Final Post For Childhood Memories That Evolved Into 'The Journey'

We stayed on that winter, and sat in front of a fireplace as my grandmother talked. I
was mesmerized by the things she told concerning her childhood and early years of
marriage. I knew from the expression on Mother’s face that she had not heard this either. My older sister was twelve, and usually was in a world of her own as she sat at a corner table and read by a coal oil lamp. Mammaw rocked and talked as firelight shadows danced on the walls. I could have listened to her all night. “When me and Papa came out on that wagon train from North Carolina,…..” She told of families burying their dead along the
way, and how frightened the women and children were when some Indian braves visited the wagon train. It seemed to comfort her to tell of her and Granddaddy’s experiences.
I knew she missed him terribly, and this was her way of preparing herself for the day when she would have to leave her home. She told a lot that winter. I tucked it away in my heart, and then I went to bed and relived it all before I fell asleep.
We made it through the winter, and one day we looked up and wildflowers were everywhere. Green grass was plentiful, and it seemed to be defying Mammaw’s decision to leave the farm. But we all knew what it would be like for hungry animals, and Mammaw wanted no part of that. As weeks passed, ripe muscadines hung in clusters from the arbor, and I ate until my lips were sore.
Summer eased into fall, and we knew it was time. Mammaw stood on her front porch with moist eyes as the last of her livestock was carried away. I heard her mutter to herself, “Lona Stegall, you just get a grip. If you can give birth to nine babies in a wilderness, you surely can make this change.” It broke my heart as I watched her struggle. I hid underneath the front porch and sobbed as the bawling of cattle gradually faded in the distance.
My grandmother lived among her children for a while. When she boarded a plane to visit three of her daughters in California, someone asked her if she was afraid to fly and she answered, “No, I figure if it gets there, I will too.”
Mother had one brother, and later on, he built Mammaw a house close to his family. By now, she was ready to settle in one place. After I married and had children, she visited in my home, mostly during gospel meetings. She lived to be ninety-nine. With her spirit, she was a firm believer that life is what you make it.



Memories from my childhood that I've posted is an article I wrote and titled, A Pioneer Spirit. It was published in the January 2007 issue of Good Old Days magazine.