There is old time history in those Kentucky hills. If one is lucky enough, you might hear of it told in a story or two by your kinfolk.
“Go on now, help me get my shoes off,” in distress papaw asked the girls.
Jeanette unlaced her grandfather’s left boot and June the right. They tugged until the boots fell to the wood floor.
Mama knew her daddy was short of breath. Her girls were too young to understand, but they knew something was not right. Jack was even younger at 9 years.
Mama secretly told Willie her husband to go on now to a neighbor’s home to call the doctor. He returned shortly never making that phone call. Willie had heard the dinner bell rung by mama. It was the S.O.S. that her daddy was gone.
Night before last, the family had went down to papaw’s house to visit. Papaw said he was not feeling well. For the first time ever, he decided to spend the night at his daughter’s home. Little Jack strolled alone with grandpa back to his parent’s farm after the rest of the family had left to go back early. Jack loved Papaw. He knew Papaw always had a good story to tell. That day, he did not know that it would be his last he was to hear.
Stories and long tales are family favorites of mine. Some of them are sad, but more often there is a good laugh to be had by all. Jack was my dad. The girls were my aunts.
Recently on a trip back to Kentucky, I had the opportunity to attend my family reunion and my Aunt Jeanette’s 90th birthday party which just so happened to fall on the same day.
I was able to visit the family farms and see the old cemetery that dates back to my four times great grandfather. He is buried way back in the tall trees far from anyone.
Three years prior to this visit, the cemetery was cleaned up. This time I saw the place after very little work had been done to it. I thought I would share in pictures a bit of what I saw along with a story that makes us all wonder about what it must have been like growing up on a farm. You see 911 was just not available and as a matter of fact many of these farms still have no 911 addresses attached to them. It is as if time stands still when you think about it. But we all know that is not true.
In the next few days I will be writing about the adventures involved in finding the exact location of the cemetery. Public records do not include the cemetery notated when I made reference to it with the folks who hold this information in the courthouse.
This story is dedicated to all fathers. Happy Father’s Day Jack ( in Heaven otherwise known as Randall by some, Bill by others, and daddy by me).