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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Saturday, August 7, 2010
Our Arrowood Reunion ~ 2010
More Than Just Her Name ~
I turn my head and gaze out longingly, as the cemeteries pass fast beside of me.
The headstones zip past at an alarming speed, and I try in vain to make them out, and read.
Once I stopped at every one I could find, and never once failed to find family of mine.
Now he has the wheel , and my choice has been taken away,
I feel the need to find them all and go to pay my respects,
I get a lump in my throat, looking down on those old stones,
It is an addiction, just like all the rest, I want to find my story to tell.
These people of mine lie in their graves, some so very close by.
They are of me and I of them. a tiny cell of theirs within I carry.
I may have 'her' dimple or maybe 'her' chin, I make look a bit the same,
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Fiddle Maker Named Garrett~Far In The Mountains
http://www.banjohangout.org/myhangout/blog.asp?id=25618&blogid=5743
They are buried in Pontiac, Illinois.
Photo courtesy of Lloyd E. Smith. Thank you, Lloyd!