WELCOME


~ The pieces are all sewn together, stitched with love.........and a quilt tells a story and the story is our past ~

The Arrowood family immigrated from England to Maryland in the 1700's. They went south, eventually settling in the mountains of North Carolina. Later , some went further south, into the Piedmont of North Carolina, in search of work and a better way of life.



I am in search of my family.

I search for those that came before me, and lived their lives as best they could. I am in search of their stories, how they lived, and how they loved.


I shared this love of seeking the past with my Dad, sharing each new finding with him, the thrill in his heart intermingling with mine. I continue this search in his honor, and hope to know these people of ours when I join up with them all in heaven.

~ Steve Lewis Arrowood 1932-2008 ~


Come with me, back to a simpler time and place. A place far removed from the hectic pace of today. To a time when life was hard, but the rewards were great. When your quality of life was determined by your own sweat, your own toil, and your own ingenuity.


Would you like a glass of sweet tea? Let's sit out on the porch where we will catch the sweetly scented breeze of summertime. Maybe Grandma will fry up some of her wonderful chicken... Time slows here.

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"We shape our lives not by what we carry with us, but what we leave behind."

~You live as long as you are remembered.~


"Our most treasured family heirlooms are our sweet family memories. " Author: Unknown


"But those who came before us will teach you. They will teach you from the wisdom of former generations."

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Thursday, May 27, 2010

Aunt Buna Tribute, By Hilda Arrowood Olive


Aunt Buna was six months shy of her 100th birthday, at her passing.

This loving tribute was written for her by Hilda Arrowood.

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She was quite a lady, so kind and thoughtful, too.
Knew just what words were needed to hear, to see us through.
What a reunion they are having in Heaven, those sisters three,
Praising God and waiting for the rest of their family to see.

Those summer vacations I spent at her house, must have been tough,
she didn't need another " young-un" to wait on, Lord knows she had enough.

Being a preacher's wife was a pretty hard job,
especially if your oldest child was anything like Bob.
I know he loved me because he would plead and beg,
for Mama to let me visit with them, so he could break my leg.

I must have enjoyed it because I kept going back
All the love from her family, that I got, took up the slack.
Don't weep, dear cousins, your Mom is walking the Streets of Gold.
I'm head of the clan now, at only eighty years old.

Your leader is kind of feeble now and on a walker,
But God gave me a wagging tongue, and I've been called a talker.


I love you.
Hilda
May 2010
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