My grandparents lived in Walkertown when I was born,
in a little cabin owned by the L & N Railroad, as I've 
been told. My grandpa worked cleaning the coal camp 
for the railroad, and that's where my dad learned to play
the banjo. The colored folks would sing and play the blues
and sing old negro spirituals as they worked. 
My dad loved every minute of it. 
 
 



As I remember, there was a huge rock on the side of
the mountain and you knew you were almost there when
you got to the rock. A big snowball tree , as we called it 
grew in front of the house. There was a barnyard where 
grandpa kept the the hogs, and a "meat" house where they
hung the meat to "cure" after the hog was slaughtered. I 
can see it yet, slabs of pork preserved with salt, hanging 
from big hooks.


 
They had a cow and there was always fresh milk.
I was fascinated to watch as they strained the milk from
 bucket to bucket, straining out all the impurities, and 
then separating the cream from the milk to use to
churn butter.
 


The water came from a big well in the back of the house. 
A bucket was lowered down into the well by a rope and then
pulled up by the rope. We had a large "dipper" that was used 
to drink from. There was nothing like a cold drink of water 
from the well on a hot day. The bucket was then carried inside
the house and every one drank from the same dipper. That 
would be unheard of in todays world.


 
Then there was the big garden with all kinds of vegetables
that were either canned or stored in the root celler. This was
a place under the floor where it was cool and all the root 
vegetables were stored there. The root vegetables were those
that grew under the ground. There was no lack of 
homemade jam and jelly.


 
In the spring my grandma would order baby chicks from 
the catalogue. She couldn't wait for them to come. They 
not only had chickens to eat but plenty of fresh country eggs.


 
On wash day the clothes would be boiled over a fire in a 
cast iron kettle outdoors. They werre stirred with a stick to
get them clean. The  laundry soap was homemade "lye"
soap. The clothes line was a rope strung between trees and
the "wearing " clothes were hung there to dry. The rags and
old work clothes were hung either on the fence or laid in 
the yard. The ironing was doone with a heavy flat iron that 
was heated over the kitchen stove.



Saturday evening we "laid" the table for morning. 
The plates, cups and saucers and milk glasses were turned 
upside down on the table and covered with a cloth to keep
 them dust free till the  next meal. No more work than 
necessary was done on Sunday so the meals for the whole
day were prepared at one time. There was no such thing as
electricity there in those days . In the kitchen 
stood a long wooden table and and a cast iron stove with a 
warmer on top to keep the food warm.


 
My dad would go outdoors and grab a chicken, hold it, 
and wring it's neck and then bring it inside where a kettle of 
boiling water was waiting. The chicken was plopped in the
water and we "plucked" all the feathers off and cleaned it 
good. What we had to eat depended on what kind of chicken
we had. If it was a fryer, we had fried chicken, fried potatoes,
homemade biscuits and gravy and always a big dessert. 
Sometimes it was chicken and dumplin's, with green beans 
and potatoes and such. The table was always spread 
fit for a king.


 
Our home was always filled with music wherever we lived and 
grandpa's was no exception to the ruld. At the end of one
room, stood an old pipe organ. Where it came from or how 
they got it up the mountainside, I do not know. My cousins had
no idea either. It was just always there. What I do know is that 
after dinner when we all gathered round that old organ and my
dad began to play, you could hear us all singing all over the 
mountainside and people would  come out of their homes to
stand and listen.


 
My grandpa, "Pee Pee" as we called him, was a preacher.
He never learned to read or write. However, when he felt the 
call of God on his life too preach the Gospel, God performed 
a miracle on him and he was  able  with no formal teaching 
or training to read the Bible. He could never read cursive or 
handwriting but he could read print. Because of the hard work
and time consuming duties he was never able to get a formal 
education. To my knowledge he never learned to write.
But oh! what times we had in that llittle cabin.


 
As the sun began to set we would start getting ready for 
bed, because there was no electricity, the only light came
from coal oil lanterns. We went to bed early to conserve 
coal oil. We slept on homemade feather beds. When all us
children were bedded down, "MeeMee" , "Pee Pee" and 
Daddy would take turns reading the Bible, then we children
said our prayers and the lantern was blown out.


 
Even though they had to get up before dawn, I guess my
fondest memories were of my grandparents prayers. We
would fall asleep as they prayed and if for some reason 
we woke before morning they would still be praying. We
just felt safe and sheltered there, knowing 
God was with us.


 
I asked "MeeMee" once why she prayed so much. Her answer
was this. "I've got all you young'ins to get saved before the 
Lord comes back". That was good 
enough for me.


 
How I long  just one more time to cross that old swinging
bridge that I used to fear so much and climb that mountain
and find it all again. 


 
Time and progress has made many changes and I'm told 
the old homepleace no longer stands, but it will forever 
stand in my heart as a monument.


 
There were no fancy trimmings, no luxuries of life, just 
hard work and dirt poor, yet richer than any king or 
kingdom. Rich in love, peace, contentment, happiness 
and joy beyond measure. No; money could never buy my 
hidden treasures. They are forever sealed in my heart, 
passed on to my sons and hopefully passed on to some 
way weary traveler along life's way. Lay not up for 
yourseslves treasures on earth, but lay up 
treasures in Heaven. 



These are my memories of our "little mansion on the 
mountain", while I am here awaiting that Heavenly 
Mansion where my loved ones 
wait for me.
 


In memory of Edmond and Eliza Sparks Ellington
 by Rita Day




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