Recently I went to visit the cemetery where several of my relatives are buried. I know a lot of people put new flowers on their family members’ graves on a regular basis. I personally have never felt the need to do that. I’d have to say I feel kinda like my mother-in-law does. She’s always says: “Give me my flowers while I’m alive so I can enjoy them.”
First, let me say how very grateful I am to those who take such good care of the Jones Springs Church Cemetery. I have never been there when it was not well maintained and that means a lot to all of us who have loved ones buried there. I grew up going to Jones Springs Methodist Church and when I went by there on the way to the cemetery, I thought about all those wonderful people that I went to church with when I was growing up. We had a great M.Y.F. group there and sometimes we met with the other two churches on that charge – Concord and Norman Methodist Churches and then at other times at Methodist churches all over the whole county. That gave us a lot of opportunities to meet other young people we wouldn’t have otherwise come in contact with. There was always a lot of singing involved in those county-wide events such as “Michael Row Your Boat Ashore” and many others that I used to know all the words to but cannot remember anymore.
When we went through Derby on the way to the cemetery, I looked over towards the Derby Mansion, as we always called it, and memories of times there rolled through my mind like a tidal wave. We lived there for several years next door to the Lambeths. You talk about memories, believe me I have so many from those days that I could fill up a book. Riding go-carts together; playing basketball; riding stick horses; playing football; wrestling; fighting; and then all of the days spent working in tobacco and peaches together and then playing outside until after dark. Fun, Fun, and more Fun!!!
I know it may sound strange to some of you, but visiting the cemetery brought back a flood of memories concerning those relatives whose bodies were placed beneath that sod. Those memories are good memories because I choose to remember the good times and overlook the bad. Sometimes I think our memories of our childhood are clouded, anyway, because those good ole days were seen through the eyes of a child.
The first tombstone that catches my eye is the one for my grandparents: C. Hope and Gladys T. Rankin. They have both been gone from this life for a long time now, but their memories are etched forever in my mind. I can just see Granddaddy getting his old hat off the porch; plopping it down on his head and then heading out the screen door. He always wore his old hat to go cut wood; do something that needed to be done around the farm; or to go jack fishing down at the creek. He had a Sunday hat, too, but he saved it; for wearing to church and going to town. I can’t ever remember a time when he forgot his Sunday hat and left it at church. He would always hang it in the vestibule as he went in and then get it off that hook and put it on as he went out the door. The only time Granddaddy took off his hat when he should have left it on, was one day when he was helping Daddy and my brothers cut some wood. Hundreds of yellow jackets came up out of the ground and got after Granddaddy. He was trying to get away and he took off his hat and starting hitting at them. They stung him all over that bald head of his.
He ended up with so many bee stings on his poor head that we couldn’t even count all of them. After that, he was highly allergic to bee stings and was supposed to be at the doctor’s office within 30 minutes whenever he did get stung. We always reminded him to keep his hat on his head if any bees got after him!!
Grandmother always wore a hat, too. She always had a big-brimmed straw hat for working in the yard and she had several Sunday hats to choose from to wear to town or to church. She always wore her hair pinned up and seemed to favor wearing a pillbox type hat that fit right down over all those bobby pins. I don’t remember her ever going anywhere away from home when she didn’t have one of those hats on her head. I still have two of her hats because they remind me so much of that dear, sweet lady who wore them. I wouldn’t take a million dollars for either one of those hats.
Next, I moved onto the resting places for my parents: Clarence Ray and Ruth G. Rankin. There’s probably not enough paper to write down all my wonderful memories of them. My daddy was the prayer warrior, the best Sunday School teacher I ever had; the family disciplinarian; the man who taught me how to fish; a great musician and singer; a good provider for his family who always made sure we enjoyed life along the way; and the list could go on and on.
My Mom was a homemaker; great biscuit and cornbread maker; mischief maker; a natural untrained nurse for whatever ailed you; a lover of all children and life in general. She was always picking at you, laughing and joking with everyone. I still miss her dearly and those times when I could just call her up and ask her how to cook something, or just to pass the time of day.
My uncle’s grave is there, too: Dwight Bruce Rankin. He only lived for 49 years on this earth, but I have no doubt that I will see him in heaven some sweet day. He left behind a wife and two young children, but he also left an example of how it looks to endure pain and suffering and not whine and complain. When J.A. and I took our daughter to see him a couple of weeks before his death, we left the hospital feeling like we had received a blessing. We went to see him thinking we could encourage him but he encouraged us instead. He simply would not talk about how sick he was but talked about how beautiful our daughter was instead. I remember, too, how Grandmother always seemed to save up a list of things for him to do for her when he came and visited, but he never complained about that either. He just went ahead and did what needed to be done. He must have been a good handyman as well as being a good husband, father, pilot; tennis player; airplane mechanic; and a great uncle to us.
Also in that family plot, lie two of my nephews who both left this world way too soon. Stephen who was born early and only lived for a few minutes. Just to look at him, he was oh-so-small but oh-so-perfect. Jerry was only on this earth for 25 years but he left behind two fine sons to carry on his name. I think about him as a child and the time I took him with me to ride my horse. I didn’t know that little horse would buck until Jerry happened to kick him in just the right place and he started bucking every jump. Needless to say, that incident scared me to death when I thought about what could have happened to him if he had been thrown off. Then there was the time my cocker spaniel snapped at him because he pulled on her ears! Looking back now I can laugh about those funny little incidents and remember all of those good times spent with him and the rest of my family.
There are lots of family friends buried at Jones Springs Church Cemetery whose markers I noticed when I looked around me. They are folks that I went to church with and who had an impact on me as I was growing up. Some of those were McQueens, Hinsons, Robbins, Lomaxs, Greens, Aumans, McBrides, Carrikers, Hogans, Rabbs, Dunns, and the list goes on. I’m not even sure if all of those I just listed were buried at the cemetery after it was started, but they were all a part of my life at the church at Jones Springs.
As I said before, I have so many memories of all of those dear folks and most of them are good. I don’t know if you’ve been to visit any cemeteries lately, but if you do, please take time to reflect on all of those “Memories, pressed between the pages of your mind. Memories, sweetened through the ages just like good wine. Memories, sweet Memories!!!”
Azalea is co-author of “Just Passing Time Together,” and just recently released her new book “Days of Yore” all of which can be purchased on Amazon