Mrs. Lucy Hyatt was Blanche's teacher. She decided her students would have a happy holiday. "Who wants to make paper chains to decorate our classroom?" she asked. The students clapped their hands and rushed to the worktable. They cut strips from construction paper and pasted them together.
The teacher also asked if anyone would like to help the janitor cut a cedar in the woods. Blanche and her brother, George, volunteered. They selected a white pine and dragged it into the classroom. The pupils made decorations for the Christmas tree. For several days they cut bells, stars, and ornaments. Some children brought silver foil from chewing gum wrappers to design an angel to top the tree. They threaded strings of popcorn and put them on the tree.
While the kids made decorations, Mrs. Hyatt made hot cocoa on the pot-bellied woodstove that stood in the middle of the room. She poured cans of Carnation condensed milk, water, sugar, and cocoa into a pan. The teacher baked gingerbread and served it to the students with the drink. The children loved the treats.
A highlight of the holiday celebration was a program given by the John C. Campbell Folk School. Danish dancers and musicians entertained the mountain children. Blanche enjoyed the lively show that introduced her to the arts and culture.
Although times were hard during the Great Depression, one dedicated teacher brought a lot of joy into the lives of her students. She was a God Send during the time when many kids wouldn't have much for Christmas. This is a true story about my mother, Blanche.
by: Brenda Kay Ledford
I wish all my blogger friends:
Merry Christmas & Happy New Year
They decided to stop at Hazel Henson's house and invite her to go turkey hunting with them. Blanche and Oma wore feed sack dresses. Patches dotted George's overalls.
Night fell and they still hadn't spied a turkey. A Full Harvest Moon ricocheted through the pine trees and an owl screeched in the holler. Blanche grabbed Oma's arm and they screamed at the same time.
George laughed and slapped his knee. "What's wrong with you chickens? I was just mocking a hoot owl."
Blanche and Oma tried to hit George, but he took off like a racehorse through the woods. He reached Hazel's house before they could catch him. Hazel joined them on the turkey hunt.
Since they didn't have any weapon, Oma suggested that they stop at Jim Power's log cabin. They stepped on the rickety porch and knocked on the door.
"What brings you younguns out on this fine night? Ought you be home getting ready for Thanksgiving?"
"We wanted you to bring your shotgun and join us turkey hunting," said George.
"All right. I'll be glad to go. Just let me finish my supper." The old gentleman crumbled cornbread into a glass of buttermilk and wolfed it down.
He grabbed his shotgun, put on his cap and got a lantern. He whistled for the hound dogs and they headed up the mountain. Oma, Hazel, and Blanche followed the guys. Old Blue, Spot, and Buck spied a squirrel and chased him through Greasky Creek. Their howls resounded across Brasstown.
They came to Pauline Payne's house and stopped to ask the family if she was still in the hospital. Her daughter invited them into the house. She said Pauline was feeling better, but still in the hospital at Murphy, North Carolina.
Oma asked Mr. Payne if he still owned a fiddle. He got the instrument and asked Jim Powers to play it. Jim started making music and they danced all night long. They never got around to turkey hunting.
by: Brenda Kay Ledford
I hope all my blogger friends will have a
Happy Thanksgiving!
The mountain dulcimer (beside the gentleman's photo) was played often by mountain people. Gordan Parris of Hayesville made Appalachian musical instruments. These instruments included the guitar, banjo, and the dulcimer. Gordan was regionally recognized for crafting fine musical instruments. I was fortunate to interview he and his wife at their mountain home off Cold Branch Road in Hayesville. He had several piles of wood drying in the yard that he had collected to craft his instruments.
The banjo was brought to Appalachia by the blacks. Although only 10% of the Blue Ridge was populated by African Americans, they also contributed to the rich musical heritage of this area.
Interestingly, the fiddle was frowned on by some religious leaders in the community. It was often played at barn dances. Some mountain preachers were opposed to dancing and thought the fiddle was associated with the "sin of dancing." Clogging and buck dancing were favorites of the Appalachians.
Ballads were brought from Ireland and Scotland to Appalachia. They were stories in songs. Most had a sad theme such as the traditional Scots-Irish ballad, "Barbara Allen." This is a sad love story where Barbara Allen rejected her fellow and he died of being lovesick for Barbara who refused to visit him on his deathbed when he called for her.
The ballads were passed down from one generation to another by word of mouth. Many of the Irish in the homeland, were not able to read, so they preserved the songs by singing them.
The churches contributed also to the musical heritage of the Blue Ridge. Christian Harmony music was sung without any music. John Wesley, Fannie Cosby and other great songwriters penned powerful songs that are still sung today in many congregations.
Many of the mountain people sang to help them overcome hardships. The black people often lifted songs of lament for the day they would be free as they picked cotton. Blue Ridge people gathered for singing at churches during the Great Depression in the 1920s to give them strength to make it through very trying times and poverty.
Music continues to lift the spirit of downtrodden people not only in Appalachia, but around the world. It's a universal language that binds people together in fellowship and worship of God.
by: Brenda Kay Ledford
The family rose before the rooster crowed to tackle the hot, hard, job of stripping blades from cane. After cutting them down, you put the cane into piles and cut off the seed heads. Then Granddaddy and the boys loaded the cane on a wagon and hauled it to the mill. A mule pulled the pole that turned the mill. Cane was fed into the vertical rollers like a washing machine. Juice squeezed from the cane and flowed down a spout to the boiler where it was boiled from one vat to another. You skimmed foam off the top until it came out a nice clear brownish-red color. Dozens of yellow jackets swarmed and you had to keep them out of the syrup. Our family made 90 gallons of sorghum syrup. The labor paid off when you savored the rich, thick, sorghum on hot, buttered biscuits.
Besides making sorghum syrup, Great-Grandpa Dallas Matheson owned 300 acres of land on Shewbird Mountain. He was a farmer and grew an apple orchard above the frost line. He raised the black beauty that was so red it looked black. The Ben Davis was light with small streaks and white inside. Other apples included the horse apple, hog sweet, red June, striped May, pumpkin apple, queen pippin, pound apple, and others with no names. Each fall our family took a sled and mule to Shewbird Mountain and hauled apples to the house to store them in the cellar. Grandma and the girls dried apples on trays outside in the sun.
I ponder the good old days on the front porch. We had no air-conditioners and it was a taste of heaven resting on the porch each evening as a breeze wafted over the valley. Neighbors would stop for a visit and we enjoyed swapping a few stories as lightning bugs flashed. Brother Harold and I caught them in Blair canning jars and pretended they were our lanterns.
Many homes have no front porches now. Families are missing a wonderful slice of the bygone days.
by: Brenda Kay Ledford
Reprinted from: GOOD OLD DAYS, A Poetry and Prose Anthology
Published by: Old Mountain Press: www.OldMountainPress.com
by: Brenda Kay Ledford
Book Review by: Carroll S. Taylor-poet, author, and playwright
When I grew up in the Blue Ridge Mountains, we didn't have watermelons all year. It was a real treat to dive into a plump, juicy, watermelon on the Fourth of July. Daddy bought one each year at the little country store and put it into the freezer to get nice and cold.
On the Fourth of July, Mama packed a picnic basket with delicious goodies: a chocolate cake made from scratch, oatmeal cookies, celery (Daddy loved celery), corn-on-the-cob ( we called them roast nears in the mountains), white-runner beans, and of course; hotdogs and buns.
Daddy loaded the giant-sized watermelon in the back of our old black Ford and we headed to the Matheson Cove to Granddaddy and Ma Minnie's house for a cookout under the maple tree. Daddy sliced the watermelon with a butcher knife and asked Ma Minnie to fetch the salt shaker. Doctors would have a fit today if they caught folks shaking, shaking, shaking, salt on every piece of watermelon. Mama declared, "This is the best watermelon we've ever eaten." We all agreed and wolfed down the other goodies.
We cousins held a seed spitting contest. Harold (my brother) and I filled our mouths with seeds, lent back and spat as far as we could. Cousin Bobby had the contest down pat and always spat the seeds clear across the yard. Grandma Minnie gave the winner of the watermelon spitting contest an extra slice of Mama's rich chocolate cake.
Then we cousins headed down to Hyatt Mill Creek to swim. The boys swung on a grape vine across the deepest part of the creek and splashed into the ice cold waters. Harold brought his fishing pole and headed far from the crowd to catch catfish for our supper. He usually got a bunch and Uncle Ralph fried the fish and hushpuppies over and open fire for our supper.
When the sun set like a ruby over Shewbird Mountain, we called it a day and headed home. Back then we didn't have fireworks in the mountains, but enjoyed the lightning bugs putting on a night show as we drove home over the winding, dirt road.
I will always remember the Fourth of July celebration our family held deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains. A simple celebration filled with the love of family and grateful for our freedom.
by: Brenda Kay Ledford
Happy Fourth of July!
My beautiful mother sitting on the front porch.
Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. Mark 11:24 (NIV)
Patricia and Lula Bell were writing encouragements in Bibles to hand out to the graduates at Hayesville High School. Eighty four seniors were to graduate and invited to the Baccalaureate Service at Truett Church. The women were in the conference room working, but decided to place the boxes in the pastor's office.The boxes of Bibles were very heavy. Patricia almost dropped them on the pastor's desk. When one box slipped from her hand, it ripped the emerald set from her ring. She and Lula Bell searched everywhere for the set. They looked on the desk, got on the floor, couldn't find it anywhere. Now this was a special ring and Patricia was distraught that she had lost it.
She and Lula Bell prayed that they would find the ring.
Patricia went home, put on her pajamas and prayed again that she would find her ring. The next morning, she got up and something was sparkling on the floor. She thought it was a lightning bug and got a tissue to pick it up.
When she picked up the hard object, Patricia gasped. It was the emerald set to her ring. She lifted a prayer of praise because God had answered her and Lula Bell's prayer.
Finding the ring was like sweet music to Patricia's ears, but she wasn't surprised. Nothing was too hard for God!
I believe in praying for simple things even to finding a precious ring.
Decorating graves was founded to remember deceased soldiers. It was the Uniform Monday Holiday Act, passed by Congress in 1968, that officially changed Decoration Day to Memorial Day effective in 1971.
I recall my mama made roses from crepe paper for the decoration. Flowers were cut from crepe paper, dipped in melted wax to form the roses. Mama made a box of these flowers to place on the graves of loved ones.
Before the men made tables from planks, dinner-on-the-grounds was held on blankets that they spread on the ground under the shade trees. The women brought boxes of food to the dinner. Most mountain women grew a garden and there were loads of vegetables, fried chicken, cakes, pies, banana pudding, gallons of sweet tea. No one left hungry.
I miss those times gathering at the country church each May to decorate the graves of loved ones, savor dinner-on-the-grounds, listen to groups lifting praises with their musical instruments. Old-time preachers delivered uplifting messages to warm the hearts of those who attended the worship service.
I attended the Multicultural Women's Conference at Hinton Rural Life Center in Hayesville, NC on April 19-20, 2024. The keynote speaker on Friday was North Carolina Poet Laureate Jaki Shelton Green. She gave a marvelous speech encouraging women to "Rise Up to the Power of Stories." She said we all have a story to tell and highlighted the achievements of blacks in America.
I enjoyed meeting Jaki and consider her to be one of the finest living poets today. If you have not read her poetry, her books are available on Amazon.com. You may also hear her giving a poetry reading on Youtube.com.
UNICORNS CELEBRATE ST. PADDY'S DAY
I'm very excited about the release of my family history story. Catch the Spirit of Appalachian is printing the book.
More information is upcoming.
My sister, Barbara Ledford Wright, is the guest writer on my blog. She's an award-winning writer and has been published in many journals. Her story is about our family growing up in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
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I grew up in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina. One mountain custom was serenading a newly married couple. This loud and upsetting event occurred during the night of their wedding.
Shivaree dated back to sixteenth-century France. A couple was teased on the wedding night. Appalachian folks called this raucous, spontaneous celebration serenading.
The community serenaded the couple about a half hour after they turned out the lights. Neighbors circled the house, and made a loud noise. Folks banged on pots and pans, rang cowbells, and even shot guns. They shouted for the couple to come outside.
Sometimes the serenaders carried the bride in a tub, and the groom rode a rail. One custom including parading the couple to the country store where they were treated to snacks.
The community serenaded Mama and Daddy (Blanche and Rondy Ledford), when they married on June 26, 1938. Neighbors circled the red-plank house. They banged on dishpans, sang, and rode my parents across Swaims Road in wheelbarrows.
After the serenading, they held a shindig. The mountain women prepared tons of food for the celebration. Mrs. Lacey Groves, a neighbor lady, brought her delicious, made-from-scratch marble pound cake. The men picked guitars and sawed fiddles while folks danced the night away.
This old-time mountain tradition has passed away, but remains as a favorite memory how the community serendaded newly married couples.
by: Brenda Kay Ledford
This story appeared in: Our Southern Memories Journal; Volume 18, January/February 2024
