old friends

Yesterday I drove back in time, down Harpertown Hill into the little town of McCaysville, out the other side to visit Wilma and Dwayne.

Wilma has been cleaning out her mom's house since she passed away and discovered some quilt tops in need of finishing, hence one of the reasons for my visit. We spread them out on the guest room bed and matched up colored sheets to use for the backing. I have a stash of quilt batting bought on sale years ago, to use in retirement. I recently checked my stock and had 4 twin size batts. I told Wilma that apparently I bought these 4 to be used in the future when she called me about these 4 quilt tops…stranger things at work here.

We got out and drove around, passed by some places where Wilma lived over the years, she moved a lot! The one I remember most was in Kingtown, we would walk from there down the hill to the Tastee Freeze on Saturdays, oftentimes with curlers in our hair preparing for a night dancing at the canteen. What a sight we must have been, oh for a picture of that!

She wanted to visit to our old homeplace out on Galloway Road. I can hear my mom's voice now, "I want 50 acres in the country with a house in the middle so I can't see any neighbors!" (this after living in Army housing most of her adult life). So we followed the now paved road (wow!) and to the house that my dad built on top of the hill in the late 60s. Since then, other houses have popped up, in our old pasture, garden, one up where the shop used to be, one where the old radiator shop was, it was surreal driving through there. Although the main road is paved now, the driveway is no better, still narrow and gravel and prone to washout. Some things change, some things stay the same.

We strolled around town, McCaysville and Copperhill, drove by the old YMCA building where the dances were on Saturday night, now the City Hall. The shopping places of our childhood are gone, we could spend hours in Williamson's 5 and 10 for school supplies or toys, then for school shoes to Jabaleys next door. Shopping for clothes meant a trip to the fabric store over in Copperhill. There was the jewelry store that sold 45 records for $1 back in the day, the A and P grocery store is still there, just with a different name. The stores now are more touristy, catering to the 'train people'. The scenic train from Blue Ridge arrives while we are eating lunch and aforementioned 'train people' file by the window to see the quaint little town.

Back at their house, we pulled out the old yearbooks and even some report cards. Looking at the old faces, trying to remember them in school, who were they dating then, did they stay together, which ones are gone too soon.

Dwayne is enjoying his retirement, working some when he wants to, fishing at least once a week, hunting during season, I heard fishing and hunting stories and there were even pictures!  Wilma is still working, she loves her job and will continue to work for now, even though (as Dwayne pointed out) she is having a birthday next week - 66!!!

I left with home canned green beans and fresh tomatoes and a good feeling of connecting with old friends.

afterthoughts:

Oh and we of course reminisced about that night we picked up those 2 guys from Atlanta and took them home with us…

AND almost forgot, on the way out (with my green beans) Wilma asked if I knew how to cook these?  Well duh but you tell me anyway Wilma.

Wilma: You get some bacon grease. Do you have bacon grease?

Dwayne: We were almost out and I had to go buy some the other day.

Me: You buy bacon grease? Where?

Dwayne: Up at the biscuit place, I bought a gallon for $1.

Me (thinking): OMG your arteries!

Wilma: Anyway, you heat the bacon grease and then open the beans, pour off water and rinse 2 times. Add dry beans to bacon grease (do not add any water) and heat.

Me:  Thanks y'all!

neighbors

Our famous author neighbor, Deany Brady, invited us all to her new house on January 1st. 

The neighbors gathered at Deany Brady's new farmhouse, built on the site of the old homestead. The word went out earlier in the day that there was no heat or water so come prepared. Deany was in great spirits and made light of the situation the way she knows best, making it into a story.

They had arrived the night before from California to no heat or water. It was cold in this new farmhouse, just like the old one. They called the local Wal-Mart and were told that they never closed, so off to town they went, in search of electric blankets and water bottles to warm their feet. They found the blankets fine but no water bottles anywhere, do they still make those? The closest things to water bottles they could find were enema bags, same basic concept, so got some of those too. They took off the tubing and filled the bags with hot water to put into the beds. Deany said the electric blanket worked okay, but in the middle of the night it needed some help, so she got up and took the rug off the floor and put it on top of the blanket. It really was like the old days now, the bed piled high and heavy with quilts to keep warm.

Deany is in the middle of writing her third book and I can only wonder if this latest adventure will become part of that. 

Some of the neighbors assessed the situation and soon had the pump running and heat on, that is one of the blessings of having good neighbors, always willing to help out, at least that has not changed over the years.

The new house has parts of the old house included in the construction, like the new rock fireplace/chimney made out of the rocks from the original chimney. The mantel piece is a solid oak beam from under the old farmhouse. The vintage tin roof on the porch is from the old farmhouse roof. The wainscotting in Deany's bedroom is from the paneling in the old dining room.

The family now has a new place to visit from California, they can sit on the porch and see Turkey Creek and Yonder Mountain just like when Deany was a little girl growing up here. They can tell stories from the past and make new memories here.

We met a lot of good folks for the first time, and reconnected with old friends too. Thank you Deany and Jeriann and David for sharing your new home with all of us, it was a great time. Looking forward to the third book in Deany's trilogy, due to be out this August on her 90th birthday!

more pictures HERE

Higher than Yonder Mountain: Book Review

Higher than Yonder Mountain by Deany Brady

The little Deany that we all fell in love with in An Appalachian Childhood is back! In this the second part of her memoir, she tells the rest of the story. Always a dreamer, Deany longed to see all the exciting places pictured on the newspapers that covered the walls of her family's two-room shack deep in the mountains of north Georgia, and after years of hard work on her family's farm she did just that.

She was such a brave and strong young woman to venture out into the world on her own. From the poor red clay of Georgia to the glistening sands of Miami Beach to the bright lights of New York City, all of Deany's dreams came true as she saw and experienced the rich life. Of course there were highs and lows but her spirit sustained her through all hardships, after all growing up poor in Appalachia had made her strong enough to handle almost anything.

Then, coming full circle, she returned to her home in the shadow of Yonder Mountain, to the place that gave her strength. Her wings took her to fancy places, but her roots brought her back home to family. That red dirt wasn't so bad after all, especially when washed off in the cold water of Turkey Creek after a long day on the farm. And where better to raise a child than in the same place that raised her.  

Deany Brady is a master storyteller. Warning - once you start reading, you won't want to stop until done!

This book read like a novel, I often had to remind myself that these stories really happened, to a real person. If you have not read the first book in this memoir, An Appalachian Childhood, you must do so now! Then enjoy the rest of the story, Higher than Yonder Mountain.

hugs and prayers

the purpose of the prayer shawl is to give comfort to whoever is wearing it

but it just might work - to pray for spring?

this one found a home yesterday with Linda recovering from hip surgery, 

I hope it makes her feel warm and snuggly like a big hug

~pattern Lion Brand

Grandma Gatewood's Walk: book review

It was 1973, sitting on the front porch of this old farmhouse, visiting our nearest neighbor a mile down the road, Mrs. Lola Mealer. I loved listening to her stories, my favorite was about the time Granny Gatewood walked down the road and set a spell, taking a break from her walk on the Appalachian Trail. Mrs. Mealer told us all about the little grandmother setting out to hike the trail, she described her tennis shoes and knapsack. I was delighted to read about my neighbor in the very first chapter of this book, Grandma Gatewood's Walk by Ben Montgomery.

She caught a ride to Charleston, West Virginia, then boarded a bus to the airport, then a plane to Atlanta, then a bus from there to a little picture-postcard spot called Jasper, Georgia, “the First Mountain Town.” Now here she was in Dixieland, five hundred miles from her Ohio home, listening to the rattle and ping in the back of a taxicab, finally making her ascent up the mountain called Oglethorpe, her ears popping, the cabbie grumbling about how he wasn’t going to make a penny driving her all this way. She sat quiet, still, watching through the window as miles of Georgia blurred past. 

They hit a steep incline, a narrow gravel road, and made it within a quarter mile of the top of the mountain before the driver killed the engine.

She collected her supplies and handed him five dollars, then one extra for his trouble. That cheered him up. And then he was gone, taillights and dust, and Emma Gatewood stood alone, an old woman on a mountain.

She pulled from the box a drawstring sack she’d made back home from a yard of denim, her wrinkled fingers doing the stitching, and opened it wide. She filled the sack with other items from the box: Vienna Sausage, raisins, peanuts, bouillon cubes, powdered milk. She tucked inside a tin of Band-Aids, a bottle of iodine, some bobby pins, and a jar of Vicks salve. She packed the slippers and a gingham dress that she could shake out if she ever needed to look nice. She stuffed in a warm coat, a shower curtain to keep the rain off, some drinking water, a Swiss Army knife, a flashlight, candy mints, and her pen and a little Royal Vernon Line memo book that she had bought for twenty-five cents at Murphy’s back home.

 She stood, finally, her canvas Keds tied tight, on May 3, 1955, atop the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail, the longest continuous footpath in the world.

Grandma Gatewood's Walk by Ben Montgomery tells Grandma Gatewood's story, 40 years after her death and almost 60 years after her first AT through-hike in 1955. Research included her diaries and trail journals, newspaper clippings, interviews with family and friends and folks met along the way.

Learning of the trail by reading an article in National Geographic, Emma Gatewood couldn't stop thinking about it. She took to heart the part about only a handful of people having hiked the entire trail from one end to the other - all men - and she vowed to be the first woman.

She loved to walk and loved the woods, so one day she just left. She didn't tell anyone, not her children or grandchildren. She said they were all grown and gone, that she would send them a postcard.

The AT's southernmost point was not always on Springer Mountain like it is today. From the early 1930s until 1958 it began on Mount Oglethorpe, which is just 5 miles up the road from my house.

When Emma Gatewood got out of that taxicab on the top of Mount Oglethorpe, she read the inscription on the monument there and proceeded down the trail/road. The trail took a sharp turn but she missed the marker and stayed on the gravel road until she came to the farmhouse of Mr. and Mrs. Mealer who were nice enough to let her stay the night. This was her very first of many encounters of nice folks along the way, and some not so nice. That morning she started out on the walk of a lifetime. With her trademark Keds sneakers and denim knapsack she went where no woman had gone before, making history along the way.

Before her stood mountains, more than three hundred of them topping five thousand feet… and finally - five million steps away - Katahdin.

Another book about real people doing extraordinary things, right here in Georgia, right here on our road! Reminds me of An Appalachian Childhood by Deany Brady, good reading!

Thanksgiving 2014

special kids

clean house and lots of food thanks to these two

  

green bean casserole!

we even make the guests cook

the elders

master turkey carver

grandpa Buddy please drop some

scary fried turkey breast

football of course

good times

cousins!

Thanksgiving 2014, 17 folks gathered round, a success!

applesauce

It is apple season back home, brings back memories - 1979:

My neighbor and I had our babies two days apart, and when they were old enough to start eating, she took me to the local cannery and we made applesauce for the babies. Fresh apples, cut in half, cutting out only the blossom end (cause that's where the poison is) - leaving the seeds and peelings (cause that's where the vitamins are). We dumped them into the huge sinks at the cannery to wash them, they were then put into huge vats to cook, and run through a grinder. Then into the jars and to the processor. If we hadn't brought our own jars, we could have bought tin cans for the same purpose. Our babies ate the prettiest pink applesauce (color from the red peelings).

Thanks Imogene for the memories!

small town doc

In this day of fast-paced, assembly line, find a doc on a list, impersonal medical experiences, the home town doc is a thing of the past. Even more so now that a local dentist has retired. Dr. John Walton has been in the same little office for 32 years, on the side of the road by the movie theatre way before there was a movie theatre there, across the road from Home Depot and Wal-mart, when he started out the view was just trees.

Dr. Walton was never in a hurry, would sit and talk for as long as you wanted to. Over the years we have heard all about Dr. Walton and his family and activities. He used to work on wooden boats, he likes to go to Asheville, he likes to hike. We heard about his daughter who had a brain tumor when she was younger, all about his son going to college.

On my last visit, after checking on my new crown, instead of the usual chit chat, the doc disappeared into the next exam room. I looked over at Anissa and said, "Gee, I was going to at least shake his hand, tell him bye." She said, "Don’t even go there or he will lose it."

Then while checking out, Joan talked about how they watched Carrie grow up from a child into a 30-year-old woman… then she started in, glassy-eyed and sniffling.

The girls in the office, Joan and Anissa, upon finding out last fall about the impending retirement, started planning a memory book for the doc, and asked all of us patients/friends to contribute something for the book. I hope is it overflowing with good memories, just a small token of the impression he has made on all of our lives.

Dr. Walton,

You have an excellent 'chairside' manner. You always greet me like an old friend, asking about the family etc. At one point I wondered if you had notes in the chart like, "She worked at the hospital, she likes hiking - kids are Melissa and Carrie - ask where Buddy is working now".

You distract us by telling stories. One of my favorites is about when your son went to camp and forgot his toothbrush, a whole week - a dentist's nightmare! Stories about hiking, boat building, your family. When I get home from the dentist, Buddy asks, "What did the Doc have to say today?" Or when Carrie comes from the dentist, she calls and says, "Dr. Walton says Hi!"

Thank you for taking care of our family all these years. And thanks for not reporting us to the authorities when Carrie came in with a busted lip/tooth from her 'scooter accident'.

I hope you enjoy your early retirement. Continue on your quest to find the perfect hiking trail (one without bugs, snakes, or poison ivy) and let us know if you do. Enjoy the peacefulness of nature along the way.

Keep in touch, we are on Facebook and blogs and if you are lucky we will sign you up for Buddy's annual Christmas Letter!

The Tidwells - Buddy, Susan, Melissa, and Carrie

pardon our dust

fall leaves and sunshine

reflections in quilting

wooden quilt squares

ceramic quilt magnets!

Just a few things from my kitchen stored away out of the dust of construction, is there a theme here?

I love the refrigerator magnets I just received in the mail from a friend in Ohio, actually the daughter of a friend. Thanks Chelsea! She is so sweet, she tells me on Facebook that she likes quilts because of me and sent me these magnets from her Etsy shop, Paisley and Burlap.

I thought of Chelsea and Julie and the whole family when I saw this:

You tell on yourself

By the friends you seek,

By the manner in which you speak;

By the way you employ your leisure time,

By the use you make of every dollar or dime.

You tell what you are

By the things you wear,

By the spirit by which your burdens you bear;

By the kind of things at which you laugh,

By the records you play on your phonograph.

You can tell what you are

By the way you talk,

By the manner in which you bear defeat;

By so simple a thing as what you eat,

By the books you choose from a well-defined shelf.

In these ways and more, you tell on yourself.

So there is really not a particle of sense

In your efforts to keep up your false pretense

 Author: Unknown

mountain shadows

tunnel vision

What is it about trains? Grown men's love affair with a passenger transport of the past. Maybe it is nostalgia, about back when things went slower, when you could sit and watch the view of the beautiful countryside pass by the window. But wait, the guys that have these train sets never traveled like that, it was before their time. 

Maybe it is about history, preserving a very important slice of our past, that has movement and sound and scale, and of course it is not just the trains, but the buildings and people and stores and tunnels and trestles and even smoke! Or maybe it is just boys and their toys?

We recently discovered that one of our neighbors has an elaborate model railroad setup in the area over his garage. Melissa was telling us about it, Buddy said he would love to see it too, so she made some calls and we went to see it on Sunday - an early birthday present for the OLD man (60 soon).

Neighbor and model train engineer Jim McIntosh has been collecting trains for a long time obviously. He and Buddy talked about their first train set, a Lionel, way back in the 50s or 60s(?).

Recently a film crew spent 3 days there filming and taking photographs for a train magazine spread and DVD.

Did you know these words and phrases have their origin in the railroad: backtrack, just the ticket, railroaded, derailed, sidetracked, one-track mind, blowing smoke, blowing your stack, streamlined, tunnel vision… thanks to Central Pacific Railroad Museum.

I took a few pictures, but they really don't do it justice, seen HERE, and online someone has posted a video HERE.

flocked

Driving down our road, I did a double-take when passing the house next door, as did most of the neighbors. Since no one was home (except the flamingos), I called Melissa's cell phone and asked her WHAT is in your yard?  She was clueless, said they weren't there when she left for school earlier.

When she came home, Melissa found this flock of flamingos in her yard with the sign I've Been Flocked! The note on the front door described a local school fundraiser, where someone (the Shaw family) donated $15 for 15 flamingos to be placed in her yard for 3 days. The note also stated that if you didn't want the flock for 3 days, you could purchase flock removal service for $15. 

Sophie's like, "I don't want to be flocked!"

orange rules

Annual family outing - girls only - to see the Lady Vols play at UGA

We took advantage of the family gathering so we could all sing to Carrie
on her near 30th birthday!

Pat Summit - Whether by choice or side effects of disease or medications, Pat stayed on the sidelines and let her assistant coaches pretty much run the show. We got to witness what might be the unofficial passing of the torch to assistant coach Holly Warlick, who did an awesome job of leading the ladies to victory. Even the bad calls by officials did not get Pat up out of her seat, definitely a different story from a year ago.

Good to spend time with the extended family, sisters, cousins, friends.

it takes a village

We have an elementary school in our little community, Oakland Elementary, that has been here for a long time. It was originally the Oakland Academy built in 1867. There used to be elementary schools in all of the communities of the county, as many as 25 at one time. They were closed one by one in order to consolidate all the kids into one school in town. All but Oakland. This is a big community and all the locals protested it, enough so that Oakland could stay open. (Reprint from the school house, Oct 19,2005)

Not any more.

Oakland Elementary School closed at the end of May of this year due to budget cuts.

No amount of protest worked this time, the Board of Education apparently had a master plan and nothing would change it.

The kids and teachers were disbursed to other schools in the county. The bus schedules are a mess and the seat time for kids on the buses is long, even making the Atlanta news. Adding fuel to the fire, the Board of Education just purchased an empty bank building in town for over half a million dollars, headlines in the local papers.

The logistic chaos is not the tragedy here, though. Oakland was not just another school in the system, not just a number on a spreadsheet in the budget. Oakland was a small community school, a family really, where generations of families were taught by the same teachers over the years. The loss to this community is great, the grief felt every time the school is passed by on the highway.

weeds taking over playground

Just the other day on the way to town I automatically slowed down for the school zone and noticed an impatient driver behind me, then the school came into view around the curve and I thought, "Oh, I forgot, I don't have to slow down any more..." The flashing 'school zone' lights are dark, the school bells are silent. It is sad to see the school empty this time of year, the weeds growing up around the playground equipment.

2000 mural (Kyle's kindergarten class)

When Kyle was here in Kindergarten in 2000, they painted this mural and all the kids put their hand prints in paint. One day I picked him up after school from Ms. Pat and he was so excited to show me his hand print on the wall.

The only silver lining in this story is the formation of the Oakland Academy Charter School, a work in progress by local residents to try to bring back the community school.

Oakland family alumni (Madison and Melissa)

Well, maybe not the only silver lining - our family was fortunate to have ALL of our kids and grandkids all benefit from the Oakland experience.

Oakland days scrapbook

They say it takes a village to raise a child, and this village has raised many lucky children over the years. Even though the school stands empty, the friends made there are friends for life, the lessons learned there are remembered, the teachers are still being quoted, and the memories made will last forever.

The staff and I trust that your tour at Oakland has been a pleasure.
We know the memories will always be a treasure.

We have been here to offer you our best.
We now present to you the ultimate test…

To perform as well or better at Gilmer Middle School.
We feel we have offered you an efficient learning tool.

To continue your success each and every day.
To learn more and develop new paths along the way.

Do not always stick to the "tried and true"
Because our future will depend on you!

It is my desire that when I see you at Wal-Mart on any given day…
That you will remember Oakland and say hey.

~excerpt from of 'Love is More Than a Word' by Jim Parmer, former Oakland principal (see full poem here)

Oakland School History


the school house
no more pencils