My Appalachian Summers

My favorite season has always been summer.  Most people from mountain areas usually say that fall is their favorite season because the trees take on a variety of colors following the first frost.  Everyone seems to want to see this annual transformation take place. For me, fall is the time of dying and death; the end of luscious green growth, and the hibernation of most plant life.  

But summer is the peak of all things green, growing, and alive. Life flows through every blade of grass, every flower, and each garden. It's the time when the earth is most alive no matter which part of our planet you happen to be on. Not only was our small farm alive with vegetation, the animals were birthing and breeding, and our house was bursting with things to do, relatives, neighbors, and activities.  It was these things that made daily life so special for me in the summer.  There was constant change and transition in daily activities.  I was never bored because every farm activity was another adventure; rarely were two days the same.

I often think of our house like Grand Central Station.  People came, went, stayed, worked, talked, napped, broke beans, and shucked corn, while telling stories under the big oak tree in our front yard. It was under this tree that I learned where I came from, who my relatives were, and all the local gossip.  We waved at people who passed in their cars and walked along the road.  Our house was "home" to all of Mama's and Daddy's relatives.

There was always work to be done but it rarely interfered with socializing.  It was in all these daily summer activities that I was groomed in storytelling, not that it was planned for Patsy to learn this skill, but it was just there to be absorbed like the temperature, and the culture around me. 

Recently my husband and I completed our book of memoirs.  This process took us both back in time and place.  We shared so many of the stories we knew from our childhood and our lives. This memoir was a visit back to people, places, events, and stories we felt we had to share with those who would come after us.  Our grandchildren are now quite young or unborn and may never know who we were, or get to hear our voices or stories, but perhaps this book and the stories contained within it will give them a picture of our lives, our values, and their link to us.  Oh, how I have wished I had known my grandparents personally and what their life was like and what their stories were.

Growing Up With Three Older Brothers

None of us get to choose the circumstances surrounding our birth.  None of us get to choose our parents or our siblings.  I was born when my parents were middle aged; Daddy was 50, Mama was 40, and I inherited three older brothers all of whom were in high school, specifically as a senior, a junior and a sophomore. I was the only girl; born fifteen years after the youngest son.  I often think how strange this must have felt to my adolescent brothers as they had to confront a pregnant Mom when sex was never discussed at our house and sex education occurred only in random settings, mostly with peers sharing with others information they individually knew.  Since my brothers were male I assume that they got more education on my topic of sex than I did because I feel certain my Dad would have talked with them.  Mom could not talk about the topic with her sisters so I know she could not have addressed the topic with her sons. She never addressed the topic  with me.   

I consider myself so fortunate to have had these three brothers in my life even though they were exiting our home during my first years of life. In some ways they were more like uncles because of their age, but I never felt them to be that distant because I was told they were my brothers, period. I was told by many relatives that each of these brothers adored me and invested a lot of time in my early years. Throughout my growing up years these brothers flowed in and out of my life as they entered college, went to serve their country, and then took jobs.  All three of them married later in life, after age 30, and each gave something of themselves to me from their own interests. I learned about medical school, factory supervision jobs, golf, football, and sales jobs of pharmaceutical representatives. I learned social skills from being around them when they conversed with friends and bosses. Each of them loved music a great deal.  The type of music differed due to their own exposure to different genres, but I learned music was an important piece of life.  They also taught me to dance and often showed me pictures of themselves with various dates at dances. They were each very fashion conscious and great conversationalists. 

Perhaps this involvement with my life was accidental and totally unplanned.  Perhaps it was just them being themselves without giving thought to what they were giving or sharing with me,  but I can't quite believe it was that simple and un-thought out.  Each of these brothers chose to accept the advice of aunts and uncles who told them to get a college education because it was very important to success in life. When it came to me, I believe all of it was intentional, planned and given to me because they had learned themselves that success in life depended on many factors, all equally important, and things that they had learned to master because they saw them as steps to acceptance and success.  Mama and Daddy had some of these skills but not enough to provide all the examples that we would need to become successful.  Today I marvel at all the amazing advantages they, my parents, and to some degree my sister-in-laws, were able to give me during mt growing up years with what appeared to be so little effort. 

This past week I attended the funeral of Howard, the oldest brother who was the pharmaceutical representative.  L C, the second brother, businessman and industrial-business expert, died several years back. Now only one brother survives; Charlie, the youngest, who became a medical doctor. With each new death I feel I am losing a piece of myself; a piece that is so genuinely precious to me. While I never remember expressing to any of them or any other aunt or uncle, the deep feelings I have for all they did and gave to me as the youngest sibling I feel a sudden need to declare publically what a privileged life I have been given by so many people.  How did I get so lucky in life to be born into a family who seemed to give me all they knew to help me find my path.  How did I get this wealth of siblings, parents, uncles and aunts who stood by me throughout my childhood and adulthood to see that I found my own path to success?  I now know in a very deep way how blessed my life has been to have had my own teaching and cheering squad who gave me all they had to make things easier for me.  Maybe this is what we all are supposed to give to our family members.