Granny's Pantry #12: The Cole Women

Granny's Pantry # 12

“What most people don’t understand about the Southern family is how deeply our roots are planted in the subsoil of the past. Nourished by ritual and fortified by necessity, out strength lies in the blood of all the generations who have gone before us…Like the faded daguerreotypes that hang from the walls of weather-beaten home places across the South, they are our heritage.”[1]

 

Freda Mae Morgan Cole  (Granny)

 The women in my family are Southern to the bone. They know about life outside of the

South. They read a lot, and they have traveled. But the South is where we are and who we are. I come from a long line of what is known as “Cole Women.” The ones I know who came before me are my grandmother, Freda Mae Morgan Cole (Granny) and her two daughters: Ruth Elizabeth Cole (Aunt Ruthie) and Martha Virginia Cole Johnson (my mother). Most of the other Cole Women earlier than that were before my time (except for Aunt Mayme, and that’s another story). 

Our branch of the Cole family has lived in Davidson County, North Carolina, since it was given a land grant in the 1700’s. My grandmother died in the Cole home place; my aunt, lost in dementia, struggles daily to get back to where she was born…and where she sleeps every night; and my mother now lives a mile down the road.

The Cole Women are a strange lot. A casual observer might see the quiet reserve and polite demeanor that marks so many women of the South. A closer inspection reveals qualities not unlike those of a diamond—beauty, hardness, and many-faceted cutting edges. One thing must be understood about the Cole Women. Author Lee Smith described them well when she wrote, "The biggest myth about Southern women is that we are frail types... fainting on our sofas. Nobody where I grew up ever acted like that. We were about as fragile as coal trucks."[2]

Ruth Elizabeth Cole (Aunt Ruthie) & Martha Virginia Cole Johnson  (Bid)

           She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.
                                                     (Proverbs 31:25)

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[1] Donna Ball, “Fingerprints,” in Donna Ball, Sandra Chastain, Debra Dixon, Virginia Ellis, Nancy Knight, and Deborah Smith, Sweet Tea & Jesus Shoes,  (New York, Berkley Books 2000), 42.

[2] Lee Smith, quoted on Southern Women Webring,,< http://www.angelfire.com/fl4/southernwomen/>, 2 April 2003, Intro page.

Granny's Pantry # 11: Christmases at High Rock

Granny's Pantry # 11

Certain holidays were especially memorable at High Rock—hunting Easter eggs with the Aunts, the Thanksgiving table groaning under the weight of its offerings, and Christmas—most especially Christmas. Of all, it was my favorite ... my memories of those times color Christmas in my home now.  

The family gathered for the dinner meal, my parents and siblings, Aunt Ruthie, Uncle Brooks and his family, sometimes Great Aunt Mayme, Great Uncle Mose, and later more family as we grew and multiplied. I remember a dark green table cloth and salt cellars instead of shakers. Having dinner first was hard, but made “the wait to open presents” more exciting. Granny’s cooking is legend and Christmas dinner was a shining example. Meats and vegetables in the multiples, compotes of ambrosia, and desserts to make a baker cry…coconut cake, pecan pie, persimmon pudding…how anyone could work through that and come back for leftovers a few hours later is a mystery.    

The fireplace mantle in the dining room held delicate white plastic deer—now vintage—and six like them sit on my mantle as I write this. A red paper beehive fold out Christmas bell hung in the front hall from the chandelier. It’s now fragile and faded, and resting quietly in the chest upstairs…I may hang it in my house this year.

Granny’s Christmas trees were cedars…native to the area and difficult to decorate. I didn’t know that then. I just remember her feathered birds that always managed to hang upside down. I started collecting feathered birds as soon as I got married.

Granny presided over the living room from her wing back chair to the left of the fire place.  The presents covered almost half of the floor. Opening gifts was a wild free for all. If my sister opened hers from Aunt Lorene first, I knew without opening mine what I was getting. Aunt Mayme sometimes gave strange gifts we thought were strange. In reality I would recognize them today as vintage keepers.  She, the proverbial “old maid school teacher,” handed out envelopes of money to all “mothers of sons” –much to the offense of certain members of the gathering.    

Granny made our stockings from red corduroy or velveteen, decorated and monogrammed in her funny, chicken-scratch embroidery. They are an intimate part of Christmas to me, and I’ll use two of them this Christmas. At High Rock, our stockings held pecans and Brazil nuts, oranges, toothpaste and soap.  

When the last package was opened and the discarded paper and ribbon stuffed into bags bound for disposal, Granny would always say, “Just leave it; I’ll go through it.” I think she was making sure no one threw away something valuable by mistake.

Christmas at High Rock gradually changed after Granny left us. Uncle Brooks, Aunt Lorene, Aunt Mayme, Cousin Mose have all gone now, as has my sister, Janie. Aunt Ruthie is with us but she struggles to find the home she lives in every day. We usually take food and small gifts to have a quiet celebration with Ruthie and Mother, Granny’s daughters. We’re finding new ways, too, to bring Christmas back to High Rock. This year, we plan to gather across the Yadkin at Granny’s home place we call The Cow Palace. My brother and a friend will decorate the old house…his children will come, my sister’s family, my husband, children and grandchildren, Mother, Aunt Ruthie, and whatever other family and friends can be persuaded. We will eat, visit, pass out small gifts for the children and renew Christmas tradition in the new High Rock fashion.                   

 “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:”

Ecclesiastes 3:1

 "...when the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son..." Galatians 4:4

Granny's Pantry # 10: A New Memory--The Country Christmas Train

Granny's Pantry #10                          

My newest, most favorite family Christmas tradition---High Rock style—is a visit to the Denton Farm Park’s Country Christmas Train on Handy Road near mini-politan Denton, North Carolina. This place is maybe 5 or 6 miles from Granny’s front door. Don’t think about the glitz and glamour of Times Square, forget the fast-paced and highly polished holiday entertainment of Myrtle Beach (love that, too) or Branson. Think more about going back 50 years—maybe more--and wandering through a rural farm park that is sometimes home to the Southeast Old Threshers Reunion and other times the annual Bluegrass festivals--but at Christmas is transformed into a “down home, homemade, over-the-river-and-through-the-woods unexpectedly wondrous wonderland.”  (I’ve been 4 times in the past two years--those are my credentials for inviting you—and it’s made Our State magazine at least twice!).         

The Farm Park elves have fashioned lighted candy canes to mark the trail from the parking lot to the Christmas village. I’m hoping that for Christmas, they’ll come here and make some for me.     

The main attraction is the Country Christmas Train itself. A vintage engine from the High Point, Thomasville and Denton railroad (HPT&D) is outlined in lights and pulls a multiple car train around the perimeter of the park in a ride the passes beautiful displays of Christmas lights and scenarios that make it hard to ignore the tears slipping down your face. Live shepherds and wise men go about their yuletide duties, as do Santa’s elves and his workshop in the woods. A soldier kneels to remember the season and his lost comrades. The train pauses for a brief but stirring movie of the Nativity viewed from its windows (and how many times have your watched a movie outside from the inside of a train)?

When the train pulls back into small log station, you’ll see that it has been occupied by Santa and his helper who, for a modest fee, will take “with Santa” pictures of your children/grandchildren and email them efficiently to your home. (They are fast and good at what they do.)     

A short walk down the hill takes you to a little bakery serving up tasty gingerbread men, jack pies like Granny used to make and old fashioned candy.     

A campfire burns outside of the old Jackson Hill general store, moved to the park from a few miles away. Inside, you can spend forever just looking at the displays of the way shopping in rural America used to be. (You can also buy small bags of marshmallows for roasting at the fire just outside. Sticks are provided—what a great idea!)

                

Up the hill a little way is the beautiful, old Jackson Hill church. This alone is worth the trip. The church is moving in its history and simplicity. The short program of story and song inside of the church by the Stuart-Hill family is the best. No one does “Beautiful Star” better than Eddie Hill, his daughter, Stacey, and son-in-law, Doug.           

A free trolley ride takes you down to the old plantation house, moved with most of its out buildings from its home on Cabin Creek about 5 miles away.   
Its vintage decorations and simple charm made me want to stay…live…have Christmas every day there.   

inside Reid Plantation

the old kitchen

blacksmith's shop

    

prophet's chamber

off the back porch

There’s more to discover for yourself…animals, incredible flavored cotton candy (great party idea)…a mill that grinds its own cornmeal…and more. By now, you will be tired…but before you go, visit the craft building. This place has crafts…yes… but more importantly…it has homemade, church-lady-delicious food. It’s s delectable and relaxing way to end the evening—or begin it, whatever suits.

Go early. Take your time. Savor the memories.

"And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at His birth." Luke 1:14

 If you want to know the details, see:

http://www.countrychristmastrain.com/Home_Page.html
http://www.news-record.com/go_triad/article_5a7eb340-5d28-11e3-b40e-0019bb30f31a.html

https://www.ourstate.com/denton/

Granny's Pantry #9--Outside at High Rock

For all of my life--a considerable length of time--this majestic oak has stood in the middle of the elliptical drive beside of Granny's house at High Rock.

I'm not sure what type of oak it is, but I suspect White Oak. The life span of this oak can be 200-300 years. So this tree may have been mature already when the High Rock house was built in the late 1800's.   

It likely watched the walls of the house go up and oversaw the coming and goings and life changes at High Rock from Granddaddy Cole's generation (b. 1895) and into the summer of 2019.

On July 6, my family and I visited the High Rock house about 3:00 in the afternoon. As we pulled up to park next to the old oak, it was clear she was wounded. A split ran down her trunk and she leaned slightly. 
"Be careful, and move your car," one of our party,who felt a strange nudging, warned.

Another of us, less concerned, moved under the old oak to take pictures of the peacocks wandering there. 
After exploring for a while around the place that we held so close in our hearts, we drove away. It was about 4:00 in the afternoon.

Some time between 4:00 and 6:00, the old tree finally gave up its watch over High Rock. It crashed with a mighty thunder that only the peacocks and Thea, the dog, were there to hear. 

Gone, along with it, were the car shed and the wheat house. 
Due to the mercy of God, the old tree held off it's demise until we had left--whether by five minutes or two hours, we may never know. We consider that one of the modern miracles we have been privileged to experience. My family was safe.

Though I walk in the midst of trouble,
you preserve my life

(Psalm 138:7a)