Letters From the Past - The Beginning

Dear Friends,

It was a dark and stormy night outside of Lurton, Arkansas in 1946. Heavens, of course it was a dark and stormy night – what story worth its salt doesn’t begin on a dark and stormy night! You’ve never heard of Lurton, Arkansas? Why that little town in Newton County up in the Ozark Mountains was the sweetest little community ever there was. Mountain folk might seem stand-offish to others but to those who lived there they were the salt of the earth. My grandparents, Grandma and Grandpa L. lived and tried to farm there though, truth be told, farming in the mountains is an impossibility if you’re planning to make any money from it. You might make a living if you aren’t expecting much. In those days you could raise a family there and never leave if you were a mind to. And my grandpa was a mind to. I'm including this little picture of the General Store in Lurton. Most of my old pictures are lost but I thought you'd enjoy this one.

When my Daddy returned from World War II to Mama and my brother, Fred, it was there he came. The first thing Daddy did when he got home, well I’d blush if I told you that, but suffice to say that I was the result. And so we’re back to the beginning of this story. It was a dark and stormy night on October 1st, cold and wet and the doctor couldn’t have gotten there if they had sent for him, which they didn’t. Why would you send for a doctor when Grandma L. had delivered six of her own children at home and helped with a multitude of other births, including that of my brother? And so it was that I came into the world in a little frame house back in a hollow in the Ozark Mountains. My brother, Fred, and my cousin, Carol, couldn’t say my name so they shortened it to Marnie, and Marnie it was to most everyone else when I was growing up.

Just a little about my Grandma L. My Grandma was a tall, buxom woman; and I do mean buxom. I can remember as a small child standing in awe watching her iron, yes I said iron, her brassieres. And that was the word she used – she never shortened it to bras. My goodness with bras that large it wouldn’t seem fitting to shorten their rightful name anyway! They were made from heavy cotton that was thick and that wrinkled something awful when washed. Ironing was a necessity. I guess Grandma L. might have worn pants some time but I never saw it if she did. I’ll have to ask my cousin Carol about that. She always wore what we called shirtwaist dresses that she made herself, including the belts that were covered with the same fabric as the dress. They were always flowered fabrics and the leftover pieces went into the next quilt she made. She was a strong willed woman and definitely ahead of her time. When she got fed up with Grandpa’s shenanigans (he drank something awful) she up and moved to California to work in the fruit packing plants and left him in Arkansas. She took her sons with her and California was where they stayed. She and Grandpa never reconciled but neither did they divorce because they didn’t believe in divorce. Both wore their wedding rings till they died. At least that’s the way I remember it. In his later years Grandpa was in a nursing home in the town where my husband and I were living and when I told him Grandma wasn’t doing too well health wise he offered to go take care of her. It had been forty years since they’d seen or spoken to each other. If he’d shown up there that would have killed her for sure!

When I was a grammar school child we had a telephone but long distance calls were way too expensive to make unless it was an emergency. So Mama and Grandma wrote letters. Mama would write one and then Grandma would answer. Mama would reply to that one, and so it went. Every week or so there would be a letter from Grandma in the mail. I can remember her handwriting to this day. Oh, I do miss letters in this age of e-mail. That’s why I decided to write you this one….and a few others that will follow. I want to tell you my story but I want you to get it a little at a time just as we did in the letters of my grandmother. In my next letter I’ll tell you about our trips to California when we were small children and about Grandma’s trips to Arkansas. But for now I best get back to my washing and sweeping.
Love to the family and all,

Marlene