Newspaper Page Text
Quilt heavy
F OR MOST of their
lives, my grandparents
did not have any sort of
central heating or air. They relied
on either a fireplace or a wood-
burning stove in the winter. And
then there was Grandmother’s
kitchen, with its small space heater
and wonderful warmth from the
cook stove.
That was
the heart of
the house, and
that’s where
we mostly
gathered, if
the crowd
was small
enough. (Plus,
there was
usually the
good smells
of some
thing cooking.)
I didn’t often spend the night at
Grandmother and Granddaddy’s
house, but I do recall that “quilt
heavy’’ feeling from the times I
did. In cold weather, beds would
be piled high with many quilts,
those thick layers holding me still
even as they held my body heat
close. The air in the room might
be chilly, but that “quilt heavy’’
warmth was not to be discounted.
As I readied to move into my
other grandfather’s house nearly
10 years ago, we cleaned out a
lot of my Papa and great-uncle’s
things. We found a wealth of quilts
stored in a room they didn’t use.
I believe the last count was close
to 60, some in better shape than
others. They are all the handiwork
of my grandmother, my great
grandmother and my great-great-
grandmother, who spent their
“free time’’ on the farm quilting.
Some of the quilts have been
restored, but many of them sim
ply needed a good airing, even
after all this time. They are quite
beautiful and I like to think
about those ladies picking their
colors and patterns carefully.
And, they are still functional.
It’s hard to believe, but as I
write this on Monday, just a week
after we were snowed in at home,
it is almost hot outside. It was
only a week ago on Sunday that
we watched, somewhat in awe,
as the largest snowflakes we had
ever seen fell and fell and fell
some more, coating everything in
sight with their heavy wetness. It
was almost like watching small
white birds — or very large white
feathers — float down from the
sky, the flakes were so sizable.
Then, of course, the beauty took
a turn and reminded us that nature
really is a powerful thing, no mat
ter how complacent we become.
The trees started snapping, the
power lines falling, the electric
ity flickering once, twice and
for good for the next few days.
Our house is nearly 100 years
old and even with renovations it
still has its drafts. It was cold, even
with a little propane heater my
father had the foresight to offer a
while back. We were cold. As I
looked out into the darkness of our
road, where neighbors are scat
tered about a quarter-mile away, I
knew we were not the only ones.
Sunday night, I pulled out
every quilt I could find, enlist
ing those that normally grace
racks about the house. I piled
the bed high and introduced our
daughter to “quilt heavy.’’ She
is small, so she really couldn’t
move under the weight, but her
body in its feety-pajamas stayed
warm under the many layers.
I doubt many women my age
know how to quilt or are home
long enough from work or child-
related activities to have the time
to ply the craft. Store-bought
quilts, while pretty, just don’t
have that same density, that same
quilt heavy feel and warmth.
The whole experience
made me grateful for the util
ity company workers who went
out into the cold and snow
and continued to slog at the
problems, day and night.
It made me exceedingly thank
ful for electricity and heat and
lights and warmth and running
water. A hot shower, what bliss.
It made me appreciative (some
more) of my parents, who let us
spend a couple of nights at their
house, after their power was
restored, until we were able to get
back home on Thursday afternoon.
It made me grateful for those
family members I never knew,
who did have the ability and
the willingness to create such
functional works of art, those
quilts that lent us their heavy
warmth so many years later.
Jana Adams Mitcham
is features editor of The
Jackson Herald.
jana. a.
mitcham
Inside: Local Native American flute player makes first cut for
‘America’s Got Talent’ — page 4C
March 11,
2009
0 The Jackson Herald
fnends
Jana Adams Mitcham,
Features Editor 706-367-8760
jana@mainstreetnews. com
Section C
Some of the young men from Company 456, Robertstown CCC Camp, 1933-34
By Jana A. Mitcham
IT WAS hard times in the Depression years.
But the New Deal’s Civilian Conservation
Corps (CCC) — sometimes called President
Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s ‘Tree Army’’ —
offered young, unmarried and unemployed men
an opportunity to work and to send home money
each month to help support their families.
In 1933, Hoyt Smith, 21, of Nicholson found
out about the CCC from the mailman one day,
signed up that same afternoon and was on the
train to Fort McPherson the next morning.
His 15-month stint with the CCC had begun.
For the Smiths, a cotton farming family, the
“Depression” began in 1922, after Smith’s father,
George Oscar Smith, died from “kidney poison
ing” Smith suspected came from the poison
used on cotton crops. Smith’s mother, Eugenia
Robertson Smith, was 27 at the time and had
eight children to feed and raise alone.
“We grew cotton to make a living, but we
grew our food, too,” said Smith, a natural story
teller who will mark his 98th birthday in April.
“We grew it, we didn’t buy it. If we’d bought it,
we’d have had to do without it.. .We were the
poorest of the poor.”
The family moved to property on a riverfront
that was owned by the local mail carrier and
worked that land. Smith also caught rabbits and
sold them for 15 cents each to a “bootlegger.”
During the Depression years, the price of
cotton dropped dramatically, from 30 cents a
pound to 3 cents, and “you couldn’t hardly give
the seed away,” Smith remembers.
“Everything was cheap, but nobody had any
money,” he added.
‘THE JOB FOR ME’
In 1933, Smith’s life changed. He recalls that
he was working outside when the mail carrier
pulled up in the back yard and asked, “Hoyt,
why don’t you sign up for the CCC?”
“I’d never heard of it,” Smith said. “Few
people had radio and we got newspapers infre
quently. He told me President Roosevelt was
giving people work. It’d be $5 a month for me
and $25 a month for my mother. I knew that
was the job for me.”
continued on page 2C
Hoyt Smith
Hoyt Smith and his young bride, Meta,
spent a brief honeymoon at Tray
Mountain in June 1941.
The Robertstown/Tray Mountain CCC Camp in 1933
Hoyt Smith (front row, fourth from left) attended a Robertstown CCC Camp reunion in the 1980s
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