~Memories~While we are talking about "country memories," I wanted to share one. It isn't all that old, but certainly a real example of how things are just done differently (and sometimes better) in "them thar hills."
Three weeks after we got married in 1991, Clay's granddaddy, George A. Collins passed away at the age of 91. Now, I grew up in Yankee influenced Florida and was a "high church" Episcopalian. The only funerals I'd ever been to lasted about 5 minutes total and only included "coming in" and "going out" music. I was ill prepared for the several day long extravaganza I was about to experience!
There were 2 nights sitting at the funeral home where over 1,000 people stopped by to pay their respects! George A. was a well known fellow and every he had ever crossed paths with came in to speak to the family. The "family" consists of dozens of brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles and more cousins than you can shake a stick at. For an only child like me who comes from a small family, this was a tad overwhelming! Each time someone new came in, it was obligatory to begin the copious crying again.
The funeral itself was like nothing I'd ever seen. It lasted a long time--felt like hours. We sang a number of hymns, but there was also a trio with a guitars that sang some very sad, very slow, very old country funeral songs. The weeping was loud and profuse--hankies fluttering everywhere. I think there was no less than 5 eulogies given. Of course, this was all done before the open casket.
At one point in the service, the entire family, including me, the new daughter in law, was instructed to rise and file past the casket. I realized, after while, that EVERYBODY was leaning in and kissing grandpa goodbye. Now, I am sure he was a lovely man when he was alive, but I never met him then. I'm not really in the habit of kissing dead people, but definitely not in the habit of kissing dead people I didn't know. On the other hand, as the new daughter in law of the oldest grandson, eyes were surely watching me to see what I would do. I could not violate long standing tradition without bringing shame on the family.
As we were moving forward, I was praying "Please Lord, figure out something quick!" Just as the moment was almost upon me, however, my dear mother in law was overcome with grief and almost fell as she leaned down to kiss the old man goodbye. I was able to reach out and catch her and hold her up while she paid her respects. OF COURSE, I didn't dare let go of her, lest she topple, and I saw lots of heads nodding at my doing my appropriate duty to my mother in law. All I could think about was the fact that God had made a way for me not to have to deliver that kiss!
After the actual funeral, we loaded up for the procession to the family farm cemetery in Gunton Park. It was about a 25 mile drive with over a hundred cars following the hearse, traveling about 25 miles per hour. We took little back country roads to the farm so that the reverent pace wouldn't impede traffic.
What most struck me was the reaction of those along the road as the procession passed. People came out in their yards or on their porches and stood silently, heads bowed as we went by. Cars and trucks pulled over to the side. Men on tractors in their fields got down and took off their hats. For all those miles, everyone paid their respects, not even knowing who was passing by.
We "city folks" have never seen such a loving, precious sight! It was so special to see the reverence for life and the respect for others expressed in those silent, bowed heads. What a powerful witness to the sense of family and community that thrives in the mountains and, sadly, doesn't exist many other places.
Once at the grave side, the mourning reached a crescendo. Grandpa was finally lowered into the ground and flowers and dirt were thrown in after him. He was gone and the event was finished. Everyone headed up to the family home to socialize.
And the instant change in mood was remarkable! Out of nowhere, food appear in great abundance, all the crying stopped, laughter broke out, and the noise level rose from the hushed whispers of the funeral home to the raucous party of the "clan." Children ran everywhere, everyone held a plate and a glass of tea, and wonderful stories abounded of George A. and his wife and the children and their lives together on the farm. It was a moment rich in tradition and love and history.
This was my first real introduction into the future I would make with this Virginia family and with this part of the world. Even though I grew up down here, I now feel as much or MORE at home every time we get back to the mountains and run those beautiful backroads! I am counting on building a little house one day up on Clay's part of the farm. It's just a few acres, but it's also within sight of the old homestead and the family plot. I want to live right next door to so much history and heritage.
This turned out to be sort of long...sorry...but this was such a nice memory to be able to share!
Thanks,
Kat
(Kathy Fulcher)