Playing with fire

I have always loved a fire...bonfire or fireplace, it doesn't matter to me.  There is something about staring into the flames that is very relaxing.  I guess it stems from my childhood at the cabin.  We had no television to entertain us in the evenings, so Dad would build a big fire to take the chill off the evening and we would gather around it.  Aunts, uncles, and cousins would usually come to call.  Uncle Ed would sometimes bring a No. 2 washtub filled with Lima beans or green beans along with a juicy watermelon.  The melon would be placed in the creek that ran through the front yard so it would cool quickly and provide a sweet reward when the work was finished.  The washtub of beans would be placed in the center of the living room floor.  Everyone would grab a section of newspaper to place in their lap to catch the strings or hulls.  As we strung or shelled the beans, the "old folks" would tell stories about growing up in the mountains and their ancestors.  Not only did I gain a love of a fire, I also gained an interest in history and genealogy.  My ancestors had such unusual names; Granny Fanny, Grandaddy Seph, Pink Bishop, Lala Jerry...what child wouldn't be fascinated by such names.  And the stories were just as exciting; my uncles climbing around to the Sheep's Mouth at Caesar's Head to rescue a straying lamb, square dances on the top of the 100 foot water tower that had no guardrail, Aunt Dixie stopping a team of runaway horses by waving her straw hat as she stood in their path, Pap-Paw Jones sewing up his own wound with black thread after being cut by a boar's tusk, Uncle Lewis being prayed over by Miss Janie when he came home drunk.  Every evening, I was transported into a magical world that sounded like a fantastic story in a book, but was really the story of my mother & her siblings growing up in rural Appalachia.  The fireplace was always the focal point.  As the evening wore on and the beans were all strung, the warmth of the fire would bring on drowsiness.  Curling up on the couch, I would fall asleep to the hypnotic hum of voices.  It was so comforting and safe.  This feeling became such a part of my being that when Steve & I began to plan the building of our new house in 1984, a fireplace was at the top of my "must-have" list.  We finished the house on May 31st and moved in on June 1st.  I was so excited that on that very night, even though it was 80 degrees outside, I turned the thermostat down to 68 degrees and made Steve build a fire for me.  I know the neighbors must have thought we were lunatics, but I didn't care.  To take the chill off of today's gray South Georgia afternoon, I built a fire.  As I snuggled in my easy chair with a lap full of Puddin' and Sweetie Pie instead of Lima beans, I was transported back in time to the Three Bears' House on a cool summer evening.  I could almost hear the sweet voices of relatives as they related stories of their childhood.  Who needs the television with a heritage such as that!

Communion

First Presbyterian Church of Moultrie celebrates Communion on the first Sunday of every month. Several years ago, I volunteered to bake the Communion bread. It was nothing new for me because my paternal grandmother, Gustava Lee Roth Stinson, baked the bread and prepared communion for many years at my home church in Cincinnati, Price Hill Baptist Church. My mother assumed the responsibility when Me-Maw needed help. I was in my teens, so we made it a family endeavor. Three generations of Stinson women always had great fun in the kitchen on Ebenezer Road on the Saturdays when we prepared the bread. It is really quite easy. The recipe is one that Mother used from her red-and-white checked Better Homes & Gardens cookbook. It is nothing more than pie crust...flour, shortening, salt and water. Me-Maw had a metal-edged ruler that she used to cut the dough into squares before baking. I still use it today. My rolling pin belonged to Mother, as well as the pastry blender. I use a piece of cotton cloth on which to roll the dough. I'm sure it came from a scrap that was left over from one of the many dresses that Mother sewed for me. It looks like a pattern straight from the 60's! I have used it for so many years that it is impregnated with shortening and flour that has formed a kind of Teflon coating that keeps the dough from sticking. Now that Me-Maw & Mother are gone, you might think that I prepare the bread alone. Absolutely not! The spirits of these two amazing ladies are right there with me in the kitchen every time. Today as I was preparing the bread, Henry Klar called to tell me about someone from our church who needed prayer. Henry starts the telephone prayer chain and I send a message on the email prayer chain to about 20 members. I told Henry that I would send an email as soon as I finished baking the Communion bread. His parting comment was, "The Lord be with you as you bake the bread." I replied, "He always is!"  I suddenly realized that Communion for me was not only celebrated in the sanctuary of my church.  I was celebrating Communion right here in my kitchen at 109 Buck Creek Road...Communion with God and communion with Me-Maw and Vera!  It doesn't get much better than that.

My tools for making Communion bread.  See what I mean about the 1960's cloth?

Gustava & Herb Stinson (Me-Maw & Pe-Paw) in the Price Hill Baptist Church parking lot in 1954.  The black Pontiac on the left is their car, purchased from their son-in-law at Sieve Pontiac

The Three Bears' House

In the early 1940's, my father was stationed at the Army Air Corps base in Greenville, South Carolina.  At the same time, my mother was working at the YWCA in Greenville, South Carolina, and was in charge of arranging events for the servicemen at the base.  They met at one of those events and eventually married.  They remained in Greenville until 1945 and a few months after my brother was born they moved to Cincinnati, Ohio...my father's home.  Before they moved North, my mother bought 5 acres of land from her father, Solomon Alexander Jones, and my father (with the help of Solomon and other Jones men) built a cabin which they intended to use as a summer retreat.  They had no idea of the influence that this place would have on their lives, their children's and grand children's lives, or various other relatives and friends.  As was the custom, the cabin was given a name.  There were many "summer people" who had built cabins on Cedar Mountain and each had a distinctive appellation.  Vera & George chose Triple Oak because of the large oak tree in the front yard that had a single trunk that split into three large branches about 6 feet from the ground.  The name was very stately while the cabin was very meager.  Dad used rough cut lumber to side the cabin in batten and board fashion.  The interior was not insulated, but rather showed all of the studs & joists.  A huge stone fireplace was the focal point of the living room.  The stones had come from blasting the spring which provided our water.  Solomon did the blasting of the spring and the building of the fireplace.  The cathedral ceiling was supported by several large Poplar tree trunks used as beams.  The downstairs bedroom belonged to Vera & George and the two loft bedrooms housed guests until Bert & I came along.  The name of the cabin was changed by Bert.  Looking forward to their summer visit, Bert asked when they would be going to the Three Bears' House (obviously influenced by a bedtime story).  The name stuck!  At first, there was no indoor plumbing, but my meticulous Northern grandmother, Gustava Stinson, insisted that my grandfather, Herb, build an indoor bathroom after her first visit.  Mother cooked meals on a wood-burning stove and I remember visits from the ice man to replenish the "coolant" for the icebox.  We did not have a telephone or television until the late 1970's.  There was no need for "artificial" entertainment...we had relatives that were very entertaining!  There was our cussin' cousin Markley, so named because of his colorful language, and his old-maid sister, Corrie.  Uncle Paul was a storyteller and quite a comedian.  Uncle Speedy (Clyde Gustavus) was the teaser.  When he came to visit one Saturday and noticed my hair curlers as I was preparing for the weekly square dance, he asked if I was sending or receiving.  Bert & I spent every day with our cousins; Martha and Paul Howard and Ruth Jones.  We hiked the woods, waded in the creek, picked blackberries, swung on grapevines and walked the footlog across the creek.  What a wonderful childhood we experienced! 
All of this has come to my mind today because my brother & I are organizing a trust with the bequest left to us at Mother's death in August.  We named it The Three Bear's House Trust because the cabin is the focal point for our extended family.  Five generations of the Stinson/Jones family have enjoyed summer vacations and have been profoundly influenced by the house and it's builders.  Today, it looks very different from its original facade.  Winterizing the house for year-round living by my parents changed it drastically. But when I close my eyes and think about the cabin, I still picture it as it was during my childhood...a house full of laughter, love and character.  For those who did not have the privilege of seeing it then, I provide these photos.  They were taken in 1972 by Lance McKinney and yes, that is a very skinny Melody playing with our little chihuahua, Taco, in the front yard.

tra·di·tion (noun)...

...the handing down of statements, beliefs, legends, customs or information from generation to generation, especially by word of mouth or by practice.

 

Traditions are very interesting.  Some traditions are ingrained in us by our cultural or ethnic background.  Others are more personal and come from our families.  Having Southern roots and a large but close-knit family, most of my traditions fall into this second category.  Christmas morning held many traditions during my childhood.  My household would awake early and anxiously await the arrival of my paternal grandparents (Me-Maw & Pe-Paw) and my aunt & uncle (Sissy & Ray).  Uncle Ray owned a Pontiac dealership and always drove a white convertible.  On Christmas morning, he & Sissy would pull into our driveway with the top down, even when it was snowing, and presents piled to almost overflowing.  To my childish eyes, he looked like Santa Claus in a convertible!  The family would gather around the tree, each staking out a spot on the couch or in a chair.  My brother & I would hand out the presents. Present opening was always the same...we opened them one person at a time, starting with the youngest and going to the oldest.  We all watched the person who was opening their presents and made appropriate sounds of approval and joy.  It was a good thing Me-Maw was always the last because she insisted on saving the bows and not ripping the paper so it could be used again next year.  This painstakingly precise process took a long time and my brother & I had very little patience!

 

New Year's Day is also steeped in tradition.  Eating black-eyed peas insures good health in the new year and eating greens brings you wealth.  Being with family & friends on New Year's Day will signify happiness for the year.  So, today I ate my greens & peas and spent time with friends.  I certainly don't want to tempt fate.  However, I have a few personal traditions that I observed today.  I always watch as many college football games as I can on this day.  Today the Dawgs and the Noles made me proud.  And while I am watching football, I am taking down the Christmas tree and the decorations.  As fond as I am of Christmas, it is always refreshing to see all the space in my living room when the tree is gone!  However, I have one tradition that might sound a little strange.  I have a beautiful island in my kitchen which is more like an old-fashioned sideboard.  Steve designed it and his good friend, Frank Clements, built it using heart pine.  It has stood in the same spot for 25 years.  Frank instructed me to oil it once a year to keep it looking good. Over the years, it has developed a venerable patina.  A dark circle is visible where a hot pan slipped off the trivet.  A faint red stain remains from kool-aid.  The yearly oilings have softened these imperfections without erasing pleasant memories of happy times.  Today I oiled the sideboard with Georgia olive oil.  It brought back memories of Steve and Frank and every friend who shared a meal or a conversation around it. 

 

 

ʃ

 

Remembering.......

 On this final day of 2012, I decided to busy myself with an activity that brings back floods of memories. I baked homemade bread. Aunt Rhoda (wife of my mother's oldest brother, Paul Jones) was affectionately called the Betty Crocker of Cedar Mountain. She baked bread, rolls and cakes...at first for the Cedar Mountain Curb Market every Friday during the summers and later, year-round as an extra income. Norma & I spent almost every weekend during our college years at Western Carolina University at Aunt Rhoda & Uncle Paul's house. Uncle Paul was a real mountain man...hunting, fishing and making a little moonshine. He looked out for the "widow ladies" in the community, supplying them with firewood and digging them out of the snow during the long winters and helping them with household repairs during the rest of the year, because that is what the Bible said to do. He had an infectious laugh, a dry wit, and a warm smile. During my family's summer visits to the 3 Bears' House, he would walk out to our cabin around 5 o'clock every afternoon with his soap in one hand and his towel over his arm to take a cold shower, because his house was only equipped with a tub. He winterized our cabin when we left at the end of the summer and opened it up before we arrived each summer. Aunt Rhoda was a Heath...one of the well-known families of Cedar Mountain...and was not only a fabulous baker, but a great cook. Her fried chicken on Sunday was to die for! She suffered from crippling arthritis, but that didn't stop her from baking and canning or anything else she wanted to do. She would go to Brevard every Friday (Uncle Paul called it "Push Cart Day" because most of the ladies of the county went to town and pushed a grocery cart around the stores) to re-supply her pantry for the week's baking. The recipe that I use for my bread is her recipe. It was never written down. Years of baking had seared it into her memory. In fact, when she gave it to me, I had to follow her around the kitchen, measuring each ingredient as she put in in the bowl. My written version actually calls for two handfuls of salt, around 4 tablespoons of yeast and 2/3 of a five pound bag of all-purpose flour! As the aroma of the baking bread filled my house, I closed my eyes and was swept back to those wonderful years of growing up in Cedar Mountain, North Carolina, and the happy days spent at Aunt Rhoda & Uncle Paul's house...playing Set Back after supper, helping Aunt Rhoda clean and hiking the woods with Uncle Paul in search of Blacksnake root or Ginseng. The person I am today is a direct result of the influence of those strong pioneers of Transylvania County. How grateful I am to have known them!

 Gather your ingredients: eggs, yeast, sugar, salt & oil.

 

 

Mix in scalded milk.

After rising & kneading, shape into loaves & place in pans to rise a second time.

 

After baking, remove from pans and cool on racks. This is the hardest step, because it smells sooooo good that it is hard to let it cool before slicing and eating!

Rhoda & Paul Jones on the occasion of their 50th Wedding anniversary in 1972.

 

 

My 2013 New Year's Resolution

I don't normally make New Year's resolutions because I very rarely keep them.  I have all good intentions of following through with my lofty goals and I usually do for most of January.  However, I soon lose interest and energy and forget all about my enthusiasm for changing my life for the better.  So, you must be asking yourself...why is Melody announcing to the world that she is making a resolution for 2013?  And you must also be wondering how long this is going to last because judging from my history of infrequent posting on my blog...well, you get the idea. 
My 2013 New Year's resolution is to make a positive change in my life.  I know that sounds very nebulous and would allow me an easy out in case I had to "prove" that I was serious about this resolution thing.  So let me expand on it just a little.  Since Steve's death in 2007, I have had to re-invent myself.  Being alone after 29 years of dedication to someone else makes one think very deep thoughts.  I had just about worked through my grief, anger, fear and despair when 2012 rolled around.  During this year, I have faced three more life-changing events...the sudden death of my 31 year old son-in-law, my retirement after 37 years at the library, and the death of my 102 year old mother.  I have asked God many times during the past year why he hates me.  He must hate me for piling all these events on me in one year.  It has taken many hours of prayer & reflection to realize that God didn't do all of these things to me.  They have happened because of the nature of being a human being.  On the last day of this overwhelming year, I have realized that to keep myself out of a very dark place, I need to force myself into a positive attitude.  
So here is my plan.  I am a huge fan of "Pinterest".  I saw an idea a few months ago on someone's board that really intrigued me.  The person started the year with a large jar and scraps of paper.  Every time something worth remembering happened during the year, she wrote it down on a piece of paper and put it in her "memory jar".  On the last day of the year, she took out all of the papers and read through her memories.  I thought that was such a neat idea and decided that I would try it sometime.  Well, "sometime" is here.  During 2013, I plan to use this blog to record my memories and then review them at the end of the year.  I also plan to take it one step farther.  I want to post something EVERY DAY.  That's why I am blogging instead of using a jar & paper.  I figure that if I have announced my plan to the world (or at least to my friends), it will add the pressure necessary to keep me motivated.  But be forewarned...since I will be posting every day, some of the days will probably not be very happy and therefore, the post might be a bit of a downer.  But I hope that this journal will be a journey for me from sadness, insecurity and hopelessness into joy, confidence and optimism.
I hope you will follow my journey this year and encourage me when I need it and congratulate me when I grow.  Happy New Year!

A wonderful wedding

On October 23, 2010, I was witness to a marvelous event...the marriage of Melissa Boyd and Stephen Webb.  Melissa is a college friend of my daughter, Maggie, and I met Stephen several years later when the two started dating.  These two young people have been through alot in their lives, individually and separately.  There have been tragedies, disappointments, surprises and triumphs for both of them.  However, no matter what has happened to them, they have retained their joyous and hopeful outlook on life.  They are parents to a marvelous 2 year old named Cooper and they have taken the duties of parenthood in stride with confidence and great maturity.  The wedding was so "them"!  It was casual, warm, loving and happy.  I was expecting to feel very emotional during the ceremony, remembering Steve and all of the emotional trauma that I have been through in the last 5 years, but I was not expecting such a joyous emtional high.  It has been a little over 3 years since Steve died and I have been through some very low periods during that time.  Going to his 40th high school reunion last summer and listening to his high school friends talk about him with love and admiration really took me to a deep valley of sadness.  GW's college graduation was very painful because Steve would have been so proud to see that both of his children earned the college degree that he never did.  Just going to the Colquitt County football games on Friday nights brings me down.  Remembering how much he loved playing football and being in a huge crowd of people who all seem to be in "couples" has a devasting effect on my psyche.  So attending the wedding of two people who are like my children...well, I was expecting the worst...a depression that would send me to that black hole of a feeling from which it is very hard to escape by yourself.  As I walked the length of the pier to the dock where the ceremony would take place, I had a long time to think about what was going to happen.  I could feel my heart in my throat and was afraid that I might break down right in the middle of the ceremony.  But to my surprise, something wonderful happened.  When I saw the joy and love on the faces of Melissa and Stephen and heard the excitement in their voices at the prospect of sharing a deep committment for the rest of their lives, I could only think about all of the happiness that Steve and I had shared in our lifetime together.  I realized that we had promised to love, honor and cherish each other until "death do us part"...not until we were both 90 years old.  Our life together had been cut short and for the past 3 years I have felt cheated because Steve died before I was ready for him to die.  We had so much more that we wanted to do together...plans that we had dreamed of for 29 years of marriage.  But we had 29 glorious years as man and wife, lovers and best friends and we loved each other more on the day he died than we did when we said our vows on May 20, 1978.  I realized what a wonderful gift we had been given and happiness flooded my soul instead of depression and anger.  I guess that means that I am making progress, at least, I hope it does.  And to Melissa and Stephen, I can only say "Thank You" for including me in such a momentous moment and showing me what true happiness means.  I wish you all the best that life has to offer.  I hope that life still has good things for me to experience also, not the least of which is true love.