Mama Bailey
Jun. 6th, 2007 12:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lizzybennetSorry I went MIA. I've been traveling all around the South just having a grand ol' time. I went to my brother's wedding in Memphis. It was so fun! My parents and all my sisters caravaned up together and we all stayed in the same hotel. As I didn't have Chris or the older boys, I got to share a room with Bonnie (my youngest sister) and Holly (my middle sister) and her beautiful 4 month old baby. I had a wonderful time. The wedding was lovely.
And I'm very happy to be home now:)
So, my classes have started. This summer I'm taking a creative writing class on writing memoirs. Each day we're given a prompt to write on. I thought I'd post my prompts here, just to get a little feedback. We use our prompts at the end of the week to form the chapters that we will turn into to our teacher.
The first prompt is to write about a distant relative that had an impact on your life. I still have a lot of polishing to do.
Prompt 1
Mama Bailey. The name alone brings a rush of memories. I don’t know why my great grandmother went by her last name, but everyone I knew called her this. Mama Bailey. A perfect name for a woman from the deep South.
My Mama Bailey was born and raised in Mississippi. She spent her whole life there. I loved visiting her and roaming around her farm. Her life was so very different from my own. My dad was in the army and I grew up on various army bases around the United States. Going to Mama Bailey’s farm felt like stepping into a book (depending on what I was reading at the time the likeness would vary from Little House on the Prairie to To Kill a Mockingbird).
Mama Bailey was a short, soft woman. Her hugs were warm and engulfing. Even if it had been over a year since I’d last seen her, she hugged me as if I’d never been away. Indeed, as soon as I hugged her, I felt as if I had never left. She wore practical clothing, as a woman who worked all day should. Polyester pants and wash-and-wear shirts comprised her wardrobe. Her horn-rimmed glasses were reminiscent of another decade, but they still served their purpose and therefore there was no need to replace them. Her upper lip sported more hair than is generally considered fashionable for a woman, but what did it matter? Her life was about practicality.
She lived in a small, older house, but it held such magic for me because her husband had built it for her with his own hands. The floor plan was simple enough: a living room, kitchen and dining room all connected to one another. There were two bedrooms, one off of the dining room and one off of the living room. There was one bathroom, which by the time I came along, had a noticeably slopping floor. When our large family came to visit, we all slept in the extra bedroom, except for one child who would sleep with Mama Bailey. The other four kids would sleep in the extra bed, feet to feet, crammed in anyway possible. There was the possibility of sleeping on the couch alone. While it was nice and roomy, with no elbows poking you in the ribs, it was a little scary to be out there alone in the quiet, dark living room. Most of us preferred to put up with the squishy bed rather than be alone on the couch.
It’s not Mama Bailey’s house that holds the most memories for me. When I was at her home, I was outside. There was so much to see and do, why waste time inside? Besides, she didn’t have cable or air conditioning so often it was more comfortable to be outside. Mama Bailey was a gifted gardener. She had flowers planted all around the outside of her home. My favorite was the old toilet she had sitting in the side yard. She’d converted it to a planter and it was full of beautiful flowers. Off to the side of her house was a large storage shed. We weren’t allowed to go in because it was full of old, neglected farm equipment and, most likely, snakes and rats. That didn’t keep us from venturing in just a few feet, until the light dimmed (along with our courage). There really wasn’t anything interesting for kids to play with in there, but just the thought of what could be in there was tantalizing enough. I would stand at the doorway, gazing in trying to peer into the darkness and untangle the shapes in my mind. The smell was so distinct, a mixture of old chemicals, oil, and rusting machinery. I’m sure that shed is still sitting there, just the same as before, still waiting for me to come explore it.
Whenever we went to visit, I’d always beg my parents to take me to see the old house. My great grandfather didn’t build my Mama Bailey just one house. He built her two. The old house had been from the early years of their marriage and it now sat in the woods behind her current home. It was an unpainted, grey wood house much smaller than the one she now lived in. We were not allowed to go in, but we could peer into the windows. I loved to look into the different rooms and imagine how life had been there.
Mama Bailey was not only skilled at growing flowers but she also had a beautiful vegetable garden. She grew it across the field from her home at her daughter’s house. Together they managed to grow okra plants and tomato bushes that towered above their heads. She also grew figs and scuppernogs. I’ll never forget the first time I tasted a scuppernog. Mama Bailey made sure to tell me that I couldn’t eat the skin, but only the fruit of the grape. When I popped the fruit of the scuppernog out of the skin, and put it into my mouth I felt I had entered a whole new realm of possibilities. Who knew such a delicious taste existed in the world? I ate those wild grapes until I had a stomachache and my mouth was sore.
Eating at Mama Bailey’s house took on a life of it’s own. It’s important to remember, when visiting rural Mississippi, that there is no such meal as lunch. The three meals of the day are breakfast, dinner, and supper with dinner being the big meal of the day. Around noon we’d all sit down to a huge dinner of homemade biscuits, fried okra, fresh slices of tomato, corn on the cob, homemade fig preserves, peaches, mashed potatoes and thick gravy. What ever was left would be reheated for supper that evening. When I was old enough to realize that Mama Bailey cooked with lard I was astonished and a bit horrified. However, I now realize why all her food tasted so delicious. There’s nothing like a big scoop of lard to give your biscuits an unforgettable flavor. And of course, there was always plenty of ice cream for dessert. The kids were all given an ice cream cone and the whole family would move out to the porch to sit for the evening.
As kids, we loved the porch swing. It had been mounted with thick bolts to a very secure stud, so there was no danger that it would pull loose and fall. This is a very good thing, because we swung it as high as it would possibly go. The grown ups sat around in the rocking chairs and chatted about cousins and old friends while the kids tried to make the swing launch into orbit. I don’t recall ever having been reprimanded for swinging too high. Mama Bailey let us have fun.
The last time I went back to Mama Bailey’s house was as young bride. I took my new husband with me to attend her funeral. I was so disappointed that he’d never had the chance to meet her. Her home seemed so much smaller to me, the floors more crooked. I noticed that every doorway in the house sat at an odd angle, created by the house settling over time. Still, it was my Mama Bailey’s home and I loved it. Chris, my husband, found it creepy. I wanted him to be able to see it through my eyes, the eyes of a child who found love and happiness in that home. That’s how I’ll always remember it.
And I'm very happy to be home now:)
So, my classes have started. This summer I'm taking a creative writing class on writing memoirs. Each day we're given a prompt to write on. I thought I'd post my prompts here, just to get a little feedback. We use our prompts at the end of the week to form the chapters that we will turn into to our teacher.
The first prompt is to write about a distant relative that had an impact on your life. I still have a lot of polishing to do.
Prompt 1
Mama Bailey. The name alone brings a rush of memories. I don’t know why my great grandmother went by her last name, but everyone I knew called her this. Mama Bailey. A perfect name for a woman from the deep South.
My Mama Bailey was born and raised in Mississippi. She spent her whole life there. I loved visiting her and roaming around her farm. Her life was so very different from my own. My dad was in the army and I grew up on various army bases around the United States. Going to Mama Bailey’s farm felt like stepping into a book (depending on what I was reading at the time the likeness would vary from Little House on the Prairie to To Kill a Mockingbird).
Mama Bailey was a short, soft woman. Her hugs were warm and engulfing. Even if it had been over a year since I’d last seen her, she hugged me as if I’d never been away. Indeed, as soon as I hugged her, I felt as if I had never left. She wore practical clothing, as a woman who worked all day should. Polyester pants and wash-and-wear shirts comprised her wardrobe. Her horn-rimmed glasses were reminiscent of another decade, but they still served their purpose and therefore there was no need to replace them. Her upper lip sported more hair than is generally considered fashionable for a woman, but what did it matter? Her life was about practicality.
She lived in a small, older house, but it held such magic for me because her husband had built it for her with his own hands. The floor plan was simple enough: a living room, kitchen and dining room all connected to one another. There were two bedrooms, one off of the dining room and one off of the living room. There was one bathroom, which by the time I came along, had a noticeably slopping floor. When our large family came to visit, we all slept in the extra bedroom, except for one child who would sleep with Mama Bailey. The other four kids would sleep in the extra bed, feet to feet, crammed in anyway possible. There was the possibility of sleeping on the couch alone. While it was nice and roomy, with no elbows poking you in the ribs, it was a little scary to be out there alone in the quiet, dark living room. Most of us preferred to put up with the squishy bed rather than be alone on the couch.
It’s not Mama Bailey’s house that holds the most memories for me. When I was at her home, I was outside. There was so much to see and do, why waste time inside? Besides, she didn’t have cable or air conditioning so often it was more comfortable to be outside. Mama Bailey was a gifted gardener. She had flowers planted all around the outside of her home. My favorite was the old toilet she had sitting in the side yard. She’d converted it to a planter and it was full of beautiful flowers. Off to the side of her house was a large storage shed. We weren’t allowed to go in because it was full of old, neglected farm equipment and, most likely, snakes and rats. That didn’t keep us from venturing in just a few feet, until the light dimmed (along with our courage). There really wasn’t anything interesting for kids to play with in there, but just the thought of what could be in there was tantalizing enough. I would stand at the doorway, gazing in trying to peer into the darkness and untangle the shapes in my mind. The smell was so distinct, a mixture of old chemicals, oil, and rusting machinery. I’m sure that shed is still sitting there, just the same as before, still waiting for me to come explore it.
Whenever we went to visit, I’d always beg my parents to take me to see the old house. My great grandfather didn’t build my Mama Bailey just one house. He built her two. The old house had been from the early years of their marriage and it now sat in the woods behind her current home. It was an unpainted, grey wood house much smaller than the one she now lived in. We were not allowed to go in, but we could peer into the windows. I loved to look into the different rooms and imagine how life had been there.
Mama Bailey was not only skilled at growing flowers but she also had a beautiful vegetable garden. She grew it across the field from her home at her daughter’s house. Together they managed to grow okra plants and tomato bushes that towered above their heads. She also grew figs and scuppernogs. I’ll never forget the first time I tasted a scuppernog. Mama Bailey made sure to tell me that I couldn’t eat the skin, but only the fruit of the grape. When I popped the fruit of the scuppernog out of the skin, and put it into my mouth I felt I had entered a whole new realm of possibilities. Who knew such a delicious taste existed in the world? I ate those wild grapes until I had a stomachache and my mouth was sore.
Eating at Mama Bailey’s house took on a life of it’s own. It’s important to remember, when visiting rural Mississippi, that there is no such meal as lunch. The three meals of the day are breakfast, dinner, and supper with dinner being the big meal of the day. Around noon we’d all sit down to a huge dinner of homemade biscuits, fried okra, fresh slices of tomato, corn on the cob, homemade fig preserves, peaches, mashed potatoes and thick gravy. What ever was left would be reheated for supper that evening. When I was old enough to realize that Mama Bailey cooked with lard I was astonished and a bit horrified. However, I now realize why all her food tasted so delicious. There’s nothing like a big scoop of lard to give your biscuits an unforgettable flavor. And of course, there was always plenty of ice cream for dessert. The kids were all given an ice cream cone and the whole family would move out to the porch to sit for the evening.
As kids, we loved the porch swing. It had been mounted with thick bolts to a very secure stud, so there was no danger that it would pull loose and fall. This is a very good thing, because we swung it as high as it would possibly go. The grown ups sat around in the rocking chairs and chatted about cousins and old friends while the kids tried to make the swing launch into orbit. I don’t recall ever having been reprimanded for swinging too high. Mama Bailey let us have fun.
The last time I went back to Mama Bailey’s house was as young bride. I took my new husband with me to attend her funeral. I was so disappointed that he’d never had the chance to meet her. Her home seemed so much smaller to me, the floors more crooked. I noticed that every doorway in the house sat at an odd angle, created by the house settling over time. Still, it was my Mama Bailey’s home and I loved it. Chris, my husband, found it creepy. I wanted him to be able to see it through my eyes, the eyes of a child who found love and happiness in that home. That’s how I’ll always remember it.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Mama Bailey
Date: 2007-06-06 05:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-06 05:29 pm (UTC)Eh...I couldn't write about this. Not in a good way anyway. My family...my family isn't really family. Not to me anyway. It was kind of cultivated in me that way. Family are the people I invite into my life. I think my parents were always ashamed of their families, I know my mom was. Even before we were in the Army we lived two hours away and only went to visit for special occasions. When they were here a few weeks ago I asked my mom about our distant relatives, our ancestors and she was taken aback that I would even want to know about them. She didn't see the point in knowing who our ancestors were.
Oh well...it's quite sad really. There are people who will never be known to me because no one thought it was important enough to write things down and pass it on to the next generation.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-15 02:42 am (UTC)