coming out of my shell

coming out of my shell

Sunday, September 3, 2017

Grandma Told Stories

The last Grandma story (for now):

Grandma was a fundamentalist Protestant and a Pentecostal charismatic who talked in tongues when the spirit moved her. This was quite different than the European Catholicism of my mother's people, which was the way I was raised. However, loving someone with a different religion was my first clue that mysticism and goodness belong to all religions, and all (or none) are valid paths. She also retained many old Appalachian mores, superstitions, and beliefs.

She often told me ghost stories about events that happened in the family over the years.  One of my favorite stories was the one about "The Three White Horses.”


The Three White Horses
Grandma’s paternal grandmother, Luella,
lived on a farm in Pickett County, Tennessee with her husband, Ewell. She was sitting on her front porch on 1 Jun 1919, when unbeknownst to her, their son Thomas (my great grandfather) died. Luella told Ewell that she saw three white horses running in the fields by their house that day. He just laughed at her and told her she was seeing things. Three months to the day, she went into the cornfield to fill her apron with ripe corn for dinner. There she had a stroke and died on 1 September 1919.   

Grandma also told me she once heard a strong, decisive knock on the front door to her house.  When she opened the door no one was there.  Later she discovered that a relative had died at the exact moment she heard the knock. These stories scared me half to death, and I had trouble sleeping for many nights after hearing that one.  Still, I was fascinated and could not stop asking for more.

My father died in 1995, and Grandma was bereft at losing her son. I came into town for the funeral, and I was dropped off at Grandma's house a couple hours before with the understanding I was to keep Grandma company until my mother came to pick us both up. It never occurred to me that Grandma hadn't been told I would be coming. She answered the door red eyed and with tears streaming down her face. It killed me to see her that way. She said she didn't want company right then, something I had never heard her say before. I felt so bad for intruding. I apologized and hugged her and said I'd walk to my Mom's house (probably only about a 15 minutes walk - no big deal). When Grandma realized I didn't have a car she refused to let me leave. 

Then I had to make it right somehow, you know what I mean? It was super awkward and one of those moments you will always remember. I realized it couldn't be Grandma who made it right, she was a 90 year old woman beside herself with grief. I had to do or say something that would change the tone, but still honor the feelings of that day. The best I could come up with was (in a small voice) "Grandma, could you tell me the story of the three white horses?"

She look at me out of the corner of her eyes for one long moment (as if to say, "Are ya kiddin' me, Colette?). Then her eyes crinkled up and she laughed out loud, a most welcome sound. She patted my knee, and proceeded to tell me the story. She was the grandmother, I was the grandchild, and we both knew how that worked. 


This brooch belonged to Grandma.  Not three WHITE horses, but still...



20 comments:

  1. "Grandma, tell me the story..." always worked for me, but never in such a dire situation. Well cherished, grandmas.

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  2. That was beautiful. You handled an awkward moment exactly right. Don't be too quick to stop the "Grandma stories". I love them.

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    1. I'm so glad, Emma. You are one of my inspirations with all your wonderful family memories.

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  3. Thank you for this, Colette. Your writing brings your grandmother to life for me. She is so full of life! I love her story and your story about her eyes crinkling up at your words years later when you helped her during a time of grief.

    There's a Blind Lemon Jefferson song that came to my mind that connects death with 2 white horses. It's "See That My Grave Is Kept Clean."

    From Wikipedia: "... According to the North Carolina musician Walter Davis, Jefferson played on the streets in Johnson City, Tennessee, during the early 1920s, at which time Davis and the entertainer Clarence Greene learned the art of blues guitar ..."

    When I looked at your photo of your grandmother's brooch, I immediately thought of a similar one that belonged to my mother and now to me. It took me a little while to find it, looking first in an old trunk, then in a drawer of mementos, then in a closet, and finally finding it in one of the two drawers in my art, music and writing table. My mother's brooch has only two horses but, yes, it is very much like your grandmother's brooch! I have had experiences like your grandmother and so did my mother! My experiences involve birds and animals and flowers appearing soon after people close to me have died. My mother appeared as a Black Phoebe three days after her death. I had never consciously seen a Black Phoebe before. It appeared three days after my mother's death, approaching several windows of my parents' modest home on the bluffs of the Pacific Ocean in Mendocino County and singing its song. When I next visited and was walking toward the ocean on a narrow path, a Black Phoebe appeared and sang to me. Otherwise, I have not been aware of Black Phoebes. I love such mysteries!

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    1. I do, too. Thank you for sharing yours with me. I am glad you found your mother's brooch and thought of the Black Phoebe.

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  4. I wish I had had grandparents to tell me stories. I did have two, but they lived eight hours away and we saw them about four or five times before they died. I would have asked them why they gave my dad away.

    I try to tell my grandchildren stories of the past, and I hope they remember and will be able to tell those tales to their grandchildren someday.

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    1. I bet you are a wonderful grandmother. I would like to hear the story about your grandparents giving your father away. Have you written about it on your blog? These are the sorts of things that have an impact for generations.

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  5. I love these stories. You are lucky to have gotten to know her so well and to have heard these stories from her.

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    1. I feel very lucky to have had her in my life for so long.

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  6. What a good story. The way you connected with her is really moving and I am sure it is still helping you along. You never know where the next ghost will appear.

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    1. I learned how to be a grandmother from her. I try to pattern myself after her in many ways with my grandkids. And as for ghosts, well...I saw one in this house I'm living in two years ago. I guess that will be another story. Ha!

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  7. My nana was a storyteller and an excellent one at that. I wish I would have recorded her voice so I could listen to them.
    As for your grandma, I love that she was a Pentecostal but still believed in superstitions and "saw things"! Quite the dichotomy!

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    1. I do have a video of my grandmother that my sisters recorded before she died. I love to watch it and hear her voice. I wish you had one, too, of your nana!

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  8. How wonderful to have such a rich oral history! I think it is becoming a lost art. You are blessed to be a part of it.

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    1. Yes, it is becoming a lost art. I am quite blessed.

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  9. Love this post. So fortunate to have been party to such rich family lore. Excellent of you to keep these stories alive for the next generation. Kudos.

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  10. Hi Colette,

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    Best,
    Anuj

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So, whadayathink?