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The enormous value of stories handed down through the
generations has been a familiar theme for years here in the Ruralite
Cafe, but it seems important to reiterate that message this week.
In this age of instant communication and immediate television and movie
gratification, it's becoming ever harder for the old stories to compete.
If the stories are not heard and learned, a measure of history is lost
forever.
Writing down the stories is gratifying on a number of levels. If you're
really good at it, like Charles Frazier whose family history is in Haywood
County, you can make millions. His acclaimed novel, Cold Mountain, is
based on a tale passed down through his family; the book was a blockbuster,
and the movie, slated for a Christmas release, has received good reviews.
One reason Kay Byer and I were so pleased to read the excellent offerings
from local middle-schoolers as we judged City Lights' "Together
We Read" writing contest last week was the interest these kids
demonstrated in researching and recording stories from their families'
private archives. One that especially resonated with me profiled a beloved
neighbor who died several months ago - a woman I had interviewed for
a column. Reading Molly Gehring's story of Martha Keith and her love
for life despite her handicap, I could hear Martha's laugh as I recalled
my visit with her.
Two women who were my neighbors during my early years in Jackson County
have passed away within the last few weeks, a fact that makes me wish
I had gotten more of their stories down on paper.
Fannie Mae Brown, who died three weeks ago at age 89, was nearby when
I lived at Jamie Clarke's place near Rock Bridge in Canada community
some 25 years ago. She showed me a lot about canning and told me stories
about the 1940 flood and the days when her father helped log the big
timber in the early 20th century.
Fannie Mae was real modest, though, and she always said, "Ask Grover
(her brother) or "Roxie" (her sister) - they can tell it better
than I can." She was wrong, though. I listened to Grover and Roxie,
and I've written down much of what they said, but Fannie Mae was the
one who could "tell it better."
She has been a treasure-trove of information for me through the years.
When I was trying to write about Amy Garza's book Retter, it was Fannie
Mae who told me that Tom and Retter Ammons had lived on Cullowhee Mountain
and their son Jim (at that time) still lived on Wolf Mountain.
Fannie Mae was always willing to help me figure things like that out,
and I'll miss being able to call her up with my questions.
Billie Adams, who died last week, was my neighbor when Dona and I rented
a Speedwell Road trailer from her and her husband Lester during our
last year at Western Carolina University.
Lester was the talkative one, but Billie always had a smile and a word
of encouragement for our primitive culinary efforts. We managed to pick
enough handfuls of wild strawberries once to make three tiny jars of
preserves. We were proud of our effort and took Billie one of our little
smidgens of jam. She accepted it graciously and told us how good it
was.
A week later she brought us a whole strawberry shortcake, packed with
delicious berries she'd picked, and, ever tactful, asked us if we'd
mind "trying it out for her" so she'd know if it was any good.
Needless to say, it tasted like the proverbial manna from heaven to
two college students who existed on cheese toast and scrambled eggs.
I can't ask Fannie Mae or Billie what they remember about the Cullowhee
or Canada of an earlier day. I didn't stay in touch - especially with
Billie - the way I should have, but that doesn't mean I didn't think
of them and remember their kindness and generosity to the city girl
I was back then.
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