This is My World

It’s starting to get summer time here in southern Indiana.  And I’m starting to think of all those Sunday Dinners at Granny’s house.  She had Rose of Sharon bushes in the front yard across from her Bleeding Hearts.  There was also Easter Lilies between two cedar trees.  And family visited from places like West Virginia, Florida, Kentucky, Kansas, and Arkansas. You never knew who would show up.

When I was younger, my dad’s family would have dinner at my great-grandma’s house on Sunday afternoon about the time everyone got out of church.  In the years that my memory was the strongest, Granny wasn’t able to go to church every Sunday, but she still read her Bible first thing when she got up.

I remember being in Granny’s kitchen before everyone else got there.  Some Sunday’s she’d be making fried chicken.  She would get the grease in her skillet good and hot, roll her chicken in flour and put it in that grease.  After letting it cook for a little while she’d move it to a back burner with a lower temperature.  She’d let it cook there until it was falling off the bone and juicy.

Some of my favorite things she would cook were macaroni and tomatoes, fried chicken, corn, and green beans with taters and bacon.  About the time everything was coming off the stove, people would start showing up from church.  My grandma, Dad’s mom, would show up with a big blue pot of something that everyone knew better than to eat from.  You never really did know for sure what was in it, sometimes even after it was open.  Anyway, everyone would eat.  Then, during the summer time, the younger ones would go outside. 

My great-aunt, Rosa, would usually be playing ball with us kids.  We had this big red plastic baseball bat that faded to pink and usually a decent sized ball to go with it.  Well, we’d say where our bases were and Aunt Rosa would be the pitcher.  We played baseball without ever keeping score.  It was all about fun.  Then, when Aunt Rosa got tired, she’d give us all a Popsicle or some ice cream.  After finishing the treat, we’d head down to the creek. 

Millstone Creek ran adjacent to the property.  Granny always said, “If you drink the water on Millstone, you’ll always come back.”  So we played in the creek a lot during the summer.  I guess it was to make sure we’d keep coming to see them.  One time she told me, “Your aunt Joy’s ex-husband drank that water, and he’s the trash man up here now.”  I think that was just to show it was true. 

Even though we don’t have Sunday Dinner up there anymore, I still go there to visit Aunt Rosa, my dad, my brother, and whatever family member ventured in from whatever state.  Or “Whatever.”

When I was younger, my great-grandma, Ella Powers, would sit in her rocking chair and tell me all sorts of stories.  As I was getting to be a teenager, her stories were more directed to try and teach me how to act.  When I started wearing make-up, she said girls should look as young as they can as long as they can.  Then, she said the make-up made me look a little older than I was.  So, I quit wearing make-up except for special occasions. 

Time went by and Granny had met my high school sweet heart.  My senior year in high school he left me for a tall, skinny blond.  I wasn’t happy about it, but I went ahead on with life and continued to visit my Granny.  Well, she noticed that he wasn’t around anymore and decided to tell me about how she met my great-grandpa, Cyril Powers.  I knew him as Pap.

When Granny was a young girl, her daddy drank alcohol, smoked a pipe, and cussed a lot.  She told him one day that she was going to find her a man that didn’t do any of that.  He told her that such a man didn’t exist.

Well, when she was about 15, she was working on a farm in Booneville, Indiana.  So, this had to be around 1919 or so.  She was a mid-wife, and as a part of that she would also cook for the men and boys that worked on that farm.  Now a couple of them boys tried getting fast with her and wanted to spend time alone with her.  She wasn’t having any part of that. 

Then, one Sunday this young man named Cyril came up to her and asked if it would be alright if he walked with her to church.  It was just down the road a piece.  Well, she thought that would be alright.  So, every Sunday he started walking with her to church.  That’s how they got to know each other.  He wasn’t fast with her at all, didn’t try to hold her hand, just walked and talked.  He didn’t smoke, drink alcohol, nor cuss.  Later on, he got her daddy’s permission to marry her.  Together, they raised three beautiful daughters.

Well, I got to thinking about this story later in life, trying to figure out what she was trying to tell me.  I think she was trying to tell me to find a man that would respect me.  She didn’t want me to settle for just anyone.  I also think she was trying to tell me not to rush into a relationship.  Yeah, she was right.

When I was younger, age 11-18, I would sit with my great-grandma on Sundays. She was getting on in years and really just wanted someone to hear her stories. She lived in a tiny trailer, where her oldest daughter, Rosa, moved in to care for her. With the aid of a walker, Granny could walk to the back of her trailer, and she did once. She saw that it was still in order and was pleased. After that, she was happy to sit in her rocking chair and watch the birds in the front yard.Granny told me a lot of stories about her childhood and young adult years. Later, I will share some of them with you. However, in this article I’m going to talk about Granny’s hometown, Bristow. Through her many stories, I developed a clear image of what the town used to be.Bristow is now a tiny town in Perry County, Indiana. It has a few houses, a church, a feed mill, and a post office. It is nestled between two sharp curves in Highway 145. No matter which direction you go from Bristow you have to go up hill. You can get to it in the winter time, but you are not getting out without a four wheel drive or a good horse.

Granny grew up not too far outside of Bristow in an area called Oak Ridge. Any goods or services her family couldn’t get from home, they would have to get from Bristow. To get there was too long of a walk, so they used a team of mules to pull a wagon.

In this time, Bristow was a decently advanced little town. There was a doctor’s office and a hospital about two blocks apart. The mill by the creek would grind your corn and wheat. There was even a hotel for out of town folks. The grocery store and separate general store were tiny by today’s standards, but had everything the town’s people wanted. If you couldn’t find it there, you could order it through the catalog. Whatever it was, would then be delivered to the Bristow Post Office.

Of course, even during the Prohibition Era, a lot of alcohol was consumed in Bristow and the surrounding areas. If there was an alcohol related quarrel, a VanHoosier or an Aders was probably involved. Maybe even both. Most of them lived on Oak Ridge. Granny was an Aders on one side and a VanHoosier on the other, but she turned into a fine Christian lady.