Papa Wilson - James Arthur Wilson

L to R: Mama and Papa Wilson, Mother holding Chris, Daddy and Nell

We lived with Mama and Papa Wilson until about 1945. Papa Wilson's family lived in Bulloch, near Brantley in Crenshaw Co. They came to Curtis in the early 1900's when his mother Sophie died and his father Henry brought Papa, his twin brother and sister, Mattie and Frank, and bought a house and some land from Crawford Rowell. When Papa Wilson was young he worked for the railroad that hauled the pine trees to sawmills. He purchased a gold railroad watch which was a prize possession. He passed it on to our dad and he kept it in a box in the dresser drawer. After his death, his 2nd wife Frances, gave it to our only brother, Perry, to keep it in the Wilson family. Maybe Brad's son Bradley Wilson will inherit it someday.

Papa met my Mama Wilson (Fannie Melissa Grimes) and they were married. His father Henry gave him the house after he remarried and he moved to Opp, where Frank was a pharmacist and Mattie married Perry Danley who had a furniture store.

Papa and Mama Wilson (Jim and Fannie)

Papa had cataracts and was almost blind in his later years. He suffered with asthma and had great difficulty sleeping. He liked to carve with his pocket knife; he called it whittling. He worked hard on the farm, helping my dad.

Papa Wilson had to go to the nursing home when I was living in Texas. I did not get to go to his funeral. I can't remember what caused his death.

Mama Smith - Bessie Jewel Mayberry

I loved Mama Smith. She was so sweet to me and I loved to visit her.
I used to go spend a week with her every summer when I was growing up. She had long hair that she braided and coiled up in a bun, with hairpins holding it in place. I remember that she would let me unbraid her hair, comb and brush it and braid it back. In later years she cut her hair and had curls.

Mama Smith had a little iron skillet that she would let me use to cook with. When she made cakes and corn bread, she always let me bake a small skillet of whatever she was baking. I remember that she made good tea cakes and the best chocolate and coconut cakes.

She had a large wooden chest in the dining room that they used to store out of season clothing. She would let me look inside the chest (lifting the big lid up so I could look inside). I would "dress up" in my aunt's clothing, pretending I was grown up. She would cover the chest with a white table cloth and used it as a sideboard when she had big family dinners. I wonder whatever happened to that big chest. I guess she didn't need it anymore when the girls all left home.

Mama Smith loved to play dominoes and she spent endless hours playing board games with us. One I remember was Uncle Wiggly. She was never too busy to stop and play games with us.

She always seemed to be taking care of an elderly relative. I remember Aunt Pink (we were afraid of her; she was Papa Smith's older sister and had no children) and Aunt Lu - I don't really know where she fit in but she had nobody to take care of her and she lived with Mama and Papa

Smith when she was too old to live alone.

In later years, Mama Smith had arthritis so bad that she was in a lot of pain and could hardly use her fingers. After Papa Smith died in 1956, she lived with her daughter Barbara for awhile and later moved into the new Elba Nursing Home after Barbara and Roy got married. She lived there several years before she died from pneumonia in 1977.

She had a big birthday party when she turned 90 and all of her children were there except my mother Ruth who was deceased (1963). We were living in Texas when she celebrated her 90th birthday  in 1975 at the Elba Nursing Home. We sent her some flowers for her 90th birthday party. 


Two years later I flew from Dallas, TX to Mobile, AL and my sister Susan and I drove to Elba to attend her funeral. It was New Year's day and I've never been so cold in my life as I was that day. It was sleeting when we went to Liberty cemetery out in the country. The flowers froze instead of wilting!

Memories of My Papa Smith

My grandfather Smith, Oswald Cole Smith, was nicknamed "Bunch". He signed his name O.C. Smith. I knew him as "Papa Smith" and I was his first grandchild. I have so many good memories of him. He died in 1956, the year our son James was born. He had a heart attack one Sunday while visiting my parents in the country. My daddy took him to Opp hospital and he was there for several weeks before he died of kidney failure. I spent some time with him in the hospital and we had long talks.


My first memories of visiting Mama and Papa Smith was when they lived in a big rambling unpainted house near the Elba Cemetery. I liked to visit them and spend the night. He always read the Bible at night and everybody had to gather around him while he read. He would always pray long prayers and I would get so tired and sleepy before he finished. Nobody ever said anything during this time; just sat and listened. When he prayed he always got up from his chair and knelt down on the floor to pray. He was a very devout Christian man and later when I was researching our family history of the Smiths, I learned that his ancestors were Quakers . He had so many qualities of the Quakers, including living a simple life. He didn't have a car but traveled by mule and wagon. He was a very neat person, self taught and very intelligent. He had beautiful hand writing. When we lived in Germany, he used to write letters to us.


A cousin gave me an old Smith family history book around 1975. It contained information about my Papa Smith's ancestors who were Quakers in Rockingham County, NC area. My sister Christine and I started doing research on our family, using the old book as a beginning. It was so fascinating to read the accounts of the Smiths of long ago. Our ancestor's name was John Smith who came to NC by the way of Pennsylvania. He was awarded a tract of land in NC for his bravery in the French and Indian War. We located this tract of land and eventually found his gravesite in an old abandoned cemetery underneath Duke Power Electric lines in a field. Also buried there was his son Samuel who was a Patriot in the American Revolutionary War, guarding tories and collecting provisions (according to his Rev. War Pension application).


Chris and I applied for membership in the Daughters of the Amer. Revolution and used Samuel Smith as our patriot. Later we had a DAR grave marking to put a DAR marker on Samuel's gravesite.


I wonder if Papa Smith ever knew of his Quaker background. Probably not. This branch of the John Smith family of Rockingham County, NC, have been Methodists for generations. Other branches of John Smith's descendants did follow the Quaker religion and lived at New Garden Meeting House (Quaker), just outside Greensboro, NC.


Papa Smith's father , William Cole Smith, moved his family to Coffee County from Lee County in the late 1800s. William Cole Smith had a large family. . One of Papa Smith's brothers, Joshua Drayden, had Smith Brothers Store near the railroad depot in New Town. And he had a sister Daisie Winston who lived near Dorsey's. I knew them better than any of the other siblings.


Papa Smith loved fox hunting and always had several hounds penned up and he fed them well. He had a hunting horn (from an ox I think) that he could blow and make a lot of sounds. I could never blow that horn.


He farmed, planting corn and cotton mostly, and used a mule and plow. I remember helping my Mama Smith make the big cotton sacks for people to use to pick cotton. I always wondered why he didn't have a tractor like my dad used.


Papa Smith, in his later years, would sell Bibles and religious books. He kept them in a big suitcase and would set up a table on the sidewalk in Elba, usually outside Stokes Haire's drug store. They were good friends from church. For Christmas he always gave us religious story books. I still have the Bible he gave me when I graduated from high school in 1952. It has such thin paper and gold edging. He ordered it especially for me, with my name imprinted in gold on the cover.


Papa Smith was a very friendly person, never meeting a stranger, and always looking for good qualities in people. I don't ever remember him getting upset with anybody. He walked to the Elba Methodist church on Sunday's when he lived near the cemetery (about 2.5 - 3 miles). A few times I walked with him and it was a l-o-n-g way for a small girl. He would help me up and let me pull the big rope to ring the bell at Elba United Methodist Church, where we are now members. (We still have the bell in the tower and a big rope attached to it and it is rung every Sunday morning before church starts.)


My grandmother had arthritis so bad in her later years that she was unable to do much with her hands. Once, following a gall bladder operation, I went to spend the night with them. I was in high school by then. They heated their house with a fireplace and I remember how cold it was the night I stayed; no heat in my bedroom. Early the next morning my grandfather got up and built a fire in the kitchen stove and cooked breakfast in the cold kitchen. He woke me up and I got dressed and went to the cold kitchen. He had made delicious biscuits, and scrambled eggs with meat (I thought it was sausage). The breakfast was so good, until he asked if I wanted another helping of brains and eggs. I jumped up from the table, ran outside, and lost my breakfast in the back yard! I didn't know I was eating the hog's brains. Yuk!


The photo here is Papa Smith, Mama Smith and all of their children except my mother who was at home with my younger sister Christine. I am 4 years old here in 1938 and sitting in my Aunt Nellie Faye's lap. Also missing is his son Henry by his first wife who died when Henry was a baby.


I remember that Papa Smith came to my 6th birthday party by Greyhound bus. He had been in Opp that Saturday selling Bibles and stopped by our house on the way home and brought me a big rubber ball. A few years ago I read in the Elba Clipper, in the 50 years ago column, a write up about my 6th birthday party and he was a special guest.



Picture here, left to right front row: Nellie Faye (holding Nell, 4 years old), Ida, Joe Bill; 2nd row: O.C. and Bessie Smith and their oldest daughter Barbara. On the back row are the youngest two, Pete and Polly (Martha). Only Aunt Ida (89) and Uncle Pete (80) are still living.

Special Olympics Bowling tournament today

The Special Olympics Oath is "Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt."

In 1968 we moved from Atlanta, GA to Paris, TX and the next year that Special Olympics began in Texas. The first Summer Games was hosted at Paul Tyson Stadium in Waco, June 6-7, 1969 with 350 athletes competing in 10 track and field events.

In 1974, Special Olympics moved the Summer Games to the University of Texas at Austin. James attended these games, along with some other winners from Lamar Co., TX. They and their coaches traveled to Austin in a loaned motor home and had a ball.

James was advancing in the 100 yd dash, leading his group, until he spotted the Univ of Texas coach Daryl Royal on the sidelines and he stopped running to go over and shake his hand and say to him "I've always wanted to meet you." I heard that Coach Royal got him back into the race and I think he still came in 3rd. He was so happy to meet the UT coach that it didn't matter to him if he won any ribbons or not.

In 1977 we moved to Minneapolis and James participated in Special Olypmics there, winning a first place locally in the 50 yd dash and went to the district finals in Fargo, ND. He went with a bus load of participants and when he came home and got off the bus, the took the bronze medal from around his neck and gave it to me and said "Here, take this and keep it for me. It is so heavy." He graduated from high school while we were living in MN. and I thought that would be the end of his participation. But not so....

Several years went by and for a time Mentally Handicapped adults were not encouraged to enter in special olympics where we were living. It wasn't until we moved to Alabama that he was able to participate again. Bowling was added in 1975 and has become the fastest growing sport in Special Olympics. Also James participates in the spring/summer special olympics also. It's getting harder and harder for him to enter in the 50 yd dash as he has much difficulty running anymore. Last year he almost didn't complete the race, but kept going until he got to the end, and collapsed on the ground. He was so exhausted that I brought him home to rest. Later he talked about how much fun he had! We'll just have to wait and see if he is able to race this year, and if not, he will be there cheering his friends on to the finish line.

Pictured here is James arriving home from the center he attends every day, wearing one of his Special Olympics shirts.

Thanks to Eunice Kennedy Shriver for helping to start this fantastic Special Olympics program in 1968.

James, Louise Ezell and Marcus, a friend

Special Olympics is now held in the spring each year at Henderson Park in Enterprise.

The Music of my Life

Some people are born with musical talent and others have a talent for listening and enjoying. I belong to the group that listens and enjoys when others use their talents to perform.


I attended an Atlanta Pops concert last night at Elba High School auditorium and loved every minute of it. They played music from the Oscars over the years and began with one of my favorites, Gone with the Wind. I just closed my eyes and Tara came alive! For two hours I sat and listened to all those memorable songs of the past and enjoyed them so much. The concert was part of the Coffee County Arts Alliance series. We're so fortunate to have groups come to our out-of-the-way part of the state to perform.


I suppose my music "career" began with piano lessons when I was in elementary school. One of our teachers, Mrs. Mary Ringsdorf, was our teacher. Since most of us didn't have pianos at home to practice, we were allowed to practice on the school piano in the music room at school at designated times during the week. I have short fingers and never could reach an octave on the piano and my fingers didn't want to move very fast either. And I have no rhythm or music talent. So most of my talent was in "music appreciation" and not producing music!


When I started to high school in Elba (10th grade) I wanted to play in the band. The new band director, Jimmy Patrenos, came to Elba that fall and when he arrived, his car broke down. Daddy was working at a garage in Elba that fall and repaired the new band director's car and wouldn't charge him anything. He told him that his daughter wanted to be in the band and maybe he could help her. Not many people owned their band instruments so they used the ones that belonged to the school.  He needed clarinet players and I thought                 
I'd like to learn to play a clarinet. I remember the old silver clarinet that had seen better days but he put a new reed in the mouth piece and played it and I was hooked. That's what I wanted to learn to play.


I took it home and practiced very hard and could hardly wait to play with the band. By the fall of 1953 I was in the Elba marching band! I worked my way up to 1st chair by the time I graduated from high school. We marched at ball games, in parades, and even went to the National Peanut Festival parade and a Blue/Gray football game parade in Montgomery. I loved being in the band. It was ok that I never became a concert pianist. I learned enough to play church hymns and I was satisfied with my piano career.


I joined the marching band when I started to Troy State Teachers College in the fall of 1952 and was assigned to play 2nd chair clarinet. I was so disappointed. I must admit the others were much better than I. After football season, the band members began to work on symponic music. Somehow this just wasn't the same and I dropped out of band when they required us to come to practice almost every night. The music majors loved getting together and practicing -- but not me. I enjoyed going to their concerts later and other concerts at the college.


Years went by and I went to hear many big symphonies and loved everyone of their performances. One of my favorites was attending the Boston Pops events one summer evening in Boston. Arthur Fiedler was the conductor and we were so excited to get tickets. But when we got there, they had a guest conducter I'd never heard of named John Williams. He was ok but I wanted to see Mr. Fiedler! Then soon after that, Fiedler retired and John Williams took over as conductor. And of course I have enjoyed the music of John Williams ever since.


Our sons have musical talent they inherited from their dad - who by the way loves to sing (tenor) and is in our church choir. He too loves to go to symphony concerts and loves classical and "elevator" music - songs we have enjoyed over the years. We bought an old piano when Bill was in the 2nd grade and he took piano lessons when we were living in Atlanta. Then we moved to Texas when he was in the 3rd grade and he continued taking piano lessons for awhile. He and Ronnie were both in the band during their school years and loved playing more than one instrument. Their taste for music is different from mine since they grew up during the 70's and rock and roll was becoming popular.


Our son James loves to play old records, along with Michael Jackson's CD's. He too loves music and sometimes wakes us up in the middle of the night with Michael Jackson singing "I'm Bad!" Or some of his Christmas music he plays throughout the year.


We love the old traditional hymns at church instead of contemporary or praise songs (often sung to taped music because the sheet music is not available). I'm so glad our Methodist church has not resorted to using taped music during the worship service. We have an organist and pianist who are both very talented. And we have a group of talented musicians whose voices blend well and I love to hear them sing. A very meaningful part of the worship service for me.


This isn't to say I don't enjoy singing what I call "campfire songs" at times other than during the worship service. Or that I don't enjoy some country and bluegrass music. I really like the Texas cowboy songs of the Gene Autry days. What I don't care for, or understand, are the contemporary songs that have no message for me, or melody, and you can't understand what they are saying. And as for rap music, that is just noise to me!

Topo Gigio - Bill's favorite toy when he was 7

Recently I was watching some old TV shows and there was one with Ed Sullivan (remember him) and a little Italian mouse puppet named Topo Gigio that appeared on Ed's show many weeks. He was a shy little fellow and so lovable.



This post is written especially for our youngest son, Bill, who will recall this event in his life. He might even share it with his 3 teen aged daughters. I wonder if he's ever told them that he once had a pet mouse? Not real, of course.



In the summer of 1965 our son Bill, who was 7 years old, wanted a little mouse like Topo Gigio. I found the perfect little mouse, dressed in a leather vest and he even had whiskers. He was tiny and he could fit into Bill's pants pockets. Bill wanted to be a ventriloquist and would try to make Topo talk. He took Topo Gigio with him everywhere he went. One day about a year later, Topo had a terrible accident. He went into the washing machine in Bill's pocket and was washed in hot soapy water, rinsed and fell out of Bill's pocket when I removed his pants from the washer.

In the meantime there was a little rip in his back and his "insides" began to fall on the floor. He was stuffed with fine sawdust. You can imagine the mess! I tried to stuff him and sew him up but he just wasn't the same anymore. Instead of the happy, big eyed little mouse he suddenly looked very old and sad. He just passed away quietly and was laid to rest.



Later Bill wanted a dummy so he could practice being a ventriloquist. I ordered one for Christmas when he was about 8 or 9. They were not available so he got something else for Christmas that year. He never asked for one later.



I copied the following info from the internet about Topo Gigio. Topo Gigio - The cuddly little mouse puppet Topo Gigio, (a.k.a. "The Little Italian Mouse") was the creation of the troupe of puppeteers that debuted on CBS's THE ED SULLIVAN SHOW on April 14, 1963. Standing ten inches high and made of a half pound of foam rubber, Topo Gigio was controlled by sticks not strings (unlike most puppets). . Each week, as part of the show, the adorable little mouse would appear on stage and greet the stone-faced Mr. Sullivan with a sugary "Hello, Eddie!" Topo, who often spoke of his girlfriend, Rosey, closed his weekly visits by saying "Keesa me goo'night, Eddie." Topo appeared 92 times and closed the final 1971 episode of ED SULLIVAN SHOW.

Old Salem, NC - behind the scenes in 1980s

This post is not about Old Salem, NC and all the buildings, etc. You need to go to this website to read all about the village of Old Salem: http://www.oldsalem.org/index.php?id=104

What I am writing about includes my experiences as a "behind the scenes" docent (volunteer) during the time we lived in Winston-Salem (1979-1985).

I was fascinated by this religious Moravian colony that settled in Salem, NC. They kept very careful records and were master carpenters and hard working people. I loved the Moravian cooking, especially baked goods. More about this later.

We had just moved to Winston-Salem from Minneapolis, MN and I was looking for something to occupy my time while James was attending a sheltered workshop near Old Salem in the downtown area of Winston-Salem. I read an article in the newspaper that they were looking for volunteers to start up a program to assist with events, etc. and office work. We would not be volunteer costumed interpreters that tell the Old Salem story and are stationed throughout the village. We worked behind the scenes such as helping with mailing newsletters, planning for special events such as the Christmas party for workers and volunteers, and many other things as

needed. I loved doing this. I remember the staff member who organized this group. Her name was Margaret Hoffman from Clemmons. We became good friends since we also lived near Clemmons, a short distance from W-S. Our little group was organized and we had about a dozen volunteers. We had name tags made and appeared at several social functions as "delegates" from Old Salem. Most of all I enjoyed being a part of Old Salem culture and participating in so many of the events.

The best time of all was at Easter and Christmas, and 4th of July if it wasn't too hot! Our first Easter sunrise experience took place around 1980 and I remember how cold it was that Easter morning as we stood in silence in the middle of Old Salem, facing Home Moranvian Church as the sun was coming up. The minister walked out on the little balcony overlooking the crowd and proclaimed" He is risen" and the crowd responded "He has risen indeed!" and the sunrise service was underway. The antiphonal sounds of the Moravian band were heard all over the area throughout the service. Following the service (you could hear a pin drop it was so quiet) the crowd made its way down the narrow street to God's Acre cemetery to complete the service.

We were back home in time to have breakfast and to get ready to go to our church for a different kind of Easter service at Knollwood Baptist Church.

On the 4th of July, we enjoyed the festivities that took place at Old Salem, including a demonstration of the old fire pump they used to put out fires. There would usually be a parade with kids and pets and of course the Moravian brass band leading the parade - and refreshments afterward.

Christmas at Old Salem was so special. We always attended one of the Love Feast celebrations at Home Moranvian church and heard Christmas music when someone would play the old organ located at the Single Brothers House. And the Old Salem Docents helped out during the Christmas at Old Salem tours that were held daily for about 2 weeks before Christmas. I don't think they have these tours anymore. At the end of the tours, the docents held a party in the basement of the building pictured here. I still remember the apple dumplings and the spicy hot wassail bowl and other treats we had and the fun time. These are the perks of being a volunteer.

A few years ago a tornado swept down in the square at Old Salem and took down most of the old trees. It looks different there now. Many of the old restored buildings have been purchased and used as private residences and are not on tour. The Winkler Bakery is still in operation and you can still buy the delicious sugar cake or Moravian buns that are baked in the bee-hive shaped cement open door ovens. The gift shops feature Moravian handmade items. You can see many of the costumed craftsmen at work when you tour the village. I have some of the handmade candle holders, a big Moravian star with light inside that we hang on our porch every Christmas and other momentoes from Old Salem. How I'd love to have one of those delicious sugar cakes and a round tin of the thin Moravian cookies and smell the hot baked bread coming out of the oven at Winkler's bakery.   

Okefenokee Swamp experience

In the summer of 1967, when we were living in Atlanta, we decided to take a trip to the Okefenokee Swamp in south Georgia. I had read about the swamp and the critters and loved the comic strip "Pogo" - which included critters from the swamp. I worked for a Dr. at the Communicable Disease Center (1957-67), who had an artist friend, Athos Menaboni, who painted birds and loved to go to the swamp to see the egrets and great blue herons. Not only did I see the big snowy egrets and big blue herons, but many other wildlife - including alligators swimming in the dark murky waters of the canals in the swamp. Click the green map to enlarge it and you will see the West Entrance and the park area.


My dad came from Elba, AL brought a friend, Frances, to Atlanta and they went with us to the Okefenokee swamp. We stayed in a cabin at the western gate to the park, at the Stephen Foster National Park. Our oldest son Ron is pictured above playing with the tame deer that roamed the area, along with lots of racoons who liked to empty the garage cans. (Note: Daddy and Frances got married in August 1967. He had brought her up for us to meet her.)

We arrived at the entrance to the Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge and were informed that we should make sure that we had everything we needed since the park gate would be locked at 7 p.m. and not opened again until 8 the next morning. We felt safe from people but I wasn't so sure about all the wild animals. We checked in at our cabin and after dark we drove through the park with only parking lights on to observe the critters roaming around in the evening. They were not afraid of us. You could see the eyes of the animals before you were able to identify them.

The next day Jim and I rented a small boat with trolling motor and set out with a map to see the area, aiming for Billy's Island where people used to live. The narrow canal connected the marina to the swamp area. The water was so dark, almost black from the peat and decaying vegetation. The water was like a mirror, reflecting the sky, trees, and things around it. You couldn't see down into the water.

What was to be a two hour trip took most of the day because of problems we encountered along the way. I was not too happy about the movement of the water around us at times when alligators were swimming along with us. Once one stuck his head up out of the water and I dropped the movie camera and screamed. As the waterway narrowed and entered a small canal, all I could think of was snakes dropping out of the trees into our boat (I had seen this happen in jungle movies). We had a map of the area but everything began to look the same and we had no idea where were heading - except to follow the sun for directions. The boat motor didn't work too much of the time since it kept getting tangled among the aquatic plants. Jim would lift the motor out of the water and we would paddle until the water was clear of vegetation. We thought we would reach Billy's Island in a short time but it was more like hours. We spotted the boat landing at Billy's Island around noon. We didn't bring any lunch and all I could think of was there's nothing to eat, and it would take us a long time to get back. But we had come this far and we wanted to explore the island and look for old settlements. Just as we set off on a trail, a sudden shower came up and at least it cooled us off.

We explored the island for awhile and decided we needed to head back. As we came near the boat landing, our boat was nowhere in sight. My heart sank; I would NOT spend the night on that island. We walked out on the landing and saw that our boat had drifted underneath. We got in the boat and started back to the park marina. We got back late in the afternoon and everybody was getting worried about us. The Okefenokee Swamp was a great experience and truly the "land of the trembling earth". It was like walking in a bog; when you walked you could sometimes feel the earth move or tremble underneath you.

I went back 28 years later and things had changed a lot; much more developed, etc. I took an air boat trip to the Suwanee river (and it rained on the way). This wasn't nearly as exciting as the little flat bottom boat Jim and I traveled in earlier. The park is still a remote area, far from civilization. In 2007 there were wildfires out of control in the swamp and I shudder to think of all the wildlife that either died or lost their homes. If you want to learn more about Okefenokee Swamp, go to this website and read all about it. http://ourgeorgiahistory.com/places/okefenokee.html

A step back in time - 1968

In July, 1968, we loaded our new Chevrolet and hitched it up to a small camper and took off from Paris, TX and went southwest to El Paso, then up through New Mexico, Arizona, and on to Colorado for a period of 2 weeks. Our boys were 10, 11-1/2 and 13. This was one of our most fun places to visit, Mesa Verde, Colorado - near Four Corners, the only place in the United States where four states come together at one place. Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado meet at the Four Corners. Here a person can put each of their hands and feet in four states at the same time. The unique landmark is on Navajo Nation land and is open for visits from the public.


Our oldest son took this b&w photo from high up on the rim of the canyon. In the lower left hand corner of the photo you can see a people looking at the Indian cliff dwellings. The park was not very well developed in 1968 and certainly was not handicapped accessible. I know because we had a hard time getting down the narrow path from the top of the canyon down to the cliff dwellings. Little did I know that the trip down was easy compared to the way out! We had fun weaving in and out of the little houses and observing how they lived. The Pueblo Indians had to be very short people since you could hardly stand up in the small rooms that had been carved out of the side of the mountain. Jim was exploring with Ron and Bill and I followed behind with our handicapped son James. He had difficulty walking and was afraid of things along the way. We were far behind Jim and the other boys. They finished looking at the area and decided to go back to the top of the cliff. They scaled up the cedar ladder to the top and were soon out of sight. When James and I got to the end of the road leading out of the area, we discovered the only way out was to climb straight up a ladder to the top. There was no way James could climb that ladder. So.... I put him in front of me and helped him place his splindly little crooked legs on each rung of the ladder and pushed him up, step by step. I didn't dare turn around and look back down into the canyon until we got to the top. We were warned that the trip was difficult but nobody mentioned climbing out of the area by the way of a ladder.


This colored photo was taken recently (got it off the internet) and while the houses look pretty much the same, I dare say you will have a better trail leading to and from the area. We camped at the National Park Service campsite, along with lots of wild animals. At night there was a big campfire (it gets cold there at night) and someone played a guitar and we all sang songs and roasted marshmallows after going for a hayride, all provided by the park rangers.


The next day we visited the museum and the boys saw their first mummy. Her name was Esther and she still had hair on her head and teeth in her mouth. Ronnie bought a post card to take back to show his friends. That card is still around in a box with other momentos someplace in our house. When I hear the word Mesa Verde or Four Corners, I always go back to that hot summer day, trying to get up that ladder with James!


Go to this link if you want to know more about this great archilogical site: http://www.nps.gov/meve/

Making stones

When we moved to our little cottage in the county near Elba, AL in 1996, we had to do a lot of landscaping. I wanted a small English country garden in front of the house and a stone walkway. My sister Carolyn came to spend a week with us and helped put up a picket fence, plan the garden, and to plant the flowers. I wanted a walkway and she brought her plastic form and she showed us how to make stones with cement.


You could make about 7 or 8 stones at one time. You put the mold down, pour cement into the openings in the mold, and then lift the mold off. Voila! There were big stones. She showed us how to sprinkle coarse sand on the cement after rounding the corners. They looked just like rive

r rocks! This was not an easy task as one small bag of Sakrete would only make 3 or 4 sections. we worked for several days to have enough stones for the walkway. Jim and I were so proud of our "creation" and it really added to the country garden look.

So if you want a rock pathway, just go to Lowe's and get a mold and some cement and go to work.  You can even get colored cement.  We chose natural color cement and it darkens as it ages.  

Coming down the hill

to the house, which has
a lake behind it.

Remembering our family cats

Over the past 50 years we have had several cats for family pets. I think the first one was a Siamese female we got from my sister Christine who sent it to Atlanta from Washington, DC in the early 1960's. I remember going to the Atlanta airport to pick up the tiny kitten and it was in a small cage, and frightened to death. I think the boys went with me to get the cat; can't remember that far back.

We brought her home and decided on a name. She was so happy to be held and started purring. The boys decided her name was going to be "Purry". And so that's what she was called. Most of the time she stayed inside or in the basement. We discovered she was going to have kittens just as we were getting ready to move to Paris, Texas in 1967. Jim, the 3 boys and I, and a cage with a pregnant Siamese cat set our for Texas in our station wagon. I think Purry yelled most of the way to Texas and if you've ever heard a Siamese cat "yell", it will drive you crazy. We gave her a tranquilizer but it didn't help much. Purry had her kittens and we gave them all away. i don't know if that upset her or if the move to a strange place was why she meowed all the time and didn't want us to pet her. We gave her to a lady in the country so she could get outside and catch mice and roam around.

Not much time elapsed before we acquired a solid black cat. I think one of Bill's friends gave him the kitten. He thought it looked like a black panther and decided to name the cat Malcom X, leader of the Black Panthers at the time. The cat liked to chase Bill through the house and he enjoyed him so much. Then we were transferred to Minneapolis and of course we had to take Malcolm X with us. Remembering the trip to Texas from Atlanta, I made sure we had tranquilizers for Malcolm. Once I thought he was dead he was so limp and sedated. He loved living in the cool climate after living in the hot Texas country. That is until it snowed. He did not like to go outside in the snow and would sit at the window looking out at the birds eating at the bird feeder. I'm glad he didn't like the snow! Once Sunday while we were at church, we left the cat in the garage and he ventured out and was attacked by the neighbors big Chesapeake hunting dogs. He died a few days later, just after Bill came home from Texas for a school break from college. He went to the vet to see him and made the decision to have his cat put to sleep.

We didn't have another cat for awhile until we were living in Winston-Salem, NC. James wanted a cat but we kept putting him off. A neighbor had a beautiful calico long hair cat and James would go up the street to their house to play with their cat. One day he came home and said they wanted to give him the cat since they were moving away. So that's how we became the owners of Pôpoki (POH' poh kee) which is Hawaiian for Cat. The little girl in the family had brought Poki home from Hawaii when she went to visit her grandmother. We shortened her name to Poki and when we moved to Haleyville in N. Alabama, Poki went with us. She was an outdoor cat and a great hunter. She liked to sleep on the carport on a table or on top of the car. One night she disappeared and we never found her. For days we rode about in the neighborhood looking for her. I think maybe somebody kidnapped her. She was so friendly and very beautiful.

Several years went by before we adopted another cat. We were living Albany, GA and traveling to our farm in AL on week-ends occasionally. My cousin who lived near our farm had 14 or more cats and James saw a white one he wanted. Betty gave him the cat and we took it home with us. He named that cat Poki, Jr., calling him Poki. When we left Albany and moved to the farm permanently, the cat didn't want to go with us. We had a hard time catching him to put him in a carrier and he was not very happy. Poki developed throat cancer a few years later and had to be put to sleep. He was a great hunter and kept down the field mice population as well as rabbits, chipmunks, and other critters. He stayed outdoors. We buried Poki under a big oak tree in the yard and put a stone on his grave. James was so sad when he died. He didn't mention wanting another cat for awhile.

Then when I was visiting our son Bill the next summer and returning with two of the granddaughters to spend a week with us, we brought their family cat back home to James.
They didn't want the responsibility of taking care of the cat and Bill wanted to get rid of the cat.
So they wanted to give the cat to James. We made the trip from SC to AL ok but it was rather noisy with the cat yelling a lot.

We named the cat Poki, Jr. and called him P.J. He was a great hunter also. He was also an outdoor cat and had a cat door so he could come and go to the back porch and sit on the soft chair cushions all day. I think this was our favorite cat or at least the most friendly. He loved to sit in your lap and purr. He would go walking with us and when we left home and returned, he could hear the car coming down the dirt road and would run out to meet us.

P.J had a hard time adjusting to living in town when we moved to Elba in 2003. Other cats didn't want him in their territory and he was always getting in fights and having to go to the vet.
After awhile he too developed throat cancer and had to be put to sleep when he was about 15 years old. At the present time we don't have a pet and I feel so bad when James sees cats on TV and talks to them and tells me he would like to have another cat for a pet. Neither Jim nor I want another animal right now so we just keep putting him off. James and I are both allergic to cats and can't keep one inside. We'll just continue looking at them on TV for awhile.

Scuppernong Vine playhouse

Today when I was pruning our concord grape and bronze scuppernong vines, my mind drifted back about 65 years to when I was growing up on the farm and we were living with my Mama and Papa Wilson in their big farm house. In warm weather, mother would send us outside to play during the day .
One of my favorite summer childhood recollections is recalling times spent in our playhouse under our scuppernong vine. All of our friends had “scuppernong playhouses”. It wasn’t an unusual sight to see a large squarish or pointed framed-up scuppernong vine standing a little bit over 'head tall' in everyone's back yard. We made a playhouse under ours. The lovely thick-leafed vines made a perfect shade overhead and the long runners hanging over the frame offered a lot of privacy. Our playhouse had only one door (opening). It was dark inside. Our playhouse even had bench seats you could really sit on. Made with wood blocks or old bricks and old planks - our little tables were old buckets or pans that had holes in the bottoms or the handles torn off. With all of our ideas we'd furnish all the laid-off rooms and then we would make mud pies and “bake” them outside in the hot sun. We made brooms from straw to sweep the dirt floors. We would decorate our cakes (made from mud) with green china berries or little flowers we would pick. Or we would just play with our Sears-Roebuck paper dolls (individual dolls cut from the catalog and furniture made from paper). This occupied our time for hours.



'During the late summer, when the scuppernongs were fully ripe, we'd take our friends to our scuppernong vine for refreshments . Standing inside our playhouse, you could just reach up or out to the side and eat juicy fruit.


There was a major problem in the fall; in the form of winged creatures known as wasps. They liked to build nests in the vines and drink the nectar of the ripe scuppernongs. And when we would reach for the ripe fruit, we would get stung. Papa Wilson chewed tobacco and would apply some spittle to the stung area to “draw out the pain” so he said. Our grandmother lost her sense of smell when she was aging, and once applied Watkins vanilla flavoring to wasp or bee stings on my brother and cousin. She thought she was using linament instead. The bottles looked alike.


I remember how much cooler it was under the scuppernong vine and there were always gentle breezes blowing through the leaves.


No one ever seemed to know to spell scuppernongs, and I think it was because we called them something like "scupplins". I learned the correct spelling when I read "To Kill a Mockingbird" many years later. I wonder when school children read that book, if they have any idea of what a scuppernong arbor is.


Maybe I will go outside and “square up” one of our scuppernong vines to create a playhouse for children to play. Not a bad idea except it would ruin my carefully laid out landscape. I have to maintain my reputation as a “Master Gardener”.

Flowers I have propogated

Last fall I took a Master Gardener course for 10 weeks. I learned a lot and one new word was "propogate". And the correct way to prune, fertilize, plant, etc. In the past I just cut off small limbs and stuck them in the ground or a pot and rooted them. Now with my "new found" knowledge, there's no telling how many plants I will have this time next year! Jim is going to help me build a green house this spring. Actually we will enclose my potting shed and turn it into a green house.

Gladiolas

Lady Banks 

I am posting some photos taken in our yard this past summer. Some were planted from seeds from friends (pink and lavendar hibuscus). The glad bulbs were obtained from Fred's (our local department store). The bulbs fell out of packages and were scattered on the floor. I asked if I swept them up, could I have them and they said "yes". I had the most beautiful gladiolas last summer. I took several bouquets to church and to shut in's.


The yellow Lady Banks rose bush was so top heavy it fell to the ground last spring and we left it on the ground until it finished blooming, and then pruned it heavily. I rooted this rose when we moved to Elba. It was given to me by my cousin Joe and his wife Martha. She died from pneumonia soon after we moved here, so I call it "Mott's" rose.

The pink climbing rose dates back to Savannah, GA over 200 years ago. I have rooted so many from my root stock which I got from a friend in Albany, GA many years ago. The Autumn clematis came from a neighbor's yard.

The lavendar and red hibiscus plants came from seed I planted last spring. I have a bag of seed to plant this spring and share with others. The little yellow coreopsis are so easy to grow.

Coresposis

They come back every spring and bloom all summer if you keep them "dead headed".


The Autumn Clematis vine starts over every spring. I cut it back to the ground in the winter. The blossoms fill the air with perfume in the fall. The blue hydrangea came with us from Albany, GA. I have rooted so many from this bush. The white gardenia was rooted from a small limb I broke off of a bush at my brother's house in 1997. I broke a limb from the bush pictured here at our farm and planted it in our yard and it is almost 5' tall and so many blooms on it last year.

Gardenia

Autumn Clematis

Yes, we have no bananas!

Remember the Chiquita banana jingle of the 50's and the Banana lady? I love bananas and thought our banana tree would produce big stalks of the sweet yellow fruit. But alas, all we got were giant green leaves. We could almost see the tree growing as it towered over the porch this summer. We had to cut the lower leaves to walk underneath the bush. We planted it just 3 years ago from a small bulb that Mr. Lawford gave us. Banana plants look like giant onions with the same root design, just a lot bigger. The trunk of the plant is mostly water and can be cut across easily with a sharp knife. The giant leaves make a nice sound when the wind is blowing through them. I felt like I was in the tropics when I stood on our back porch and looked up at the giant banana tree. It made a nice shade underneath.

Today we decided to dig up the giant tree and replace it with a smaller plant that likes to grow in the shade and damp soil. Haven't decided yet what that plant will be.

Digging up the massive tree was not an easy task. We dug dirt away from the base of the tree but the roots were so intertwined we couldn't move it at all. Jim finally got an ax and cut the stalks apart and then we were able to dig them up. The stalks were killed back by the frosts we had this winter and we used a kitchen knife to slice them off to the ground. Then we piled the water filled "tree trunks" out by the street to be picked up by the city.  We placed the tree roots in containers and dumped them in a gulley behind our property. I tried to give them away but no offers. People pay a lot of $$$ for banana bushes at the plant nursery.

I think the secret of our giant banana tree was that the soil was always wet because there was clay soil underneath and when it rained, water drained on this site and the clay soil held water for a long time.


I lived out my fantasy of the little Sambo story of my childhood of tigers chasing each other around the banana trees until they melted into butter for little Sambo's many pancakes.  I have a copy of that book someplace. It was one of my favorites.