This picture was taken just after Christmas, me on the left as you face it, and my cousin Shelia Babe in the early 70's with my Mom's new Polaroid Camera. You know, the kind you would take the picture, the camera then spat it out, and one would flip it back and forth until magically, a picture would appear? Yeah, we were fascinated by that.... back then. I'm thinking of this now because I am surrounded by excess. Excess in the way that our family has come so far, I now witness the kids in our family SWAMPED, almost sadly, in a way, with all they may wish for...and more. Don't get me wrong, I am THANKFUL for our collective blessings, and for my family. They are good people and my gosh, we have been blessed. But, at the time this picture was taken, my family lived in a four room house, one room of which, my Dad built onto the front, the one pictured here, the living room. We had no running water. We, my Brother Randy and me, would pack our drinking water from a hand dug spring, (my Dad, indeed dug that very Spring) several 100 ft from the house. We carried the water in the plastic milk jugs we'd save after they were emptied of the intended purpose. We carried our water to wash clothes from a creek to fill the wringer washer my Mom would use to clean our clothes, and then she would hang them out to dry on a line, Winter...and Summer. Life, was not easy, but anything worthwhile, never is.... I reckon. 

Christmas was a wonderful time of year for us though, not because we had so much, but because we appreciated what we had. I remember this very Christmas here, because you see, there is the 'Barbie Beauty Center, proudly displayed behind my Cousin and me that I picked out of a sale flyer of the local toy department. Dad, and Mom would hand the flyers to me and Randy, Robert, and then David was a baby, so..they asked us to circle what we'd like to have, and we would get ONE of those very special wishes. I can see that Bracelet on my wrist, it had big purple stones, and there was a matching necklace. I wore that proudly, felt like...Cleopatra! But, I also see those BIG RED WASHINGTON STATE APPLES that cousin and I have there. Those were Christmas treats! My Dad would go all out on Christmas! He would say "Food is a bargain at any price, just try and live without it". So, at Christmastime, on a Friday evening, Dad and Mom would go shopping together. Then, in they would come, Dad carrying in snow on his shoes and loaded both arms carrying a FULL box of these Apples, they were a sight! You'd pull off the top of the box and be almost... overwhelmed with the scent of the sweet Apples, the first layer carefully covered each in fine tissue paper that proudly heralded *Washington State*! Then, more trips into the snow to the car, yielded not a few, not bags, but a crate each of Tangerines and Oranges! With four rooms, there wasn't much space so the crates sat near the Refrigerator, which wasn't far from our Warm Morning coal and wood stove. The heat from that would warm the fruit so that all during our Christmas break from school, the house smelled like....well, fruit!

 The Christmas pine would come to us in the way of a Cedar tree my Dad would go out himself and cut. Mom would then decorate with those big hot Christmas lights, and the heat from those lights, next to the tree would permeate the house with the scent of Cedar. So, four rooms, four kids, and a Coal Miner Dad and a hardworking Mother (who had the most beautiful hands on a woman I have ever seen), no running water, toilet outdoors, 100+ Chickens, a Dog, and 2 large Hogs, deep Southwest Virginia snows, and where we all pulled our weight EQUALS Christmas memories of a little girl who felt herself to be an ancient Queen, who never failed to remember that her family was THE most important thing we can have in our lives. It's not what we have, it's how we appreciate what we have that matters.

My Father~

The most difficult thing I have ever had to do was to give up my Father, when he passed, almost two years ago. He had been ill from Black Lung Disease and Heart Disease for several years. I had witnessed that no matter what physical episode would take him to the Hospital, he'd always come home, had mended well, and continued to live. So, even though a Nurse, I was surprised when on his last Hospitalization, the Doctor  would say that there was nothing they could do for him, and then suggested Hospice. A difficult diagnosis, as I felt my Dad still had so much living to do! Not fair, because much of his life had been a struggle.


When he was just around 5 years, his Mother was diagnosed with Tuberculosis. His Father, an alcoholic, was not ready to rear the family alone. When his Mother was in the Hospital and on my father's visit to see her, she had told him "Open up that drawer." He did what she'd asked and found what seemed to him a lot of money, but he admitted that as a child, what looked like a lot of money, was actually scattered  loose change. She told him to take some money for candy. That was the last memory he had of her. He was relocated to an area of Kentucky, to live temporarily with an Aunt until his Father could figure what to do with all the children. My Father met my Mother during this time, she from a good hard working family that would provide sandwiches to my Dad and his Sisters, as they walked past their home from school. My Dad would go down the road to where my Mother lived, and 'mess up her playhouse.' She would throw rocks and chase him away. He would laugh and say "One day you will marry me." She would declare "Never!" He was moved again, to another location in Kentucky, after his Father met and married again. My Father felt he had to quit school in the 6th grade as he said that he would have to beg paper and pencil from other students most days. The teacher would send him from desk to desk to ask each student "May I have a piece of paper?" He often said how embarrassing this was to him, and to watch his Sisters have to do without "things that girls need."  There were times he was hungry, stealing apples and food from neighboring gardens, he would later admit.


Back in the day, coal trucks would travel the dirt roads to the head of 'hollers' to the mines, and coal would spill from the sides of these trucks. My Dad would go out and collect the coal in a feed sack, cart it home on his back, to keep his Step-mother and siblings warm. This earned him the name "Coal drag" from the men who would see him pass by the local store. He hated that name.

When about the age of sixteen, his Father got him a job in the Coal Mines of Kentucky. My Father would work extra hard to load coal with a number 10 coal shovel, lying on his side in  inches of coal, when he found out that he'd be paid by the number of cars he'd fill in a day. The light he had was carbide, he'd eat his lunch lying on his side, in the mines. His Father for several weeks, would make it outside the mines, pick up his own pay and my Father's pay as well. He would spend the money on drinking binges, and women. It didn't take long for my Dad to find his backbone and tell the mine owner, to not give his pay to his father. My Dad soon learned to take his pay and spend it in groceries, and supplies his Step-Mother, step-brother and sisters needed. His Father would become verbally abusive if he thought my Dad had any money. My Dad, for the better part of two years became the supporter of the Family. 




One Saturday, while in town, my Dad ran across my Mother's brother. He struck up a conversation, played some pool and told my Uncle that to tell 'Della, I'll be over to see her next weekend." Mom was not excited to hear the news as she could only imagine the  dirty, mean boy of her childhood. Though, she admitted, she was 'curious.' Sure enough, some weeks later he visited and she was smitten, and they were married within the year.

Dad and Mom worked hard to raise five children. Dad a life long Coal Miner, and Mom a Housewife. They worked long into the night to can berries for Jam and Jellies. We'd pick these berries on weekend afternoons in the Mountains where I was raised. Garden work was a normal part of our  chores, as was collecting water from Dad's hand dug Spring, and sometimes feeding the Hogs and Chickens before school. Those were good times though, as I learned  so much about surviving on the minimum and being happy just where you find yourself. Simple, clean living. 


Dad taught himself to read and understand the Bible. He became a Minister. He lived his life a kind Man in spite of the harsh way in which he was raised. He became a great Father out of instinct. 

Dad saved me from a snake bite, as I stumbled in somewhere around the age of 4 telling he and Mom that 'a snake bit me here' pointing to my left thigh. Dad crisscrossed the area with his pocket knife, and sucked the poison out before rushing me to the Doctor. He would shake the rain from the antenna and line, when the TV picture was all snowy with static during my favorite shows. We only received one channel, NBC,  but it was all I needed....then. I was a dirty little barefooted girl, sitting on the floor on Sunday evenings, watching 'Wonderful World of Disney' while eating buttered garden fresh, hickory king corn.  I watched the Porter Wagoner Show on Saturday evening, and Hee Haw on Saturday night!  That was the life! 








Dad was a good friend. Back in the 'hollers' people actually dig graves for their loved ones who pass. Poor people, who own property, who want their loved ones near and not in some far away grave yard. The funeral home would the deliver the body once the grave had been approved. I have seen my Dad out long after dark, and after a hard days work in the mines, helping dig a grave for a neighbor. I have seen him walk home in the deepest part of winter, wet from mining water and his clothes frozen so his pants would stand on their own. I never heard him say "I don't want to work tomorrow." He may have, but I never heard those words. He would bring Dynamite, caps and wire, home from the mines, in his dinner bucket, to blow out abandoned coal banks to collect coal for winter. He and my Brother's would spend an occasional Saturday afternoon doing just this! We had no money to spend to have coal delivered. Dad had spent his life working most all the mines in those mountains, he knew where they were. No one could make this up. This was living. This was surviving.

Stories, memories, words, living. All stored in my mind. I have lived a lifetime. Gifted a wonderful Father, a wonderful family. I was with him when he passed. My Sister-in-law and I sat at his bedside. The rest of the Family was scattered about the house. She and I were verbally reliving his life. Talking to each other about his experiences, his life. Too many to recount here. He was asleep, I thought. He turned his head towards me, as I sat in a chair at the head of the bed. A single tear was in the inner corner of his left eye. I wiped it away and asked "Hey Dad, you awake? What's this tear about?"  He let out a long breath, and was gone.

I wish he could have traveled to those places he dreamed of like North and South Dakota, Montana and Arizona.  He loved Westerns, Louis L'Amour was a favorite. 




How do we give credit to those who live, but not long enough? But, I am his Daughter, I doubt I would have ever been ready to let him go.   I could go on and on. The memories, the smiles flood like rushing water in my mind. I am thankful for those memories, I am thankful to have had the gift that was my Father.