Those who grew up in 1940s Appalachia will be able to relate to this story about my mother. Those who were raised in an urban area may not be able to relate but should find it an interesting piece of Appalachian heritage nonetheless. We were poor but had the basic necessities of food, clothing, and shelter. Most of all, however, we were loved beyond measure.
No patch of corn was too weedy for Mother. She went to work with a vengeance—hoe in hand and a determination to prevail. No tobacco stalk grew too big for her to raise to the metal spear at the end of a stick, impaling it. Nothing seemed too heavy for her to lift, nor did a piece of clothing get so soiled but what she could remove its stains by hand or washboard. When necessary, there was nothing too dirty for her to plunge her hands into. Her days were filled but not to the point of not cooking a meal, patching the knee of a worn-out pair of overalls, crocheting a pretty doily to place on a rugged piece of furniture, ironing mountains of clothes, or teaching everybody in the house how to crochet on a snowy day. In addition, she lugged buckets of water to bathe kids too tired to do it themselves, sprayed DDT to kill flies in the kitchen during summer, made stuffed animals for us to cuddle, put scarves on shivering children walking by our house during winter, and cooked complete meals on the day of a funeral for the family of a neighbor who'd passed on. Mother cut succulent weeds to feed the hogs, sawed firewood to cook our meals or heat our home, and tacked a piece of colorful material around the old Victrola to hide the pots and pans so the kitchen would look a little nicer. She papered the walls and ceilings twice a year with newspapers and swept the front yard that was grassless and hardened from kids busy at play. Mother filled mason jars with food over the summer to have throughout the long winter ahead. She nursed sick children on her lap until they felt better, packed lunches for Daddy, and disciplined the needy. Although she was forever buried in work, Mother somehow managed to sing "Precious Memories," "Farther Along," "I'll Fly Away," or any other hymn that popped into her mind. Our mother loved a cheerful melody while she worked. As nimbly as she accomplished her necessary chores, her daily life instilled love, kindness, and morality in her children and the neighborhood children as well. One of the most precious comments anyone ever said to me about my mother was something a friend once told me. At the time he said it, he was in his seventies. With tearful eyes and broken words, he said, "Your mother was the only person who cried when I went into the military." What a testament those few words stated about the character of Mother and the kindness of her heart.
David, I hardly ever sacrifice time in order to read a short story. I'm so glad I decided to read yours because I found that I love your mother! My childhood home was in a small town, a little half-double with an outhouse in the back. My mother did many of the same tasks as yours, but with modern conveniences such as coal heat and real wallpaper. Her work ethic and hymn-singing matched your mother's.
Your story is so short, but gives such a grand picture of your loving mother! I might have to read more stories in the future!
You've reminded me of what my grandmothers went through. In those days, wives and mothers generally didn't work outside jobs, but their days were filled with heavy labor like you described so well in this story about your mother.
I don't think people realize how important newspaper was to help keep the cold wind out and its usefulness in the outhouse. People in those days, especially mothers, were major recyclers. Reminds me of those grass stains that my mother had to get out of my pants and those patches on patches she had to put on my ripped clothing. Singing all the way.
Join me as we travel together on the road called "Aging." I will be sharing my personal experiences with you and offer ideas on how we can better navigate the complex byways of our older years. Grief, healing, generations, ancestors, and more.
About the clients and escorts who once were part of Professional Escorts of Marin County, California. The timeframe was from 1974 until 1990.
You will enjoy the easy to read book that gives a glimpse into escorting. Enjoy the read.
After a long awaited weekend visitation caused by false allegations of sexual abuse, Glen got to see his children for the first time in over two months. He promised them that they would never be apart again and then they disappeared.
