Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above . . .
We share our mutual woes,
Our mutual burdens bear;
And often for each other flows
The sympathizing tear . . .
I’ve grown sentimental in my elder years. My eyes misted over when I opened Granny’s little sewing box that’s filled with reminders of a past and my family’s people who will never return. Undoubtedly, my great grandmothers Kelly and Black would have known the hymn written by John Fawcett that’s quoted above. Their ancestors pioneered land near Michigantown which is a little village a few miles from Frankfort, Indiana. We’ve gone several times to the little cemetery located on a knoll above a soybean field on the what was once the Kelly farm and to the cemetery south of Michigantown.
These country graveyards show my ancestors’ uncomplicated faith. Several tombstones on the farm have a hand with its index finger pointing upward. They believed in the words of the old hymn and did not doubt whither they were bound. I love the inscription on the tombstone of Granny’s mother, my great-grandmother Melissa Black, that says, “Asleep in Jesus.” The table upon which she kept her Bible in her bedroom is next to our bed.
The large Kelly family lived near one another and developed warm ties that bound them together. They shared the burdens of farm life without modern appliances and indoor plumbing. I’m sure that many tears were shed by the women who bore many children who didn’t survive.
There were no shopping malls, television, computer games or cinemas to amuse them. Their socializing came from direct, face-to-face contact with their families and their neighbors, rather than from texting on fancy telephones and the cyber “friendships” of social media.
My mother recalled that after noon dinner Great-grandmother Kelly and Grandpa’s sisters reset the table, made fresh coffee and laid out homemade cake, cookies and pie to serve to relatives and neighbors who frequently stopped by to visit in the afternoon. What a difference that is from today’s hectic pace where no one would think of just dropping in without calling first.
When I was a girl I knew Mother’s people — her aunt, uncles and cousins — from both sides of her family and where they lived. Now, they are gone; and I don’t know where their descendents are.
A major regret of my life is that I haven’t kept in better touch with my nephews and nieces and that I am not acquainted with their children. Alas, I am too soon old, too late smart. My siblings are all deceased, and I counted nearly a dozen nieces, nephews and their children who have passed away in recent years.
Bill’s sister Joyce’s mantra was, “My cup is never half empty; it’s always half full.” I would do well to dwell on this optimistic view of life rather than on what is lost and on the things that I cannot change. They say, “Count your blessings!” Among my chief blessings is my nephew, John Jones. John is only seven years younger than I. We grew up together, and he is more like a brother to me than a nephew. We get together for breakfast every few weeks, take trips down memory lane and discuss myriad matters.
Things aren’t supposed to be important, but sometimes they represent people and fond memories. Mother’s most cherished possession was her china doll named “Phoebe” who was given to her when she was a little girl. I’m sure that Phoebe’s head at least a hundred years old. Mother gave her to my beloved niece, Dee, as a wedding gift. After Dee’s untimely death, Dee’s and John’s sister, Sharon, took Phoebe. Sharon is like my little sister and loaned me Granny’s sewing basket. She has passed Phoebe on to Vicki. It comforts me to imagine that some distant day a thing that symbolizes my darling mother may be passed on to a great-granddaughter. wclarke@comcast.net