Another family birthday comes into view while we are still basking in the glow of last week's celebration for Maddie. One hundred twenty-five years ago on March 15, 1887, a baby girl given the name Mary Clyde Curley was born to a 34 year old French immigrant whose husband died during the pregnancy. This baby was the youngest of 9 living children born to Ernestine, who had buried a child in addition to two husbands, both of whom died before seeing their last child.
Clyde, as the baby was called, was born into adversity and affliction of circumstance. But she was also born into a close family circle as her mother moved back home to relatives. I don't know much about her childhood, but I do know she loved her siblings dearly and spoke of them often. In 1904 she married Hezekiah Peyton Terrell and gave birth to 3 sons and a daughter. Opal, her daughter, was my mother. I became Clyde and Ky's first grandchild.
Clyde Terrell mourned the death of her oldest son, Vinnon, due to a hunting accident on Christmas Day in 1922. She never drove a car, never lived in a house with indoor plumbing until she was nearly 80. She raised her family on a farm in Smith County, Texas, drew water from a well, washed the family laundry in an iron wash pot set over a fire in the yard, and hung the clothes on a line outside to dry after which she ironed them with a flatiron kept hot on the wood stove. She planted morning glories and old maids, kept a garden for vegetables, milked a cow, hung slaughtered meat in a smokehouse, and kept chickens for eggs as well as wringing their necks for Sunday dinner for the preacher. She put up berries and peaches along with peas and green beans in mason jars with sealed lids and baked pies and tea cakes. She lived by "use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without!" Therefore, she sewed her own clothing, replaced buttons, turned collars and cuffs on Papa's shirts, and made patchwork quilts with what was left. She was an adept seamstress, adding embellishments of crochet, tatting, hemstitching, and cutwork to aprons, pillowcases and tea towels.
I remember being folded into her soft, sweet embrace and never felt more loved. I remember drinking cold well water from a dipper, picking berries with her, and stubbing my toe on the red dirt road when we walked to the mailbox. I remember that she welcomed folks to her door and to her table, the same one that my own family gathered around for lunch after church today. However, she always put a clean white tablecloth on top, and when anything was blooming, a jar of flowers on the table. Whether we were eating fried chicken or cornbread, biscuits or berry cobbler, the food was always delicious and warm and her welcome even moreso.
But most of all I remember her deep faith in and love of God. She knew God loved her and trusted him unfalteringly. She was a woman of prayer. She didn't just go to church, it was a part of her and she was a part of the people and their worship and service. Her pastor and his wife were her best friends. I loved going to church with her because she loved it so much. She had tragedies. She did not have what most would call an easy life. But she lived in gratitude and praise for the blessings she had.
Grandma died one month before her 90th birthday in 1977. I still miss her. This morning just as dawn was arriving, I went out into our garden and picked these yellow roses in her honor. She had an old rose bush near the front window of their house at the top of the red dirt road. She often brought bouquets of the blooms in for her table. They were golden yellow.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Happy Birthday Maddie
Yesterday, Maddie celebrated her sixth birthday at our house with her parents, sister, uncles, aunts, a cousin, and a new doll named McKenzie. We made Dutch Babies for breakfast, went to pick strawberries, had a Texas barbecue picnic for lunch, and made Breakfast for Dinner. I think her smile says we made her day. I know she made mine. Six years ago I waited with her parents and uncle to see her for the first time. I cried and laughed at the same time because she was so beautiful. She is growing tall and wise and wonderful. Happy Day, Birthday Girl!
Monday, March 12, 2012
Good Medicine
"A meow massages the heart." ~ Stuart McMillan
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Glad to Be Here
Yesterday I returned some books to our newly opened library branch which is on the campus of the University of Houston at Sugar Land. Since it is now the nearest public library to my home, I will be going there often. It is a lovely, contemporary building with comfortable reading areas, access to the enitre county library catalog, as well as state of the art technology like self checkout. I parked on the edge of the parking lot, which was adjacent to this field of wildflowers which stretches toward the horizon lined with bare trees which are on the banks of the Brazos River.
I thought about how great it is to live where country road meets the freeway system. Granted, I am not always exactly grateful for the freeway. But it does give me access to this university, art and theater, good medical care, great places to buy healthy food, and more importantly my family, my church and my friends. Most of the time I do have to drive at least a short distance on the freeway to go to those places. But I am still on the edge of meadows and rivers. I hear birdsong everyday. Most days I am just on the other side of a fence from cattle and horses. I am a short drive away from picking strawberries this Spring, I have been seeing Red Buds on the roadside for weeks, and in my own garden I have "country" every day. In our season of life, this is a good blend for me. As I stood looking toward the river and photographed what many in our area call weeds, I am thankful for place. I am thankful for home. I just wanted you to know.
I thought about how great it is to live where country road meets the freeway system. Granted, I am not always exactly grateful for the freeway. But it does give me access to this university, art and theater, good medical care, great places to buy healthy food, and more importantly my family, my church and my friends. Most of the time I do have to drive at least a short distance on the freeway to go to those places. But I am still on the edge of meadows and rivers. I hear birdsong everyday. Most days I am just on the other side of a fence from cattle and horses. I am a short drive away from picking strawberries this Spring, I have been seeing Red Buds on the roadside for weeks, and in my own garden I have "country" every day. In our season of life, this is a good blend for me. As I stood looking toward the river and photographed what many in our area call weeds, I am thankful for place. I am thankful for home. I just wanted you to know.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)