Wednesday, September 7, 2016


Ya’ll, sometimes the comments are better than the blog.   I think that should be embroidered on a pillow or plaque, for the sweet and thoughtful and vivid comments that Y’all leave here are a wonderful part of my life.   Just to know that a few words I throw out there sometimes evoke memories of your own, of other times and people and places which have meant so much in your lives---that’s a lovely thing to contemplate.

Today, I was absolutely mesmerized reading a comment from my friend BEACH GYPSY, whose forebears worked HARD to make their way  and tend their families.   Such memories deserve WAY more than a little snip on the back page, and should be UP FRONT, not even a click away.

Her Words:

I come from a long line of "working men". Hard labor, building bridges and dams, farming, factory workers, working in the hard weather and hard terrain mountains. Tending to cows and chickens and pigs and huge gardens and building fences and barns and working on telephone lines and providing for their families and making sure the kids were fed and clothed and the houses were kept warm in the winter with backbreaking loads of sparkly black coal and making sure my grandmothers and great grandmothers and great-greats had a washing machine down in the "wash-house" to keep the clothes clean and a back porch to sit the work worn and daily dirty boots on at the end of the day.

They dug wells so there was clean fresh water to drink and they kept bees for the sweet delicious honey. They hunted and brought home food and they knew how to build and to use a smokehouse for ham and bacon etc. My Grandmothers knew what to do with a wild turkey on thanksgiving and how to sew a quilt for a newly married couple. My Grandpas knew how to shoot a rattlesnake and my Grandmas knew how to MAKE sweet butter in a churn and delicious blueberry, blackberry, and apple jellies.

 Yep, I come from a long line of "working men" and women. Hands dirty with grease, oil, paint, or garden soil as well as feminine hands busy with sewing and kneading doughs for bread and pie crusts. Your post brought to mind so many memories....

Thank you, Gypsy---beautifully remembered and beautifully expressed.


Chronica Domus said...

Beautifully expressed. I feel exhausted by all that hard work and I'm only just reading about it.

BeachGypsy said...

1. Can't believe you did this
2. That's one of the kindest things anyone's done for me!
3. Can we be best friends forever?
4. LOL

Seriously, this is so sweet my friend. So nice for the recognition. I have such VIVID memories of that tiny little place at the bottom of the mountain.
My birthplace, my homestead, my roots--deeply embedded in that rich Tennessee soil.My memories are richer than the soil because of the people who came before me...who did all that hard work. I am intensely PROUD of the place, and people that I come from. Family, and the straight up clear memories as well as the wispy and faint ones bring us all to where we are in our own stories today.

YOU- MY DEAR- are an extraordinary story-teller. I love reading the tales of your family and their ways and many are so reminiscent of my own family's stories that I think to myself "I do believe they lived right down the street from Aunt Fancy!!"
And your lovely writing keeps me captivated no matter what subject you are writing about. My attempts pale in comparison to yours.
Please keep sharing your stories with us!
......and thanks for letting me be your "guest Post"

Kathy said...

I LOVE this post. Reading Beach Gypsy's description of her family reminded me of mine. My ancestors have lived in the city as far back as I can go but did hard manual labor to provide for their families. They did things that today would be considered great hardship and no one would do. My second great grandfather drove a team of horses pulling a wagon loaded with supplies off of the ships that came into port. His legs didn't reach the footrest so just hung all day so at the end of the day as he cleaned up his horses he had trouble walking. But my greats always had food on the table, a roof over the heads of their families and clothes on their backs.

I remember my great-grandmother (who I lived with growing up) making bread, canning peaches and tomatoes, making jelly, and setting the most wonderful food on the table at meal times. She made our clothes and helped with homework. She read to us as children and we read to her as we got older. Always there was the love. Lots of love. And that is the most important.

Beverly said...

Ah, I love this. What a very special share. Rachel, you are an inspiration to all of us. I love you dearly, sweet friend.♥