buddy,  lived there with his family for a few years.  Again, Pappy's garden spot flourished and the little old house was filled with family and laughter.  

It is said that you can't stop progress. Progress came to Graham Road in the early 1980s in the form of State Highway 111. 

 My great-grandparents property was purchased by the State of Tennessee.  Their homeplace....home, garden spot, outbuilding, outhouse and grapevine.... was torn down, covered with earth and rock, and eventually asphalt.  Thousands of cars and trucks have traveled this road since it was opened over 25 years ago.

 I took these pictures standing on the off ramp of Highway 111, where my great-grandparent's house, garden spot, outbuilding, outhouse and grapevine used to be.   

Same place, different time.

Graham Road was rerouted during the construction of Highway 111. No longer does it lead from Back Valley Road to Highway 27. It's only a little over a mile long now. 

There have been a lot of changes in the past 78 years. Looking at these pictures, it's hard to believe it's the same place. I miss the quietness of the old Graham Road. The whipporwills left a long time ago and now if we ran to the front window every time a car passed, we'd be running to the window all day. Who would have ever thought that a mile long road, that ends at a deadend, would be so busy? 

I have chosen a few more pictures from my Momma's picture box that I'll be posting in the next few weeks. I hope to do more Then and Now pictures, so I hope you'll come back to visit with me.    

Shelia  

 

My Daddy

Going through old family pictures can bring a smile to your face, or tears to your eyes. Sometimes both.  I've been looking through the pictures my Momma gave me and I've found a great many pictures of my Daddy.  And I have had smiles and tears looking at them.

My Daddy was a great man.

Daddy, Momma, David, Joyce, Shelia and Larry

In my mind's eye I can still see my Daddy, walking in front of me and Momma and my oldest brother.  His white t-shirt bobbed along in the dusk of the evening, as he carried my baby brother home.  Summer evenings were spent on my grandparent's porch, until the robins called to each other from the yard and the trees. It was their bedtime, and it was getting close to ours.  Daddy always walked a few feet ahead of us, watching out for a car coming over the hill, or a rock or hole in the road we might stumble upon. He was always watching out for Momma, and watching out for his kids, even after we were grown. And then he watched out for his grandkids. And then his great-grandkids.

After I married and made my own home, he would call me daily, sometimes three or four times a day, sometimes while I was at work, just to see how my day was going, just because I was on his mind, just because he loved me. 

Sometimes he would tell me of a good deal he'd gotten at the store that morning. He always appreciated a good deal.  Or he'd tell me what he and Momma were going to do that day.

His wit was proof of a razor-sharp,keen intelligence. If you were around my Daddy for just a little while, you'd laugh because he had a different way of looking at life. And he could solve any problem using good common sense. He always worked hard, but was never one to follow money. He was content with Momma, his kids and a comfortable home. We never went without.

What he had could not be bought. He had the good simple life down to an art form.

Oh, but I can still see him, walking in front of us, carrying the least one of us, and watching out for all of us. He did that up until his last breath.

He has gone a few steps ahead of us, to a place where we all must go. I miss him so much and I can't write any more about that. It hurts too much.

I treasure this picture of my Daddy. He loved to work in the yard and could grow anything.

The sweet-looking little boy in the front is Daddy. The older boy is his brother, my Uncle Buddy. To Daddy's right is his sister Imogene. His sisters Robbie and Glenna are in the back. Two younger sisters, Mary Lynn and Carolyn Sue are yet to be born.  These children were scattered like kittens from a box after their mother died. The two youngest girls were raised by an aunt, and the others found homes where they could. Daddy found a home with his Aunt Molly Lively. My cousin Lloyd Lively said he can still remember seeing Daddy walking to their house. He was just a little boy then, maybe 8 or 9, looking for a place to live.  I have but a few memories of Aunt Mollie, but I love her for taking my Daddy in and giving him a home and love.

 Me, Daddy and Larry in May 1964

This picture was taken after my Aunt Glenna's funeral. In the front are my aunts, Mary Lynn, Carolyn Sue and Robbie. Glenna's husband Uncle Robert, my Daddy and Uncle Buddy in the back. Daddy and Buddy were not only brothers, but best friends. 

Even though they didn't really share a normal childhood together, they kept in touch and talked to each other a lot. They loved each other. The five sisters and two brothers, who were scattered like kittens from a box, are all gone now.

But, I can still see my Daddy, walking in front of us...watching out for us.......

My Mamaw

The remarkable woman in the picture below is my Mamaw. The date on the picture is January 1955. She was 38 years old when this picture was taken.

I love it that she's wearing black and white saddle oxfords and a dress while sweeping snow off the sidewalk. My Mamaw was an Appalachian lady.

I love the old truck in the background too.

My grandparents home was across the pasture from us and we loved going there. We didn't visit;  it was our second home.

Mamaw went to Heaven six months after my Papaw. I was so filled with grief that I wrote this poem about her.

My Mamaw
She made big cathead biscuits and apple stack cakes,
time to read her Bible and very few mistakes.
She's the one who first told me about lying and such,
and I always knew that she loved me so much.
I could see in her life, time and time again,
that she trusted Jesus as her closest Friend.

Long summer evenings we spent playing so hard,
and she would stand on her porch and call us in from her yard
because her favorite preacher was on black and white TV
telling us about Jesus and His death on calvary.
Then, with love in her heart, she would watch us walk home,
and she would pray for her grandkids when she was alone.

Plain and simple language is what she used when she spoke,
words like "yonder" and "reckon" and "vessels" and "poke".
Her home was a haven for mongrels and strays,
and they lived a good life under the care that she gave.
Her actions were always true, confident, and clear,
and loving her family was her lifelong career.

"Mansion on the Hilltop" was her favorite song,
and now when I hear it I always sing along.
I think about my Mamaw, walking now on streets of gold
and the love that she shared while on her earthly road.
I know, without a doubt, that I'll see her again
because I, too, have trusted Jesus as my closest Friend.



See you soon,
Shelia

A Long Time Ago....

See the little girl in the corner? That's me over 50 years ago! The year was 1960 and I was not-quite-two.

I was in my Mamaw's kitchen and Lord only knows why I was squatting in the corner. 

I love to look at old pictures. Even if I don't know the people in the picture, I still enjoy examining the clothes, hairstyles and surroundings.  And I remember more about my childhood if I look closely at our old family pictures and let my mind take me backwards. I was a happy little girl!

Here I am again. I'm pretty sure this picture was taken at my great-grandmother's house.  Little girls wore  dresses back in the '60s. I didn't own a pair of pants until I started junior high school!

My Sweet Little Momma gave me two boxes of old family pictures this afternoon so I could scan them and add them to this blog. I can't wait to see what I find in those boxes!

See you soon,

Shelia