Newspaper Page Text
PAGE TWO
COUNTRY WIFE’S REMINISCENCES,
BY MRS. W. H. NUNNALLY
How Sho And Hor Hu.b.nd Ent.r
tained Thirty Gu*U for Thro#
Day* in Their Small Farmhout*,
and How Thoir Colored Helper,
Bit Mary, Felt About Dying, Are
Interesting Incident* Recalled by
Mr*. W. H. Nunnally, in Thi* Final
Installment of Her Memoir*.
(By Mrs. W. H. Nunnally, in Atlanta
Journal)
(Continued From Last Week)
Of all seasons on the farm, for the
faimer’s wife, perhaps the busiest
and therefore the happiest, for I be
lieve life is happiest when we are
engaged in worthy and remunerative
labor, was the hog killing season.
Perhaps this may sound barbarous to
the reftned sensibilities of the mod
ern housewife, and as for myself 1
have never wantonly killed anything
I remember that when a chicken
was needed for a meal and there was
no one around to slay it, 1 would
take the chicken from the coop and
often walk as much as a mile to the
field where my husband was at work.
He would stop his plowing and kill
the chicken and picking it up, I
would run back home and prepare it
for cooking. On one occasion a
neighbor lady came unannounced, as
often happened, to spend the day
with me.
I took a chicken from the coop
and ran out to where my husband
was passing on a wagon loaded with
cotton for the gin. He sprang from
the wagon, killed the fowl for me,
resumed his seat and drove off. Be
fore I could pick up the chicken a
hog waddled up and grabbed*it. I
gave chase until out of breath, when
I seized a big rock and hurled it at
the thief. The rock found its mark
and as the hog opened his mouth to
squeal, he, of course, dropped the
chicken which I snatched up and car
ried in haste back to the house. My
elation at this victory was somtj what
dampened when I found that my
guest was standing on the porch and
had witnessed the entire proceedings.
But to return to the hog killing
season, I will say for the benefit of
some supersensitive sister that I
never witnessed the death of any of
the hogs, but after it was all over
and the carcass brought to the big
spring, I was among the first on the
scene. I assisted in removing the
fat for the lard and then later came
the making and stuffing of the deli
cious sausage, souse meat and liver
pudding. Afterward there was al
ways a chitterling supper to which
our neighbors were invited. There
were also the fine home-cured hams,
real “sugar-cured” hams, for which
I do not believe my recipe has ever
been surpassed.
Of course, all this meant work for
the housewife, work that would seem
arduous to the average modern wo
man but the longer I live the more
am I convinced that there is no real
happiness compared to that produc
ed by honest endeavor to fulfill the
duties encumbent upon honest living
and to see and feel the reward which
sometimes may be slowly but surely
coming in. It is my sincere belief,
looking back over the years of a
long and unusually happy life that
the very happiest of them all were
these almost seven years spent in
that little unceiled, unplastered house
on the farm. I realize more and
more as the years pass on that the
sacred writer was right when he
declared, “A man’s life consisteth
not in the abundance of the things
which he possesseth,” and to me the
happiest life possible is in the coun
try with* its big open spaces, the
songs of birds, the freedom from
convention, the companionship and
comradeship of husband, wife, and
children which make up the sum
mum bonum of real living and make
existence on this earth really worth
while.
Emerging-from the mists of long
ago, I catch another dear vision of
the past. Not far from our home,
there was a small pool or pond of
water, not more than fifteen or
twenty feet square and there, often,
my two little boys and I would go
and make boats of pine bark and
sail them to make-believe foreign
countries. I would relate to them
some incident connected with fam
ous people or episodes from the his-
tory of each foreign country visited
by our little boats. One thing I
could never make my eldest boy, a
lad not quite 5 years old, understand
was that if China was underneath us,
the world being round, why ships
sailing to China would not be bot
tom side up when they arrived. I
tried to explain it as best I could
without a globe of the world, but I
don't think I ever made it quite
clear to this boy, who, although now
a man, always insists on going to
the bottom of things before accept
ing them. We would always, espec
ially myself, return from these little
excursions refreshed in body and
mind.
Other occasions that stand out
conspicousiy in my mind, are the an
nual revival services of old Bethel
Church which always began the third
Sunday in August and continued two
weeks when the saved sinners of the
community were baptized in old
"Jack’s Creek" and gathered into
the sheltering arms of the church.
It may sound strange to the modern
ized theology of today, but I have
known ’ old whisky topers of many
years’ standing to quit their evil
habits for all time and become good,
stable citizens of the community,
being thoroughly converted and
turned from their sinful ways by
these meetings. I only wish we
could have a return of these genu
ine “Holy Ghost” revivals of reli
gion now.
On the third Sunday, which was
the opening day of the meeting,
everybody carried a big basket or
trunk filled with everything good to
eat, and a bounteous picnic dinner
was spread on long tables under an
cient trees which for many genera
tions had stood solemn sentinels over
the successive annual meetings of
dear old Bethel Church. Then we
would discuss all the news of the
neighborhood: how Sister So-and-so
had succeeded with her chickens, how
Sister Somebody Else had managed
with her cows and gardens, how old
Brother “A” was convalescent from
a siege of rheumatism, and we would
often exchange domestic recipes
which were not only useful but of
ten invaluable.
These revival meetings continued
two weeks and after the opening day
the services were at night only. We
were always present, carrying both
of our big babies with us. Of course,
they would always go to sleep, but
we would lay them down on a bench
upon a heavy shawl carried for this
purpose and there they would sound
ly sleep, unless awakened by the
shouts of victory of some saint who
had received a special blessing. When
the meeting closed for the night we
would drive four miles home, and
while I undressed and put the boys
to bed, my husband unhitched the
horse from the buggy and saw that
it was safely stored away for the
night. Although this did not seem a
hardship to us then, I wonder how
many young fathers and mothers of
these modern times would be willing,
and not only willing, but even glad,
to undertake this kind of job night
after night for two weeks for the
sake of attending even a genuine re
vival of religion in a country church?
It became the turn of the Bethel
Church to entertain the association.
That meant a convention or associ
ation of all the Baptist Churches in
the Appalachee Association. The
meeting or gathering together of
delegates from all the churches
meant a multitude of people and al
ways lasted three days and two
nights during which time the dele
gates had to be entertained in the
homes of the hostess church. After
talking it over we decided that we
could entertain at least thirty of
these delegates.
Of course, there would not be
separate rooms or bath with hot and
cold water, but soft white cotton
from the gin was spread over the
floors of the two attic'rooms more
than a foot deep and then quilts
wei-e tacked down over the cotton.
When this was covered with snowy
sheets and pillows also made of cot
ton, very comfortable sleeping places
were thus provided for the men,
while the ladies occupied beds down
stairs. My husband and I slept on a
pallet spread on the floor of the
dining room. For baths, there were
numerous pans with buckets of wat
er from the well placed on the back
porch together with a mirror, comb
and brush, which were used by all
indiscriminately.
When it is remembered that in ad
dition to providing supper and break
fast for the delegates and the horses
and mules that brought them and
then cooking and packing a big bask
et of food for the midday meal at
the church, one can easily vision the
vast amount of work it meant for
me and the two negro women
brought in from the fields to help
and who knowing next to nothing
about cooking, were indeed only
helps.
But every endeavor, no matter
how strenuous, in a good cause has
its rewards and this meant social con
tact with many fine people, listening
to eloquent and spiritual sermons
from visiting preachers, fine singing,
THE JACKSON HERALD, JEFFERSON, GEORGIA
and last, but by no means least,
spreading out the contents of the
dinner baskets and feeling a thrill
of worldly pride that your cakes,
pies, chicken, etc., were as nice, per
haps a bit nicer, than thoae of some
old sister whose reputation for culi
nary skill was established in the
neighborhood.
So, after all, when the three days’
meeting was over we felt that even
though tired, we were the real bene
ficiaries in intellectual and spiritual
stimulation and also in personal vani
ty when the dinner from our baskets
afforded favorable comparison with
any on the ground even those pro
duced by much more mature experi
ence.
Our home with no ceiling or plast
ering, desipte its big log fins, was
naturally very cold in winter. In an
effort to mitigate this discomfort, I
conceived the idea of making a rag
carpet. All the old discarded gar
ments and worn-out sheets of both
my mother-in-law and myself were
collected, cut into strips, wound into
balls and turned over to a lady in
the neighborhood who owned a hand
loom, to be woven into a carpet.
But there must be thread to be wov
en between the rag strips. And, a
gain my mother-in-law came to the
rescue. She not only furnished me
a spinning wheel, but taught me how
to use it and the carpet was assured.
When finished it closely resembled
those woven by modern firms of to
day, but in my estimation was not
only a “thing of beauty, but a joy
forever” as it added both to the a
-and comfort of our house
during the long, cold winter months.
In the fifth year of our life to
gether on the farm, the first real
great sorrow of my life came to me
in the death of my mother-in-law.
I can never forget the feeling of un
utterable loneliness and helplessness
that almost overcame me at her pass
ing. I had no personal loss by death
heretofore. I had lost my father,
but his death occurring in my in
fancy, of course, I had no recollec
tion of it. My own mother lived
only thirty-five miles away, but at
that time, this was an almost all-day
journey and no one could know how
piuch I missed the wise and helpful
counsel and advice and the loving ad-
monition of my husband’s mother.
She was unusual in may Ways, bdt
pre-eminently so in that she could
see the mistakes of her own children
rather than those of her childrcn-in
law, for all the days of our lives on
the farm were not days of Unclouded
sunshine and I truly believe that
such is the lot of but very few, if
indeed of any, married couples.
I always have my doubts, when a
person declares, “We have lived to
gether twenty or more years without
ever having a cross word,” for it
seems to me that such a state of af
fairs is not only unnatural, but would
grow to *be monotonous. An old
lady once said to me: “The worst
thing in the world a woman has to
endure is a rainy day, the toothache
and a crying baby all at the same
time” and she might truthfully have
added that when this combination
occurred the man of the house would
be wise to be “conspicuous by his
absence” for a while, or there might
be an explosion.
Some times, when tired, hot, and
all out of sorts, a cross word, more
often from me than my husband,
would start a little flare which never,
I am glad to say, reached a confla
gration, and was always subdued by
overtures on his part and climaxed
by a happy making-up. Strange to
say, his mother always championed
my side of any argument that occur
red between us.
Sometimes amid the push and hur
ry of the busy season on the farm,
my husband and all the hands who
were also being fed from our table
and for whom I was chief cook and
bottle, or rather, dish-washer, would
leave for work in the morning with
out having stove-wood cut with which
to cook dinner. It then fell to my
lot to chop the wood or else pick up
chips to “keep the pot boiling.” One
day, after consulting my mother-in-
law and getting her approval, I col
lected all the vegetables, placed them
on the stove, together with the bread
and pies for dessert and left them
without a spark of fire to cook them.
When my husband can\e in with the
gang, tired and hungry, I was seated
at my sewing machine, sewing and
singing, more to keep my courage up
than practicing any vocal talent
which I did not possess. To his
query, “Diner ready?” I replied:
“Please go to the kitchen and see if
the fire is burning.”
I shall never ' forget his look of
consternation. He peremptorily or
dered the hands to cut the wood, but
they had left the ax in the field, so
hastily borrowing an ax, the wood
was cut and a hastily prepared and
unwholesome meal was served, but
when he went back to his work I was
the real sufferer, for I wept all the
afternoon over his failure to eat
anything at all. I often heard him
relate this and laugh heartily over
my scheme and it certainly was ef
fective, for never again during all
the years that have intervened was
there any lack of stove-wood for my
kitchen.
This reminds me of another humor
ous occasion, which came near to be
ing a serious accident. There were
two colored Marys on the farm, one
small and scrawny and the other tall
and bulky, weighing almost 200
pounds. To distinguish between
them we called one “Little Mary,”
and the other “Big Mary.”
Now Big Mary had been looking
forward with eager anticipation for
many days to attending the “hang
ing” of one of her own race in
town. Execution of condemned cri-
minals in those days was rfude pub
licly and white people as well as
colored would often travel miles to
witness the gruesome affairs. I nev
er could understand why such mon
strous dying should be made a public
spectacle or why any normal person
could ever want to witness it. How
ever, according to custom, all the
negroes on our place had been anti
cipating this execution of one of
their race with more avidity even
than attending a circus.
For this special event I had spent
much time making for Big Mary a
new calico dress with a basque which
she insisted should be skin tight.
Thus adorned, I am sure, that even
Solomon in all his glory had no com
parison to Big Mary’s estimation of
her own personal appearance. My
husband and I went out to see them
off. A big wagon with two frisky
mules hitched to it was filled with
exuberant dusky passengers, their
hilarity not even suggesting the
gruesome show they were on their
way to see. Big Mary occupied the
seat of honor by the side of the
driver, which consisted of a plank
placed across the front end of the
wagon body and extending a foot
over the outside. Monk, the driver,
who had lost the use of his limbs
from his knees down but had a giant
head and body, was seated on the
other end of the plank. Suddenly,
as they were ready to start, the
mules, characteristic of their tribe,
became obstreperous and began to
kick. Monk, frightened, relinquish
ed his seat and slid down to the
floor of the wagon body. As he did
so his end of the plank seat flew up
and precipitated poor Big Mary
backward onto the front muddy
wheel of the wagon, feet and legs
still inside but body on the outside.
She could neither get in or out,
and lay kicking and screeching until
my husband could control his laugh
ter and grasp the bridles of the bel
ligerent mules, bring them down to
earth again and rescue poor Mary
from her perilous position, but not
before her treasured tight basque
was split from top to bottom. The
procession was retarded until Big
Mary could change to a very old
dress without the tight basque, and
I am sure that the fun of witnessing
the hanging was mitigated for her
because of having to appear in an
old dress minus the pride of her
heart, the tight basque.
Big Mary was a unique character
with a heart within her to corres
pond with her avoirdupois without.
She nevertheless had “taking ways,”
but she was so tender and solicitous
during time of illness' that we re
member her fondly. Often she would
come in from her work on the farm
in the afternoon and say: “You jus’
go on wid your sewin’, I’ll take the
baby out for a little while.” Grate
fully, I always accepted her kind
offers until going to look for a jug
of wine which I kept in an outhouse
I found it empty. Big Mary had
combined conviviality with service—
a very good plan, if not practiced at
the expense of someone else.
On one occasion, when Big Mary
had come in to get some corn meal
which had just arrived from the mill
and was still in a sack upon the
floor, I said: “Mary, you can untie
the bag,” and as she stooped to do
so, a large yam potato dropped from
somewhere and rolled down on the
floor. There was a box filled with
potatoes in the kitched through which
Mary had just passed. I said:
“Where did that potato come from?”
Mary replied, “I dunno, I wuz jes’
wonderin’ myself whar da tater could
a cum from.” Then, noticing her
bulging pocket, I said: “Mary, I be
lieve that you dropped that potato.”
“No, mam, dat I didnt’; dey are one
thing sartin and sho’, I don’t steal
and I never did.” “Well,” I said, “to
convince me of your innocence, I’ll
just search your pocket.” Sensing
the inevitable disclosure, Mary, in
her most wheedling tone, said: “Yes’-
um, I done took your taters, but I
ain’t like some ob dese here low
down niggers. When I take things
from white folks I alius owns up. I
shore ain’t like dese niggers what
alius denies it.”
I meekly accepted her statement,
she kept the potatoes and the whole
transaction afforded my husband
and me such amusement that we felt
repaid for the loss of the potatoes,
although I had been outwitted in
diplomacy by the shrewd wheedling
of a negro woman.
On another occasion, Big Mary
came in with a piece of news. Cousin
Betty, she announced, had another
gal baby and Cousin Betty, who was
considered by her colored neighbors
something of a paragon in selecting
names for her numerous offspring,
had surpassed herself in naming the
latest addition to her family. Mary
recited glibly the /name of “Marthy
Anna Louisa Corinty Riddly Ann
Frances Elizabeth Araminty Con
cord,” but explained that the child of
so many cognomens was to be called
“Minty.”
Big Mary, although unlearned and
ignorant, was something of a philo
sopher. To her other work she had
decided to add the responsibility of
a husband, and colored husbands at
the time were a liability rather than
an asset. When she came to see me
some time after the important event
had taken place, I asked: “Well,
Mary, how are you enjoying married
life?” and her reply, couched in
tone of submissive resignation, was:
“Well, I reckons it does pretty well,
only it’s so constant.” Wiser heads
than hers have given less wise defi
nition to this matrimonial question.
On another occasion, when asked if
she did not want ,to go to heaven
(for, strange to say, she was one of
the few colored persons on the farm
who had not united with the church),
she replied: “Wal, I jes natuchally
don’ want to go no whar, whar I got
to die to git dar.” Perhaps if many
of us were entirely truthful and hon
est with ourselves we would have to
confess, like Big Mary, we “just na
turally don’t want to die\ to get
there.”
In addition to my husband’s other
varied interests such as running a
farm, two wheat threshing machines,
a public cotton gin, and selling ferti
lizer on the side, he decided after
being deluged with petitions from
friends and neighbors to enter the
for ordinary of Walton County. The
incumbent, though still efficient, was
considered by many to have held the
office loiig enough. I have often
wondered if my husband was not in
fluenced in this decision by the de
sire to see me removed from life in
the country. He would often re
mark: “I certainly do hate to keep
you slaving and drudging on the
farm when life would be so much
easier and more congenial for you in
town.” And so, although devoted
as he was to the farm and to coun
try life, I have always felt that it
was for my sake that he decided to
make the race for ordinary.
He was defeated by a very small
majority, and the news of his defeat
was brought to me by a neighbor be
fore his return. Strange to say, 1
felt glad that he would be relieved
from the strain of office and of hav
ing to cater to “the will of the peo
ple,” which, owing to his independ
ent nature and freedom from re
straint in expressing his sentiments
on any question, I knew would be
irksome. When he came home from
town, not the least down-hearted, but
his old, cheerful self, I met him at
the door with both the little boys, all
of us dressed in our Sunday best. A
real company supper was prepared
and waiting in the dining room,
where merrily we celebrated his de
feat. After supper, seated by our
glowing wood fire, our baby boy, not
quite 2 years old, climbed into his
father’s lap and patting his face
with both chubby hands, said: “I jes
übs (loves) you, papa.” Turning to
me with misty eyes, my husband
said: “This is worth all the world.”
We’ had ample cause in the years to
come to be grateful for the defeat
in this, his first and last experiment
in the arena of political life.
How little does frail humanity
know of the future, or what is best
for us—even the events which shall
come to pass in a single day. How
little we reck when we arise in the
morning what is to befall us before
nigjitfall. My husband’s philosophy
all through life was “do your duty
and leave the result with God.” In
other words, to “trust God but keep
your powder dry.” His religion was
not the ostentatious type of doing to
be seen of men, but the quiet, endur
ing, reliable type and his prayers
were not of- the house-top variety
but like his charity which never im
parted to the left hand a knowledge
of the deeds of the right and so
since his death many acts of kind
ness and benevolence have come to
light of which even his family and
most intimate friends knew nothing.
He had an unshakable faith in the
omnipotence and immutability of
God and never tried to twist quota
tions of Scripture around to agree
with his own ideas.
Speaking of quotations, an amus
ing quotation or rather misquotation
THURSDAY, APRIL 6 , , 9J3
comes to my mind of tw 0 0 M ,
women of the o,t e „u ti
type on the farm. There * P ‘ oU *
a picnic of our neighbors anTfV ° !*
but alas! when the
it was pouring rain. The,! , e<l
colored sisters were discus/ 0 ° ld
sanctimonious tones over th/*’ **
fee the disappointment of
folks. Said Sis Nancy,
Mnry h, tsje , like I tllu, been
old Marse gwine to have hi/ 0 ’
way. Man poses but God h< °£
poses.” c ‘®*
Sister Mary, rolling her eyes Un .
ward until only the whites were 2
ble replied with a long pio *J
Hit sho is de Si. Nancy,
God do move in a mischeevou*
his wonders to perform.” \ fter *
while the clouds passed away Z
sun came out and we had our'pi cn j c
despite the sombre foreboding, M
direfully pictured by these pessimu.
tic *old prognosticators.
One afternoon my husband came
in from town and reported that he
was on a trade to purchase a bank
rupt stock of merchandise and if he
did we would move from the farm
to Monroe. He had met that day
for the first time, Mr. Whitney, a
prominent and wealthy capitalist
from Augusta, to whom this bank
rupt firm owed large sums of money
and although it was the first time
that he had ever met my husband,
Mr. Whitney proposed that they go
in together and buy the stock of
merchandise and that my husband
take charge of the business. At first
my husband demurred. “Are you
not risking a great deal,” he asked,
“trusting your business to an entire
stranger of whose business qualifica
tions and honesty you are entirely
ignorant?” Mr. Whitney’s reply was
characteristic and a wonderful tri
bute to the fine reputation made by
this unpretentious young farmer, for
he said, “Young man, if I am willing
to risk it, and I certainly am, I don’t
think you should object.” Verily, “a
good name is rather to be chosen
than great riches.”
When my husband finally decided
to accept this proposition and move
/to town, he had to combat the objec
tion of his father, brothers, and also
of myself, for I had not only over
come any antipathy to living in the
country, but had grown to be thor
oughly in love with it. There were
my turkeys, guineas, chickens, my
flower and vegetable gardens, my
good neighbors, old Bethel Church,
and besides all this I felt that it
would be financial disaster to move
into town where we would have to
pay house rent and buy firewood.
Despite the many objections and pro
tests of relatives and friends, my
husband’s mind was made up and
j when he finally decided a thing, his
decision was like the laws of the
Medes and Persians, unchangeable
and unalterable, and so in the
seventh year of our life on the farm
we struck camp and moved into
town.
There, in the same year, our third
and last child, a lovely blue-eyed
baby girl, was born. There, too,
bringing into play the same sagaci
ous business methods of
industry, fair play, and honesty and
strict attention to detail, his success
was assued and wonderful.
Following his death in 1930, *
friend said of him: “Monroe was s
struggling, drowsy village fifty y earJ
ago when W. H. Nunnally brought to
it the genius of his indomitable spirit
and joined with other sturdy pioneer*
of the development that has since
marked its stride. During all that
period, never was there any move
ment for progress, to which he did
not liberally contribute, never any
worthy cause that did not have hi*
active aid. That Monroe is recog
nized as one of Georgia’s best towns
is due to the example of W. H.
nally and others whose careers ilk*
trated an exalted conception of ciO>
zenship. The strength of the com
munity life is pregnant with the
precept, its charm a gracious sym
of their service to mankind.
Always when living and m
on the farm my husband would
sent, either in the newspaper
elsewhere a declaration oi evcn ,
sinuation that the “poor farm*
needed or craved help or sj nl P a
“Why should they always harp
the hapless condition °f jh*- \ asJ
farmer’?” he would ask. -‘ a ,
we are the freest and most m 1! .
ent body in the world and e ( er
ly do not crave sympathy ■’ 0
body.” I often wonder if c ° n :
would not be better, especia >
plied to farming, if more o ■
dependent and optimistic
characterized the farmer o . e
It has been said that y c a n
a man out of the country, 0 f a
cannot take the country nno t
man and I may add tha. f ro m
,ak. the love for the
a woman either. r° r > „ B nd
were successful and very
(Continued on