Grandpa's Lifetime ~ The Tenth Little Pig

Sitting at my grandparent's side has always been on of my most treasured childhood memories.
Your parents are just so busy with "getting on with living" and they just don't have the time to reminisce like your grandparent's do. So children naturally migrate to the grandparents with more time for the little ones.

The stories they told were of another time and place, one much different from the one that I was growing up in and in my mind's eye, I was transported right there. With each story and scene described, I was there, right beside them both.

My grandparents were a wealth of stories.

My Aunt relayed one such story that I had not heard before. 
In the 1930's , when the Great Depression had it's grip on the heart of America, times were hard.

My grandfather raised chickens, cows and an occasional pig, in order to feed his family and make ends meet.

Gastonia was not all that 'country' at that time,  but country enough that it was allowed within the city limits to raise up chickens.

He lived not three miles from downtown Gastonia.

Now, sitting at my dear Aunt's side, is as close as I can get to those wonderful old stories once told by Grandpa.

She told of a pig , a sow, that Grandpa raised that had 10 piglets. The children oohed and aahed over the piglets, as kids will do, (this one included)  and soon each and every one had a name.  Small hands just could not keep away from those little pigs.

Grandpa warned them to not get too attached  to the biggest and fattest of the piglets.

That tenth little pig was going to the preacher. It was how things were done then.
You are supposed to tithe to the church 'one tenth', you know. It's the Christian thing to do.

So those little piglets were hugged and loved and carried about, but the fattest one was held aside, special.

Imagine that world for just a moment and allow yourself a smile.
Now, imagine that grunting little pink pig in the offering plate next Sunday morning. Grin.

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A Journey Thru Time ~ Mount Olivet Church

The sunny afternoon was a delight; nice , but not too warm. The tiny white framed church's doors and windows were flung wide open, beckoning us to come on inside.

 A service at the tiny Mount Olivet church is a sweet, wonderful, inspiring experience. The wooden planks in the floor are rippled and wavy, the small slatted wooden walls are showing their age, but the stories that old wood could tell us, would be amazing.




The windows were once again propped open with planks, and the cool springtime breeze wafted past me in the pew. An occasional bumble bee floated in on the breeze, but I figured all were welcome here.

The bees politely stayed up in the high ceiling area and left us worshippers alone.



The oil lamps are positioned around the perimeter of the room. I was told they used to have a larger lantern to light the night services. I would have loved to have attended one of those!



This tiny country church first opened it's doors way back in 1879. It is on the Historical Registry as the 'only remaining one room wooden Methodist church' in Gaston County.



The winds came some time back,  and they blew this tiny church nearly off her foundation but she still stands firm. The rocks were replaced with bricks and mortar and she remains where she belongs. Keeping her place in history and firmly standing where she will, hopefully, well into the future.



There are plans underway to keep this tiny church restored and the cemetery kept up with, as well.

Contributions to this cause are always accepted. If you wish to donate to the preservation of this tiny church attached to our family and to my heartstrings, just contact Judy Shannon at 704-867-4713.



This year, Joe Carpenter presided over the memorial service and Reverend Richard Cloninger gave the sermon. It was a beautiful service.



Old timey hymns were raised to the glory of the Lord, with the help of Wilma Craig, playing the old style pump organ. We all sang heartily with Wilma kindly requesting that we limit the number of verses sung on each hymn, because her leg was 'plain giving out' pumping that old organ. Grin.

It just doesn't get any more 'old-timey' than that, folks.

I took in the sights and smells of the wonderful old church ,as we sat there on those scarred wooden benches.

I let my mind travel back in time to a simpler place, when life was slower paced. I think I would have enjoyed living in that time, but I would have definitely missed  the air-conditioning.

I met a man after the service that beamed when I spoke to him. He glowed with love for the place and you could tell how special it was to him. He recalled coming to services as a child with his grandmother and he showed me the wooden cross that sat on the altar in front of the pulpit. He had made it himself in shop class , years ago and donated it to the church. It was lovely.

An old framed portrait of Jesus hangs on the wall,  behind the pulpit.

 The spirit of our Lord was surely in that place.



The average age of those attending this service was about 75, I would say. This is a sad fact to relay. The ones that truly love this place are getting older, and we are losing them one by one. I heard of a number of those connected to the church that have passed in just the last year. I was among the youngest ones there. We are the ones that will carry the torch forward for this tiny church. I do not want this torch to be laid by the wayside. I consider this place my heritage, too.


I spoke with Wilma Craig, who has vast knowledge of the history of this tiny church, about our Welzia and his possible role in this church. He is not officially listed among those that pastored here, but I feel sure that he must have preached here a time or two. His heart was surely here, or he would not have wanted to be laid to rest here.

I went out after service and paid my respects to him and Isabell..as well as Great grandma Sarah Ellen Winters Arrowood. Surely they were all smiling down from heaven, watching the service from above.


The crowd gathered after the service outside, inside the white picket fence that surrounds the cemetery.

They served cookies and lemonade to all in attendance.

I thought it was lovely to gather among those long gone, in fellowship.

I made my way among the stones, looking for a Maypop vine. Dad loved to come here to pick those Maypops, but it is a tad early for those, I guess.

A wonderful old timey Sunday afternoon....sigh...

Long Creek Baptist Church in Dallas, N.C. ~

 Our Arrowood family has loved ones laid to rest in Long Creek Baptist in Dallas, North Carolina.

My grandfather's twin, Esther Arrowood Long's family is buried there.

Lewis William "Pat" Arrowood and twin, Esther Ruth Arrowood were born on January 06, 1900.

Their parents were Welzia Augustus and Isabell Correll Arrowood, buried at Mt. Olivet Methodist Church Cemetery in Gastonia, North Carolina.

Her children are in the family plot alongside their mother and father.

This is an old burying ground with many headstones in the treeline bordering the cleared section of the cemetery.

Every trip there, I discover old stones that were previously undetected, covered by leaves and undergrowth.

~

Esther and George Henderson Long, Sr's  children buried at Long Creek:

Aline Elizabeth Long Hutchins 1921 - 1992
George "G.L." Henderson Long, Jr. 1923 - 1996

Buried at Florida Memorial Gardens, Rockledge, Brevard County, Florida
George Jr's, wife, Mary Maxine Carter Long.
Douglas "Doug" Howard Long 1925 - 1944 (WWII)

Virginia "Ginner" Dare Long 1927 - 2008

Arthur Max "Ott" Long  1929 - 2005

"Ott's" wife,  Helen Mae Cathey 1919 - 1992

~May They Rest In Peace~

Photos Courtesy of gracious Find A Grave Member, Sandy A.   (Thanks Sandy!)

Sentimental Sunday ~ Easter Sweet Carolina Jasmine

Have you ever noticed how certain smells can invoke memories?
Those wonderful memories that were stored deep down in your memory bank gathering dust, and suddenly you are right back in the moment.  I love the smell of Carolina Jasmine, for the journey it takes me on with one small whiff..









Sweet and dusky and reminiscent of times gone by. My grandmother's porch in the summertime.
Blackberry vines hanging heavy with dark fruit.  Peach trees laden with wonderfully tangy peaches.

Pretty sweet-smelling purple petunias nodding their heads in agreement from the pot by the front porch.
My Grandmother loved petunias and they are a must for my garden every year. I feel she smiles down whenever she sees them.

That sweet smell of spring takes me back to her house, with windows open wide and sunlight streaming into the rooms.  Finding colorful eggs among the colorful branches of the azalea's in full bloom.

I stopped, smelled and pulled that familiar heady scent in, deep inside, and exhaled a breath of pure perfection.
Spring has arrived, and with it, my deep seated instinct, to plant some seeds and wait for what comes up.

The trees are dusted with tiny green leaves and everything seems to be in bloom. 
Memories of my Dad are brought back, he coming toward me with a handful of seeds of something wonderful, at least to him they were.

Days like today are for remembering Spring of the past and looking forward to the Springs yet to come.
Get out there and enjoy! Plant something.

If seeds in the black earth can turn into

   such beautiful roses,

 what might not the heart of man become,

 in its long

journey toward the stars?

- G.K. Chesterton

More of Yancey County NC ~ Just can't get enough!