Appalachian Values and Some People Who Exemplify Them (Part 3)

We have looked at Appalachian Values as specified by Loyal Jones in his book, Appalachian Values (Jesse Stuart Foundation, 1994) and listed thus far religion, independence (that covers also self-reliance and pride), neighborliness, familism (love for family) and personalism (or relating well with others).  Today we will complete his list with humility (modesty), love of place, patriotism, sense of beauty and sense of humor.

Mountain people hold to humility and modesty.  They do not like to take credit for any achievements they might have accomplished.  They had rather defer compliments to others, or at least deflect them from themselves by saying such things as, “Well, this of which you speak is really not that good, not worthy of honor, anyway.”  Take for example a man from Union County, who had to bear much of the responsibility of helping his mother rear his siblings after his father died.  After a hard youth and manhood, he went forth from the mountains and did quite well as a leader in the state of Georgia.  His name was Mauney Douglas Collins who for twenty-five years served as the state school superintendent. During his decade in the top school position in Georgia, he led in innumerable achievements  in educational advancement to his credit.  Among them were moving scattered one-teacher schools into consolidation, getting the “Minimum Program of Education” funded and a more stable tax base for education established, free textbooks, school and public libraries, nine months of school for all students, bus transportation. The list could go on of accomplishments under his administration.  But when commended for his work, as is so often the case with mountain-bred persons, he would reply with, “It was time for a change, the people were ready for change, the time was right.”  He did not like for credit to accrue to his own name.  Yet the record is there for all to examine and admire.  Loyal Jones describes this sense of modesty and humility:  “We believe that we should not put on airs, not boast, nor try to get above our raising” (p. 90).

Love of place is almost a built-in part of our mountain ways.  “Where’re you from?” one is likely to ask a person when hearing his/her mountain talk and wondering what cove or valley in Appalachian is home.  Sense of place is deeply ingrained.  There’s more truth than fiction to the saying, “You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.”  We could substitute “mountains of Appalachia” for country and have a true evaluation of how much we who were born there cling to place.  North Georgia Poet Byron Herbert Reece had the right idea when he wrote lovingly of his home and mine, “Choestoe,” the Cherokee Indian name meaning “Dancing Place of Rabbits.”  It is a long poem, three pages published, so too long to quote here.  But a few lines carry the strong sense of place he knew of the community where he was born, reared and lived:

“What does a land resemble, named for rabbits?...

There is peace here, quiet and unhurried living,

Something to wonder at in aged faces;

These are not all I mean, but symbols for it,

A thing, if one but has the spirit for it,

Better, I say, than many rabbits dancing.”

Patriotism seems almost to be a built-in characteristic of Appalachian people.  Next to family, another beloved entity for which one will die is country.  So many people now dwelling in the hills and hollows of Appalachia can trace their ancestry back to someone who fought in the Revolutionary War.  Likewise, when the rift came between the states in the 1860’s, many mountain people sided with the Union in that fray.  The county of Union, when founded in 1832, was named Union because the representative, John Thomas, when asked what to name it, declared, “Union, for only Union-like people reside there!”  From every war in which America has engaged since the Declaration of Independence was declared in 1776, Appalachian mountain military persons have fought with the bravest to win and maintain freedom.

A sense of beauty permeates place with majestic purple-clad mountains rising toward the sky and green valleys with meandering streams rushing through the rocks and rills of what is Appalachia.  But as if nature is reflected in what hands produce, beauty is seen in creative projects from looms, needles, workshops, blacksmith shops.  Mountain music played on banjo, dulcimer, and fiddle pays tribute to beauty of sound and accompanies voices that might have composed the songs telling about the land and its people.  A concert of beauty rises in place, project and pursuits as if in tumultuous offering of what the people enjoy in Appalachia in loveliness.  Is life not hard there?  We wonder and yet know that it often is, but amidst the hard toil and sometimes deprivation, the imagination and industry of a people seek after and produce beauty.

And, finally, all the characteristics of mountain life are wrapped in a sense of humor.  Loyal Jones assizes the humor of the mountaineer by stating:  “Humor is more than fun; it is a coping mechanism in sickness or hard times” (p. 123).   We often make ourselves the brunt of our own jokes.  I remember the Rev. Jesse Paul Culpepper who was born and reared in Wetmore, Tennessee and who, for 26 and ½ years of his ministry was the director of missions among churches in rural Fannin and Gilmer Counties in Georgia.  He was known far and wide for his preaching, and the points he could easily make on a difficult passage.  He had the ability to do that oftentimes by telling one of his funny stories, with himself more likely than not the one who had put himself into a humorous position which would help the people to remember the point he was making.  For example, in teaching tithing as a biblical way of giving, he would sometimes tell:  “Our churches need a better way to raise money than to make punkin’ pies with foam on top (his word for merinque) and try to sell them to the highest bidder. I got one of those pies one time, and it was awful. We’re not winners when we get something like that.  Why not give the money to the Lord’s treasury to start with?”

In closing his book on Appalachian Values, Loyal Jones appeals to us all to help correct the abuses to place and people that have occurred within our environs.  We can no longer put on blinders and hope the problems of environment and social conditions will go away on their own.  He implores:  “The reasons for change (must be) sound and desired by mountain people” (p. 138).

[Resource:  Jones, Loyal.  Appalachian Values.  Photography by Warren E. Brunner, with an Introduction by John B. Stephenson.  Ashland, KY:  Jesse Stuart Foundation, 1994.-

©2012 by Ethelene Dyer Jones.  Published March 8, 2012 online with permission of the author at the GaGenWebProject.  All rights reserved.

[Ethelene Dyer Jones is a retired educator, freelance writer, poet, and historian.  She may be reached at e-mail, edj0513@windstream.net; phone, 478-453-8751; or mail, 1708 Cedarwood Road, Milledgeville, GA 31061-2411.].

Pierre Chastain, the Immigrant, and His Continuing Influence Part 4 Learning from the Past – Shaping the Future

Jason Coward Chastain (March 10, 1818 – June 12, 1900) was of the sixth generation from Pierre “The Immigrant” Chastain, a son of John C. Chastain (1791-1880) and Nancy Coward Chastain (1800-1867). John C. Chastain was a son of Edward Brigand Chastain (1769-1834) and Hannah Brown Chastain (1771-ca 1832-37). He was descended from John “Ten Shilling Bell” Chastain, Pierre Chastain, Jr. and Pierre “The Immigrant” Chastain.

Jason Coward Chastain was born in Jackson County near Sylva, North Carolina. He went to the area along the Toccoa River in Upper Dial Community of then Union County (in 1854 this area became part of Fannin) and bought land and built his first cabin there. He returned to North Carolina where he married Mary “Polly” Rogers on Christmas Eve in 1840. They moved by covered wagon, bringing boxwoods with them to transplant at their new home. Her father gave Mary Rogers Chastain a slave named Isom to assist with the farm work. Jason and Mary had eight children, seven daughters and one son. As they prospered, Jason added to his holdings and buildings. He later built a fine ten-room plantation-type home which is still intact today.

Noting that Isom seemed depressed, his master found that it was because he had to leave his beloved named Leah behind in North Carolina. Jason went back, purchased Leah, the slave, and presented her to Isom for his wife. Jason and Mary provided well for them and treated them kindly. A story has been passed down about Mary baking fresh yeast bread and giving Leah’s children bread spread with butter and honey as they sat on her back porch steps. When the emancipation proclamation came, they wanted to remain at the Chastain farm because they had been so kindly treated. The black families did all eventually leave the Chastains and returned to North Carolina, but in 1896 some of Isom and Leah’s children visited Mary once again before her death.

One day a lamb was missing from Jason’s flock. A son-in-law felt he could find out where the lamb had gone. Suspecting Isom and Leah of stealing and killing the lamb for their dinner, Taylor Stephens slipped to their cabin and looked in at their window, expecting to see roast lamb on the table. Instead, he saw Leah, Isom and their children bowed in prayer and heard Isom praying for “Old Mastuh Jason and Ole Missey Mary, and bless Mr. Taylor and pretty Miss Mary, too.” No lamb was on the table, only the simplest fare. But in the hearts of the couple was gratitude for their blessings and prayers for their owner’s family. About three days later the lamb wandered back onto the farm.

Jason Chastain had a large farm, kept a store, had sheep and cattle, and was involved in church and community activities. A family cemetery on the hill back of his house has his monument bearing this epitaph: “I have been a soldier for the right.” In addition, these words are inscribed on his stone:

“Dear friends and neighbors,
Come one, come all and see
Where the old man lies.
Then, dear children,
When you die
Be placed here by me
On this hill
Which God has formed.
So, on the Resurrection morn
We may rise in unison
And join that blood-washed throng
And abide throughout the cycles of eternity
In that clime of eternal bliss.
So mote it be. Amen.

Indeed, in remembering several in the Chastain generations, we agree with Longfellow:

“Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.”

Yes, the face of these mountains of Appalachia from Virginia where Pierre “The Immigrant” Chastain and his family settled, to these hills of North Georgia, he and his people have left giant footprints in the sands of time. As Union County poet Byron Herbert Reece wrote in his poem, “Choestoe”:

Yes, sprung from the hard earth,
Nurtured by hard labor,
We know the names that built the fallen dwellings
Going to ruin in old dooryard orchards.

There is peace here, quiet and unhurried living,
Something to wonder at in aged faces.
These are not all I mean, but symbols for it,
A thing, if one but has the spirit for it,
Better, I say, than many rabbits dancing.
(published in “The Prairie Schooner, Spring, 1944)

We have become cosmopolitan in the mountains. With our increasing population and changing culture, we should come to appreciate even more our legacy from hardy pioneers who carved out farms and built homes in a mountain wilderness. We laud their efforts to endow us with a sound work ethic and keen sense of responsibility for our environment, our family values, our religious ideals. With economic instability and political unrest, we need especially to learn from the past as we face the future. We need time to consider whence we have come and where we are going. I invite you, as does our mountain poet, Byron Herbert Reece, to take time apart and, as he says in this poem:

In the Far Dark Woods Go Roving

Whenever the heart’s in trouble
Caught in the snare of the years,
And the sum of the tears is double
The amount of youthful tears,

In the far dark woods go roving
And find there to match your mood
A kindred spirit moving
Where the wild winds blow in the wood.
-Byron Herbert Reece
from Bow Down in Jericho, 1950

c2011 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Sept. 29, 2011 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

On the Farm ~ Plowing the Land for Planting

On June 4, 2011 the 8th annual meeting of the Byron Herbert Reece Society met at the Reece Farm and Heritage Center. I wrote about that in my column for June 9. While we met there, many memories of growing up on a nearby farm to the Reece family flooded my memory. I decided to pursue a series of columns with the designation “On the Farm.” These will explore the almost-lost techniques my father and farmers before him in Choestoe Valley, and yes, on mountain farms in general, used in the last century and earlier to cultivate the land and produce crops for family consumption and for market.

Although June is late to write about “turning”—or plowing the land and preparing it for planting—for by this date crops should be up and growing and in the cultivation stage prior to being “laid by.” Nevertheless I will begin this series with a backward look at that very necessary step to successful farming. Why was plowing (turning) the land necessary and how was it done before the days of mechanization of farms?

Until after the end of World War II, most farmers in the Choestoe Valley still followed the practices of their forebears, using beasts of burdens and not tractors as the chief means of powering the farm implements used.

Turning, a term we used for the initial plowing of the land to prepare for planting crops, began as soon as any hard freezes of the land had passed and the land had dried out enough not to cause excessive clodding when the plow went its rounds to break up the ground. If the acres had lain fallow, or if residue, like rows of corn stalks or debris from previous crops were on the land, these were “cut up” by running a drag over the land to lower them. This was a heavy homemade implement to which the mules or work horses could be hitched. This dragging helped to crush the debris of previous crops and at the same time the crushed foliage would itself become a fertilizer enriching the land. Then the work mules or horses were harnessed and hitched up to the “double-tree” two-horse turning plow. This plow was a heavy instrument, and required the plowman to learn just how to maneuver it into the ground to turn a furrow. If the farmer chose to plow in straight rows, turning the loam, he would always begin so that the turned furrow would fall to the right. Then, if he were doing straight plowing, he would angle and turn at the end of the field and return close to the first furrow, thus turning the broken dirt into what was called a “double furrow.” The one handling a plow would proceed in like manner, back and forth, until the whole field was turned (plowed).

Some farmers began to break up the soil by starting to plow in the middle of a field, breaking a short row there, then proceeding outward from this beginning, circling and plowing close to each previous cut through the soil. This “strip plowing” method required the farmer to turn his team by tipping the plow onto its right side on the strip ends and turning his plow and team around, working outward in this way from the center of the field until all the area was plowed. These furrows had to be close together so that the land would be sufficiently broken.

Another important pre-plowing task was to spread manure from the barns or compost pile as a supplement to the soil. This process of scattering the fertilizer preceded the plowing of the land. Farmers interested in conservation of the land and good yields from their crops did not neglect this step in soil preparation.

Plowing turns the soil over, loosens and aerates it, and helps to kill the weeds that would rob the planted crop of soil nutrients. Plowing also makes the soil more pliable and easier to work in as the planting and cultivating processes are done later in the seasonal procedures.

Turning is hard work, both for the farmer and his animals. Rest stops and time-outs are required so as not to exert cruelty on work animals and overdue exertion on the person behind the plow. Two acres was a good accomplishment for a day’s work in turning the land in preparation for planting.

Following turning, the next step in land preparation is harrowing the plowed field to break up clods and smooth the land. A “wire harrow,” or one made with prongs that extended down to break and smooth out the plowed land would be dragged over the land for several times, again using horse power. Then came the invention of disk harrows, implements that cut down more into the plowed ground and assisted greatly in smoothing out the soil.

Much has been written about the invention of the first plow. In ancient times, sticks and stones were used for turning the land. Then some inventive farmer got the idea of hitching a work animal to a stick plow and thus lessening the human exertion the process required. In 1833 in Joliet, Illinois, a farmer named John Lane was credited with making the first steel plow, an instrument more durable as the prairie sod was turned. Four years later, also in Illinois (Grand Detour), John Deere, a blacksmith, made further improvements on John Lane’s moldboard plow. He began to make the instruments in his blacksmith shop. That was the beginning of the famous John Deere Farming Implements and Tractor Company that became such a boon to agriculture throughout America and abroad.

When the tractor became available and farmers could get enough money together to afford one, or purchase it “on time” with future crops in guaranty against the loan, a new day for agriculture came to mountain farms. It was still hard to drive a tractor and maneuver the plows and harrows correctly and required learning and practice. But the hard work and time of preparing the fields for planting were cut immeasurably by this innovation to the old methods of farming.

Farming has changed probably as much as any occupation and has evolved through the decades with new inventions and changes in farming practices. I recently read that many are advocating now that the turning, or initial plowing, depletes the land, causes erosion, and should not be done. But my mind still goes back to the days when my father took great pride in his plowed field, with soil prepared to receive the seeds. As he looked on the acres spread out awaiting their crop seeds, he knew he had done a good job in the spring process of preparing the land for planting.

The poet Raymond E. Weece expressed this pride and joy in his poem, “Walking the Plow”:

“I loved to walk in the furrow
Behind a walking plow,
Watching the fresh earth roll
From a moldboard’s prow.”

c2011 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published June 23, 2011 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Preserving Reece Legacy Celebrated at 8th Annual Society Meeting

The weather was already hot, even in the “cool” mountain region in the shadow of Blood and Bald Mountains in North Georgia on Saturday, June 4, 2011 as members and friends of the Bryon Herbert Reece Society gathered at the Reece Farm and Heritage Center just north of famed Vogel State Park for the first annual meeting held at the farm, the eighth annual meeting of the Society.

The weather did not deter the spirit, or even the comfort, of those gathered under the newly-erected pavilion on the grounds of the Reece Farm. It was a day of celebrating and rejoicing. The cool mountain breezes vied and won over the intense rays of the sun, and everyone present knew they were experiencing history—even making it—by being a participant at the first annual meeting of the Society to be held on the Reece grounds.

I heard from participants, “This is a miracle!” And so it was, as earthly projects go, to have come so far in only nine years since the initial organizational meeting of the Society in 2003. The stated purpose of the Byron Herbert Reece Society reads: “to preserve, perpetuate, and promote the literary and cultural legacy of the Georgia mountain poet/novelist, Byron Herbert Reece. In addition to enhancing both knowledge of and appreciation for his writings, efforts will be made to honor his way of life, with particular emphasis on his love of nature and his attachment to farming.” (from membership brochure).

And the miracle of Saturday, June 4, 2011, lay in the fact that we were meeting at the Reece Farm and Heritage Center, still a work-in-progress, but far enough along to be able to see and celebrate the restoration of the Reece family home as the Welcome Center, his writing studio, Mulberry Hall (in progress), the barn and corncrib and other out buildings, a parking lot, pedestrian trails, and the open-air pavilion under which we met down the former cornfield a ways from the house.

At the helm of this nine-year effort Dr. John Kay, first chairman of the Society, and his wife Patti of Young Harris were honored with an engraved plaque thanking them for their selfless and intensive volunteer service during these nine initial years. We all joined in a hearty and rousing “thank you!” At the head of every noble endeavor is a leader who is inspired with a vision, the ability to lead others, and the skill of promoting without being dictatorial. And Dr. John Kay has provided that consistent and quiet leadership, supported always by Patti who shares the same ideals and dreams of the purposes of the Reece Society. We salute and thank them.

Saturday’s event on the farm also featured as our program guests, Dr. Jim Clark and Friends, who have recorded a dozen Reece poems on disk entitled in Reece’s own lines, “The Service of Song.” This professor of Southern Literature and Writer-in-Residence at Barton College at Wilson, NC sang and played his instrument as he and Terry Phillips, guitarist, of Nashville and Katy Adams, guitarist and harmony singer, of Greensboro thrilled us with five renditions from “The Service of Song,” the words of which are Reece’s poems: “I Go by Way of Rust and Flame,” “The Stay at Home,” “Lest the Lonesome Bird,” “Monochord” (a Petrarchan sonnet), and “Mountain Fiddler.” This last poem was included in our packet as a laminated bookmark for us to take home, read and enjoy at leisure.

Prominent in the progress has been chairman of the Reece Farm and Development Committee, Mr. Fleming Weaver who has headed the effort in plans and progress of the restoration and buildings. In his presentation, he gave special credit to Architect Garland Reynolds who designed the complex and gave his time and expertise free of charge to the Society.

Bringing greetings were Mr. George Berry, former chairman of the Georgia Department of Tourism and Trade, who, in his remarks, stated that some remarked it would be a “cold day” when the Reece Center would be developed, but that it is a “hot day” (namely June 4 when we were meeting at the site) for the bold project honoring Reece, for he, his works and his memory are at the heart of the project. Dr. Ron Roach, vice-chairman of the Society, brought greetings from Young Harris College and stated that Reece can hardly be thought of apart from his association with the college and poet-in-residence/teacher there. Nephew of the poet, Terry Reece, in words akin in spirit to those of his uncle, remembered as a child being with his mother, Lorena Duckworth Reece, and his siblings Tommy, June and Connie (a baby on a blanket) in the very spot of the pavilion as they hoed the field of corn that grew where the pavilion now stands. He spoke of the rhythm and flow of Wolf Creek that meanders through the farm and of the majestic hills that form the backdrop of the Reece farm. He thanked the Society for preserving the site for posterity.

Some of the other projects of the Society in its nine-year history have been “Reece in the Schools,” headed by chairman Carol Knight. Present to read her poem was the 2011 winner of the youth poetry contest, as well as Valerie Nieman, poet and novelist, winner in the adult division, who read her poem, “Apocrypha,” introduced by contest chairman Rosemary Royston who coordinated the first poetry contest.

Union County Commissioner Lamar Paris, was prevented by another obligation from being present. His contributions were noted by Chairman Kay, who read a letter of commendation from Mr. Paris for the hard work and progress made to date on the Center, as well as the recent work of Winkler & Winkler, local contractors, who brought the project from a near-standstill when the original contractor could not continue with the project.

After lunch under the tent, served by Sodexo of Young Harris College, tours of the facility arranged by Fleming Weaver and his committee, completed the full and celebratory day. Groups formed at the barn and corncrib, and especially at Mulberry Hall, the restored writing studio Reece built for himself after he erected the “new” home for his parents (now the welcome center). At Mulberry Hall, about-to-be Eagle Scout Tucker Knight calmly and confidently explained why he had chosen restoration of the interior of Mulberry Hall as his project.

Present was Karen Deem, partner in Deem-Loureiro Productions Inc., who headed “Vocies…Finding Byron Herbert Reece,” the video recently aired on Georgia Public Television and now in nomination for an Emmy Award in the category of educational and documentary films. Ms. Deem is working on interpretive educational signs that will be on display about the farm site. Present also were Dr. Bettie Sellers of Young Harris College and Dr. Helen Lewis, a retired Appalachian Studies professor, who headed the interviews for “The Bitter Berry with Friends,” remembrances from people who knew Reece. Mr. and Mrs. John Pentecost were recognized. This couple has donated their extensive collection of Appalachian farm and home tools and household implements to the Society for display at the site.

Since 2003 much progress has been made toward “preserving, perpetuating and promoting the literary and cultural legacy of Byron Herbert Reece.” Highway 129 from the old courthouse in Blairsville to the top of Neel Gap is now the Byron Herbert Reece Memorial Highway, by act of the Georgia Legislature. I, for one, am grateful that I signed on as a charter member of the Society nine years ago in 2003. Go to the Society’s website to keep abreast of progress. In the future (not for a while, for more work is in process) plan to visit the Reece Farm and Heritage Center, or better still, find out how you can help in this bold project. And if you haven’t yet read works of this mountain farmer/poet, find his four books of poetry and two novels and become a fan of this literary genius and his works.

What a great day of celebration was June 4, 2011!

c2011 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published June 9, 2011 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Reece Caught the Essence of Christmas with Certain Poems

December. We celebrate Christmas. The air is full of Christmas carols coming from every store, television set and radio, from church choirs and ordinary people caught up in the spirit of the season. Some of the carols are sacred, some secular. Every year some new ones make the rounds, but if your preferences are as mine, you still prefer hearing the old ones, like the words to “O Little Town of Bethlehem” by American pastor and poet, the Rev. Phillips Brooks (1835-1893), with music by Lewis H. Redner. Or choose the much older “Silent Night” written by Joseph Mohr (1792-1848) with music first composed by guitarist Franz Gruber (1787-1863) because the church organ was broken. How thrilling is the true story of how World War I was stopped on a Christmas Eve as German and allied soldiers, all caught up in the spirit of the season, stopped their fighting long enough to sing together on the battlefield that inimitable carol, “Silent Night.”

But I want to write about some Christmas poems written by our Union County poet Byron Herbert Reece (1917-1958). Some of them have been sung by autoharp artists but I am not sure the music for them has ever been published. If so, I am not aware of where the music or recordings of the Christmas poems-set-to-music might be secured. If anyone knows of the whereabouts of same, please let me know.

For this brief period, to honor “our” poet, let’s imagine we are listening as he sits near the chimney for warmth in his attic room in the small Reece farmhouse nestled along Wolf Creek in Choestoe. Wanting to pay tribute to the meaning of Christmas and the Christ Child whose birthday he and his family celebrated at nearby Salem Methodist Church, he wrote several Christmas poems. The first ones published in his books of poems appeared in his second volume, Bow Down in Jericho released by E. P. Dutton, Publishers, New York, in 1950. In this volume we read “Mary,” (p. 39), “The Shepherds in Search of the Lamb of God,” (p. 40-41), “The Adoration,” (p. 41-42), “Christ Jesus Had Three Gifts from Men,” (p. 43-44) and “The Pilgrim and the Fir Tree,” (p. 44-45) based on an old legend of the fir tree going to Bethlehem at the time of Christ’s birth.

“Mary,” of course, tells of the annunciation to young Mary of Nazareth that she was to be the mother of the Son of God. “She had no thought to be a bride/Of angel or of man.” Unsuspecting and surprised, Mary took the angel’s announcement to heart and willingly accepted her role as the Mother of Jesus Christ. And until his birth should occur in Bethlehem, “In Nazareth dwelt Mary mild, /She carded and she spun;/On Christmas Day she bore the child/Of God, His Holy Son.”

“The Shepherds in Search of the Lamb of God,” is a dialogue poem, with shepherds asking questions as they pursue their quest (after the angels’ announcement) to find the newborn Babe in Bethlehem. This poem could well be memorized and acted out by a group of men or boys dressed as shepherds, or, with the right music, would make another shepherd song. It ends with finding the baby and awe from the shepherds: “See, the cattle stand and nod/Close by the Lady’s feet.”/“Look, the little Lamb of God/Cradled where oxen eat! “Oh! Oh! Oh!”

“The Adoration” might seem by the title to be a poem about shepherds or wise men, both groups of whom were found adoring the Christ Child at or near the time of His birth. But Reece makes the main character of this poem a present-day little girl who thought about how she might adore the Christ child and bring him gifts. First, she wished to offer him a dress; next a girdle, followed by a little shoe and a shining coin. But finally she thinks it best to offer her heart, which can be a House where He can come to live. With this progression of gifts, Reece hits upon the essence of human giving to Christ, for He desires the heart of persons above all: “If my heart were a house also,/A house also with room to spare/I never would suffer my Lord to go/Homeless, but house Him there, O there,’/Homeless, but house Him there!”

“Christ Jesus Had Three Gifts from Men,” is the poetic story of the Magi from the East who came bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. In Reece’s lyrical rendering of the gifts he names them gold, an odor sweet, and a rare perfume, and interfused with the three gifts is the gift of grace, which of course is the intended gift Christ came to give. This is foreseen in the poem in the last stanza: “Then, ‘Wise Men, grace abide with thee,’/All in the stable where He lay,/’Redemption shall my one gift be/At Bethlehem on Christmas Day,/On Christmas Day in the Morning.”

When A Song of Joy and Other Poems came out in 1952, two more of Reece’s Christmas poems were published. “When I Think of Christmas Time” is a ten-stanza lyric beginning with Christ’s birth at Bethlehem and recounting major events of His life, including his death and resurrection. In both the first and last stanzas the poet celebrates Christmas, and he can do it joyously because he knows the victory: “Therefore let My Birthday be/A time of joyful jubilee./With the Host hosannas sing;/I am born anew to be thy King/On Christmas day, /On Christmas day, /On Christmas day in the morning.”

The second Christmas poem in this volume, “Since Christ Was a Lamb O,” is in the style of a short lyrical ballad with repetitions that pronounce blessings upon sheep, children, men, and Christ Himself: “Since Christ came to save O,/ To save O,/ To save O, /Since Christ came to save O,/Blessed are we all.”

In his book The Season of Flesh published in 1955, are four poems with a Christmas theme. “As Mary Was a Walking” which the poet terms “A Carol,” has fifteen stanzas in ballad-style quatrains expressing her rapport with fowls, cattle, even trees as she contemplates the mission of the Child she bore. The last chorus asks: “Could any maid soever,/Could maiden lent the grace,/Hearken such sweet palaver/And not a bole embrace?”

“The Gifting” is a four-stanza poem about the Magi’s gifts, and Mary’s gift of her Son. “In Palestine,” asks the question, “What did you see in Palestine?” and proceeds to enumerate the “stable low,” “the palace” of Herod, “kindness,” “cruelty,” and a margin as wide as the distance “’twist heaven and hell.” In “It Fell Upon a Winter’s Morn” is a first-person poem with a most unusual observation in which the poet dreams of Jesus’ blood being mixed with his own. He awoke to find “Bells rang upon the wintry air/And men began to say/And tongues of children to declare/That it was Christmas Day.”

From Reece’s attic room where he wrote these poems, perhaps in the winters of the 1940’s and early 1950’s, he gave them to the world to ponder in the books of poems bearing his name. Maybe you will find his books, now republished by Cherokee Press (if you don’t own them already), and decide to purchase them for Christmas gifts for someone who loves poetry and would appreciate and benefit from his master wordsmith’s artistry and insight. As for myself, I can never get enough of reading his poems. I recommend them highly for your own enjoyment and amazement. You will be awed, as I, by the depth and quality of his lyrics. So ring bells and declare, as the poet urged, “That it is Christmas Day!”

c2010 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Dec. 16, 2010 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Reece's Poem "Autumn Mood" Sets Tone for Fall

Union County can be justifiably proud of her native son, Byron Herbert Reece, poet and novelist, born September 14, 1917 to Juan Wellborn Reece and Emma Lance Reece.

On both paternal and maternal sides of his family, his ancestors were early settlers in Union County. His roots went back to his paternal great grandfather, John Reece, who had settled in the Ivy Log section of the county. A sad event happened to his maternal great grandfather, John Lance, a Methodist minister, who was murdered in 1888 and his body left half-beheaded, lying in Wolf Creek as he returned from preaching. The “moon shiners,” mountain whiskey-makers, were after John Lance because they thought he spoke out against their trade which was an underlying cause of much conflict in mountain areas of the nineteenth century.

Byron Herbert Reece was born in the Lance family ancestral home, where his mother herself had been born into the family of LaFayette Lance. The cabin was located about the middle of the present Lake Trahlyta at Vogel State Park. Juan Reece bought acreage about a mile north of the location of Lake Trahlyta and built a house there. He and Emma reared five of their six children in this house. Alwayne, the eldest, died of meningitis at thirteen months. Growing to adulthood were Eva Mae, Nina Kate, T.R J., Byron Herbert (known as Hub) and Jean.

Early on, Hub Reece showed a propensity for literature, especially poetry and ballads. As he heard them read at his mother’s knees, and learned to read at an early age himself, he avidly pursued all that the Reece’s meager store of books and the country schools of his day could provide for him.

From the cadences of well-beloved ballads and the rhythms of seasons and farm life, Reece fell into a pattern of writing about what he heard, saw and experienced. A keen observer of nature and an astute student of the masters of traditional forms, he early began to compose poetry of high quality. His ease with words and forms blended into exquisite lyrics. He was the recipient of numerous literary awards for his four books of poetry and two novels published between 1945 and 1955. He had contracted to write another novel and his fifth book of poetry but his untimely death occurred June 3, 1958 before these were finished.

From time to time I enjoy selecting one of his poems and writing comments about it, much as I would teach it if I were still in the classroom introducing students to the intricacies of Reece’s poetry, its style, depth and meaning. Here, so near what would have been his ninety-third birthday (September 14), and with the fall season so soon upon us, I have chosen his brief “Autumn Mood” for consideration.

Autumn Mood

The leaf flies from the stricken bough,
The aster blows alone;
And in the curve of heaven now
The wild geese tread the dawn.

I would I had no ears to hear
And had no eyes to see
What is so beautiful and dear
Escaping me!

-Byron Herbert Reece
in Ballad of the Bones and Other Poems (NY: Dutton, 1945, p. 73)

From the title “Autumn Mood” to the final exclamation point at the end of line eight, Byron Herbert Reece captured a season and a day in time with inimitable ease, economy of words and astute observation.

The lines paint a picture and capably capture the mood of a day in fall in the beloved mountains where Reece looked out to see the falling leaves, the aster in bloom, observed “the curve of heaven” (not the arch of sky, a less-expressive reference), and saw, too, “The wild geese tread the dawn.” Less-poetic people would have seen geese fly. In his poetic manner, he saw them “tread” as they moved in formation. The first four lines do double duty. They paint a picture and they “show and tell.” The result? We see clearly what he writes about. He tells in telescopic form what we see as we read his word picture.

The first four lines paint an autumn scene. The last four lines build the mood of autumn. Oh! But if the observer had no ears to hear, no eyes to see, he would not be affected by what is so soon passing, so beautiful, so dear—escaping. The falling leaves, the fading aster, the migrating geese—all signs of fall, the waning season of the year. A sadness and finality permeate this season. Reece captures this mood aptly in this poem.

What he does not say in “what is so beautiful and dear” we can fill in with our own nostalgic thoughts at this decline of the year. Here are a few:

The falling leaves take gold, magenta and red from the beloved hills, and deciduous tress stand bare, “stricken.” Fall asters, purple in the sun, will soon be dried-up stalks blowing in the wind. The migration of birds, most specifically the wild geese as they “tread the dawn,” represent fast-passing time. With their going comes the soon-return of winter and the birds’ necessity to seek a warmer climate. Left behind, what ears have heard and eyes have seen will soon be only in figments of memory.

What is the beauty in this poem? Its sadness? Yes. Who does not think of fall as the waning time and the time of non-growth, of closure? Fall’s beauty is so soon replaced by stark limbs and a brown carpet of leaves. Color will soon fade from purple asters and the gray remains of stalks will match the ashen oncoming winter and my mood. No longer will eyes behold a V of flying geese at autumn dawn, going further south for winter.

What Reece does not say in the poem is left to the reader’s imagination, associations and memories. How aptly did he title the poem “Autumn Mood.” He painted a powerful vignette of fall in eight cryptic, well-crafted lines. No hidden symbols, no mysterious metaphors adorn this poem. It is to the point, a monument to a moment in time. He emptied his thoughts about fall in eight amazing lines. He gave opportunity to readers to recall their own experiences of fall (and life), which, like “the treading geese,” move on.

If the reader does not come away from this poem with a memorable experience, he does not appreciate the extraordinary of the ordinary. What you read, hear, see and feel in this poem can be expanded by your own experiences. Indeed, there is identification with the scene he paints and the “Autumn Mood” he feels. If you’re poetically inclined, the poem might even inspire you to write your own poem about fall.

c 2010 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Sept. 9, 2010 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Militia Districts in Union County

The state of Georgia is divided into 159 counties. Within each county are further subdivisions called Militia Districts. Union County is divided into fourteen districts, but only five voting districts. Beginning along the northern border at the North Carolina line and proceeding southward, these militia districts are Dooly, Ivy Log, Gum Log, Lower Young Cane, Blairsville, Upper Young Cane, Coosa, Arkaquah, Owltown, Choestoe, Coopers Creek, Canada and Gaddistown. These names are more for location than for political divisions, as changes have occurred over time to warrant a look at how present election districts have evolved.

Even though there were fourteen districts in 1849 listed for the then seventeen-year old county of Union, those districts were changed through the years due to part of Union being taken into Fannin (formed in 1854) and Towns (formed in 1856). The tax lists of 1849 had the fourteen districts in Union named thus: Hiawassee, Choestoe, Ivy Log, Noontootla, Blairsville, Hemptown, Brasstown, Stevenson, Gaddistown, Arkaquah, Young Cane, Gum Log, Cut Cane and Skinah (Skeenah). You can easily recognize from this listing that only eight of these fourteen remain in Union today, with names the same. As changes in geographical divisions occurred through the county’s history, the districts were realigned accordingly.

Historical records show that a fifteenth district was added in 1851, before the counties of Fannin and Towns were measured off from portions of Union. That new district did not receive a name until 1855, when it was named Young’s District. Later, the Young’s District was split into two and received the names Lower Young Cane and Upper Young Cane. An interesting sideline about districts not only in Union but throughout Georgia is that they were sometimes named for a person prominent in the area, or for families who settled there, especially when several by the same name resided within a given geographical area. Examples of this naming in Union are Young Cane (upper and lower), Coopers Creek and Gaddistown, and although I do not find any named Dooly in the county until the 1850 census, this district name, too, might have been from a family or a remembered family name from a previous place residents lived. The Dooly District was officially added to the tax lists of Union in 1857. Other names were adopted from names the Cherokee had given the place before their exodus on the Trail of Tears. Some of these names are Arkaquah, Choestoe and Coosa.

By 1870, Coosa and Coopers Creek had been added to the tax list districts. And then in 1887 Owltown was formed, taking portions of Choestoe, Arkaquah and Coosa to form the legal entity numbered 1409. In order to get the Owltown District, a petition was presented, with some of the leaders being citizens Thomas Fields, Daniel Mathis and others. The parameters of Owltown were surveyed and recommended by a court-appointed team made up of Quiller F. Reece, John M. Rich, and Milford G. Hamby. The act to form Owltown District took effect on April 4, 1887 when Ordinary William Colwell signed the official document.

Stability remained in the district names for about a hundred years. But even during that time, district lines changed somewhat due to petitions of citizens and surveys that led to resetting some of the district lines by small margins. In 1981, Georgia Code, Chapter 34-7 and 34-701, amended, gave impetus to resetting “election districts” to cut costs in holding elections (not one for each of the fourteen districts), but according to locations, with some of the districts realigned and combined for precincts. Brasstown and Blairsville were combined into Election District 1. Others were combined as follows for precincts: District 2 covered Upper and Lower Young Cane and Coosa. District 3 encompassed Choestoe, Arkaquah and Owltown. District 4 contained Dooly, Ivy Log and Gum Log. And “across the mountain” District 5 combined Coopers Creek, Gaddistown and Canada.

Then in 1983, Representative Carlton Colwell introduced a bill in the state legislature to make the Union County School Districts correspond to the voting districts. Members of the Union County School Board—instead of being from the fourteen districts—would be elected from within the five voting districts. And it was so ordered.

Nowadays, the 14 Militia Districts of the County are remembered from past history and for sentimental reasons. However, we still like to hail from whatever district we or our parents might have claimed. Simplification in government alignment sometimes leads to loss of pride in place. But we still look at the old district lines on a map of Union County and remember “how it used to be.” I look at old marriage records of the county and see names of those important district officers, Justice of the Peace (JP) and Notary Public (NP). They served notably in the capacity they had as legal representatives in their districts. These names appeared frequently on legal documents in the first decades of our county’s history: Jesse Reid, JP; Thompson Collins, JP; Hampton Jones, JP; J Duckworth, JIC (Justice of the Inferior Court); T. M. Hughes, JP; James Bird, JP; M. M. Roberts, JP; John B. Chastian, JP; Enes M. Henry, JP; Posey D. Guthrie, JP; and Bennet Smith, NP, to name a few.

c 2010 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Aug. 5, 2010 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The Office of Justice of the Peace and Notary Public Focusing on Robert Lee Nelson, JP

The offices of justice of the peace and notary public were perhaps more important in the earlier days of our county that today. Before convenience in travel made it possible to get into the county seat town and seek legal advice, to have legal transaction done or to have a legal paper documented, these public servants played an important role in the life of a community. One has only to examine recorded marriage lists or other legal records to see how frequently these men (and in the olden days it was nearly always men) performed legal services.

It was interesting to note the duties assigned to a justice of the peace. The officer could perform marriage ceremonies. Sometimes, depending on the jurisdiction, a price for the ceremony beyond which the justice was not to go was suggested, but most of the time the one with justice-of-the peace rights would set his own price. He would require a marriage license, and would then have to turn a signed document into the county jurisdiction so the marriage could be entered in public records.

Other duties of a justice of the peace included the right to witness oaths and signatures. He could also issue subpoenas and warrants to those who had infringed upon the law and needed to appear either in a local justice court or a higher court. The justice of the peace could also make arrests when anyone within his jurisdiction infringed upon the law, caused a fight, or otherwise had conduct that was a danger to public safety or the peace of the community. Arrests for misdemeanors also fell under his power. Local land-line disputes and timber rights settlements were sometimes within the justice’s parameters of practice.

The justice of the peace could sit as judge in small claims court. He could hear evidence from both sides, and if necessary call for witnesses to seek to learn more of the claims presented. He could provide mediation services in disagreements and arguments. Furthermore, he had the right to conduct inquests.

In Georgia, a justice of the peace could also serve as a notary public according to the Constitution of 1868. These officers, in addition to the above-listed duties, were also sometimes assigned to superintend the conditions of public roads in their jurisdiction and report to the county authorities in charge of roads any damages to roadways that would pose a danger to safety in travel, any repairs needed on bridges, or if a ferry operated in his jurisdiction to report on its condition. Other duties included reporting “lunatics” who might be a danger to the public or not watched properly. School conditions also sometimes fell under the inspection of justices of the peace until more stable county school officers were appointed to look after this aspect of the public good.

An interesting article was written by student James Reece for Sketches of Union County History III compiled by Teddy Oliver and published in 1987. In it, some facts were given about a Justice of the Peace named Robert Lee Nelson, who served for over forty years in the Brasstown Militia District.

Robert Lee Nelson married Alice Bridges in 1920. They made their home at Track Rock Gap. There he had a farm and operated a country store. He was first elected a justice of the peace the first year he was married. He was then thirty-eight years of age. He must have had a reputation for good character in that district.

James Reece, in writing about Mr. Nelson, stated: “He presided over his court with the dignity of a mountain jurist.” He was called the “Judge Bean” of Union County, who definitely thought the law was his to enforce.

In fact, Justice Robert Lee Nelson was so conscientious about the cases he tried, probably using his grocery store as the courtroom, that it is said the governors of the state of Georgia during Mr. Nelson’s long term of judging locally sometimes had to intervene and remind Mr. Nelson that he was over-stepping his bounds as a local justice of the peace.

With characteristic mountain out-spokenness, Mr. Nelson sent word back to the governor: “You look out for your side of the mountain, and I’ll look after mine.”

And “look after his side of the mountain” Mr. Robert Lee Nelson did, indeed. That he was serious about “holding court” at Track Rock is evidenced by some of Union County’s famous lawyers appearing in his court to represent the accused who had been brought before this “Judge Bean” of Track Rock. Among the lawyers were the honorable Pat Haralson, Thomas Slaughter Candler, and William E. Candler. Maybe they were getting early law practice in the little court at Track Rock held by the inimitable Justice of the Peace Robert Lee Nelson.

Mr. Robert Lee Nelson (April 15, 1882 – March 29, 1973) and his wife, Alice Bridges Nelson (February 1, 1891-April 22, 1970) were both interred in the Track Rock Baptist Church Cemetery not too far from where he operated his country store and held his justice-of-the-peace court.

c 2010 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published July 29, 2010 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

A Tribute to Elizabeth Reed Berry, Teacher and Friend

Delightful task! To rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot.”
-James Thomson (1700-1748 – from “The Seasons—Spring”

The Union County High School Class of 1947
Senior Trip to Washington, DC, May 25-30, 1947
Seated: L. to R.: Mr. J. H. Cooley, Principal; Just graduated seniors: Max Rogers, Glenn Franklin, Max Stephens, Bill Abernathy, Price Turner, Charles Souther, Charles Jenkins, Jewel Payne, Robert Dyer, Dennis Wilson, and Mr. N. V. Camp, Science Teacher.

Standing, L. to R.: Just graduated seniors Mary Lou Hunter, Lois Melton, Joyce Crump, Loujine Young, Helen Brooks, Ethelene Dyer; Homeroom and English Teacher Mrs. Elizabeth Berry; County School Worker Mrs. Doris Caldwell, Visiting Teacher (Truant Officer), and Mrs. Star Bedenbaugh, Home Economics Teacher; and Just Graduated Seniors Madge Nicholson, Maggie Lee Sullivan, Charlene Wimpey and Verna Ree Cook.

It was the fall of 1946 when Mrs. Elizabeth Reed Berry came as a new teacher to Union County High School. I was a senior and she was assigned to be homeroom advisor for my Class of 1947. She had graduated three years before from Bessie Tift College at Forsyth, Georgia and had been born and reared in far-away (to us) Augusta, Georgia, the daughter of Robert Henry Reed and Mary Chambers Reed.

She had been employed her first two years of teaching in Murphy, North Carolina at a school there. When she married Union County native John Berry in 1946, she looked for a job in our county and was employed straight away by the Board of Education and our Principal, Mr. James H. Cooley. Maybe she volunteered to be senior class sponsor, or perhaps she was assigned that task. Whichever, we were soon in contact with a vivacious, pleasant, happy young teacher who was just enough older than her students to let us know she meant business in classroom discipline. But her kind ways and aptness to teach soon endeared us to her. Soon students and teacher had struck up a rapport that would last years beyond our graduation time of May 1947.

In this tribute I will pay respect to Mrs. Berry as teacher, first and foremost, and as a dear friend of lifetime proportions. I shall never forget her influence upon my life. My heart was saddened as I heard of her death on Sunday, May 30, 2010 at age 87. Her last years, beset with illness, were filled with much tender loving care from her son W. R. Berry and her daughter Annette Berry Crawford. But until her illness of long duration, she was exemplary in keeping in touch with “her students” of the Class of 1947, inquiring how we were faring in our own work and living out our lives. She was still our teacher, as James Thomson so aptly stated, “rearing our thoughts and encouraging our ideas to shoot” (albeit by our own advancing years these thoughts could no longer be called young and tender).

When Elizabeth Berry married my long-time neighbor on the edge of Choestoe and Owltown, John Berry, I was a bereft young girl who had lost my mother one year prior to her coming to our community to live. We attended the same church, Choestoe Baptist, and even before she became my senior year teacher, we had become Christian friends. She encouraged me greatly, and we started a little “Sunday evening dinner celebration.” This involved coming to my house one Sunday for a meal (which I had to cook, even at the young tender age I was, because I became the chef and housekeeper at our farm home following Mother’s death). The other two in the three-some Sunday evening meal-sharings were Mrs. Berry, as she and John hosted us, and my double-first-cousin Marie Collins whose mother (my aunt) Northa Dyer Collins, would prepare a wonderful meal with Marie’s help. How I had the courage to lay a table and cook for this group and our friends prior to Sunday Night “Training Union” (as it was called then), I’ll never know. But Mrs. Berry would always compliment me on my meals, my clean house, and my willingness to participate in the fellowship meal. From that experience I learned much about how to entertain guests and gain confidence in opening my home to visitors.

At school I remember much that Mrs. Berry led us to do. She sponsored our “senior play,” the drama we rehearsed to perform and for which we sold tickets to raise money. We had a junior-senior prom, and Mrs. Berry was instrumental in planning and implementing a wonderful event. We had a banquet to which we invited our poet, Byron Herbert Reece. It was my duty to introduce him. Mrs. Berry aptly helped me with the introductory speech. And then when graduation came, I was thrilled to be named valedictorian of my class. Mrs. Berry, desiring that I should give a good speech on graduation night, was my main constructive critic and coach in preparing the address.

We had the rare privilege of taking an educational trip to our nation’s capitol following graduation. About half of my classmates, twenty of us, went on the trip. It seems antiquated now, but instead of a comfortable rented coach, we rode the whole trip from Blairsville to Washington D. C. on a school bus. Accompanying us were Mr. J. H. Cooley, our principal; Mr. N. V. Camp, our science teacher; and lady teachers Mrs. Elizabeth Berry and Miss Star Bedenbaugh, and county visiting teacher Mrs. Doris Collins Caldwell. It was a trip of a lifetime, and we country students who had hardly been any farther afield than Blairsville, Murphy, N. C. or Gainesville, at the most, were led by our teachers on that trip to learn how to meet our legislators and senators and how to get the most from our tours of the Capitol, the White House, the Smithsonian, Arlington Cemetery, the Treasury Department, the Library of Congress and the stately monuments of our nation’s capitol, as well as George Washington’s home at Mt. Vernon. Up to that point in my life, it was the trip of my life. I have been forever grateful for Mrs. Berry and the others who went the extra mile to “rear our tender thoughts and teach our young ideas how to shoot.”

Mrs. Berry had a great influence upon my choosing teaching as my own career. Several years after she left Union County High School, she got certification in school library media services, and she and I attended many professional meetings and enjoyed again the fellowship of being together with mutual interests. When my Class of 1947 began having Class Reunions in 1984 and rejuvenated our love for each other and our teachers, Mrs. Berry was a regular and welcome attendee.

As when we were her students in 1946-1947, she was always interested in what we were doing to make a difference in life. She encouraged us as we made an historical quilt of the history of education in Union County, as we erected a message board at the entrance to the school grounds, and especially as we set up and financed the Class of 1947 Scholarship Fund that assists a graduating senior from Union County High with college costs each year.

To the family of our teacher and friend, Mrs. Elizabeth Berry, our deepest condolences. Know that she had a powerful impact and a lasting influence upon our lives.

c 2010 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published June 3, 2010 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Spring in Appalachia –The Service (Sarvis, Sorbus) Tree Blooms

In spring in Appalachia we look through eyes of winter’s lingering to see signs of renewal. Stretching up our mountainsides are trees with snow-white blooms, looking more like angel-clouds descended and brightening our still cool days.

It is our sarvis tree (also known as service tree, an Anglicization of the Latin sorbus torminalis, or wild service tree). Its white blossoms are as welcome as the spring sunshine, as heartening as the balmy breezes that blow from the south to awaken all of nature and bring hope and beauty to a gray landscape.

Our north Georgia poet, Byron Herbert Reece (1917-1958) wrote about the service tree in his second book of poems, Bow Down in Jericho (E. P. Dutton, 1950). The poem is so beautiful, so to-the-point. It gives such a clear word-picture of the scene that no explication should be forthcoming. Just enjoy his words, his insight, his flawless presentation in:

We Could Wish Them a Longer Stay

Plum, peach, apple and pear
And the service tree on the hill
Unfold blossom and leaf.
From them comes scented air
As the brotherly petals spill.
Their tenure is bright and brief.

We could wish them a longer stay,
We could wish them a charmed bough
On a hill untouched by the flow
Of consuming time; but they

Are lovelier, dearer now
Because they are soon to go,
Plum, peach, apple and pear
And the service blooms whiter than snow.

-Byron Herbert Reece (in Bow Down in Jericho, 1950)

Reece in his poem pairs the “service tree on the hill” with more domesticated trees common to Appalachian orchards: “plum, peach, apple and pear.” There on the mountainside, the service tree bears its blossoms, fragrant in the early-spring.

It gives me a sense of connectedness to know that my grandmother looked out and saw the service (sarvis) tree blooming and declared, “Spring is here!” And it was also with a sense of continuation back to her mother and grandmother before her who had likewise looked for this harbinger of spring on the mountainsides, lighting up the grayness before all the trees had budded forth.

A commonly held belief about why this tree was called the “sarvis” or service tree is likewise a part of our Appalachian culture. It bloomed out in time to be gathered and taken to church services (sarvis) in the early spring. It could also be used at spring funerals, some of which had to be delayed until the ground was thawed enough to dig the grave and bury the dead. I can’t remember this happening, but I am told it was true, back when our winters were much more severe than now. Much farther north than our North Georgia mountains, I did once visit in the Adirondak mountain region and saw a “holding place” where the corpse was kept until the thawing ground removed the resistance and allowed the shovels to enter to dig the grave.

And why did Reece, in his poem, relate the service tree blossoms to our better known “plum, peach, apple and pear”? I think it was because they bloomed close to the same time in spring. He could have included it because the service tree had fruits of its own coming in the fall season as a result of spring blooming. The service tree bears a small edible fruit which is similar to a date. This fruit is stringy and astringent.

My grandmother, Sarah Evaline Souther Dyer (an herbalist “doctor”) would have known that it was good for colic when boiled and made into medicine. Even the second part of the Latin name, “sorbus torminalis,” means “good for colic.” Also, when the fruit was left until the over-ripe or “bletted” stage, it became less-astringent and good for use as food as well as for home-brewed medicines.

Go back now and re-read Reece’s beautiful poem. Let its lines help you to see “the service tree on the hill.” These “blooms whiter than snow” provide a lovely sight to winter-weary eyes. “We could wish them a longer stay,” but alas, time moves on (and times, too, for that matter). And so do our mountain ways, our connections to a past life slower in pace, our ways of “making-do” and appreciating what we have. Even a show of spring and blossoms ready for “services”—whether church celebration or funeral wake —can remind us of those good times. We can only prolong these white blossoms of our rich mountain life through passing on our lore, our stories, our memories. They, like “the service blossoms whiter than snow” are “lovelier, dearer now/Because they are soon to go.” Let us do what we can to help these rich stories remain among us.

c 2010 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published April 15, 2010 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Beyond the Mountain Haze

Charles Weymon Cook shown with Mrs. Dora Hunter Allison Spiva at her 104th birthday celebration in February, 2009. He read a poem in tribute to her influence upon him as his high school mathematics teacher.

It is seldom that we can read a delightful and revealing story about a mountain family written in poetry, with just enough prose interspersed to make the line quite understandable and appealing.

Charles Weymon Cook who was born to Rufus and Nora Davenport Cook and calls Blairsville his hometown has done just that with his newly-published autobiographical poetry book entitled Beyond the Mountain Haze. Weymon, as he was known growing up in Union, now lives in Macon, Georgia. He is one of those native citizens who has gone out into other places and done well, first as a teacher, and now in his retirement as a writer. In this book paying tribute to his mountain heritage, he has captured in impeccable rhyme and rhythm many aspects of mountain life that are fast passing away under the guise of progress.

What makes the book even more appealing is the fact that its author is what I like to call a “walking miracle.” Charles Weymon Cook underwent heart transplant surgery on September 21, 2000. Not only did he live and do well, but he has been able to write and compile his delightful autobiography in verse and make it available to any who would like to know more about life in the “miracle” dimension of restored health. One way of offering his thanks for the gift of life is this book, well-crafted and pleasing to the eye as well as to the reader. It walks us through woodland paths and family solidarity, helps us meet and greet people significant in his life, and allows us new perspectives on the beauty of nature and the harmony of creation. And with thanks to his beautiful and compassionate wife, a teacher as he, LaVerne Young Cook, and their only child, daughter Christy, who assisted him with manuscript, typesetting and organization for the book, we have for our perusal a volume which I predict the reader will return to again and again.

Charles Weymon Cook’s father was Rufus Cook, “Mr. Ranger,” one of the earlier forest rangers in North Georgia who learned his skills as a forester under the able tutelage of Ranger Arthur Woody. Charles tells us that his father spent 43 years as a U. S. Forest Ranger. Among his skills were certified surveyor, timber-marker, forest-fire fighter, recreational facilities designer and builder, tower radio equipment manager and repairer—whatever the need within the far reaches of the mountain forests, Rufus Cook was there, walking the forests, keeping an eye diligently on the land and its care. Nine of Charles’s poems pay tribute to this giant of a fellow, both in stature and morally and spiritually, who gave him the firm foundation of a solid upbringing. We can sense love in every line in which this poet describes his father. Here’s but a small example from “Mr. Ranger”:

“I thank my God that I was there
To live and love and grow
Amidst the shadow of a giant,
With smiling face aglow.” (p. 65)

His mother, Nora Davenport Cook, has her section in the book. Both parents and their influence are seen throughout the book, but their own sections are especially provocative, leading the reader to recall and appreciate family roots that went deeply into the soil of a developing life and bore fruit in years “beyond the mountain haze.” A descendant of the early Davenport settlers to Union County for whom Davenport Mountain was named, Nora Cook was a stay-at-home mother who worked hard as an avid gardener and a dedicated housewife and mother. She did not tolerate “sassiness,” back-talk, or half-done chores. Her discipline and astuteness to details and homemaking values assured Charles and his siblings that they had a warm loving home where they were taught the principles of life:

“You taught me love with gentle hands,
Encouraging all the way;
You laid the founding cornerstone
By teaching me how to pray.” (p. 54)

I have the recent privilege of being associated with Charles Weymon Cook, teacher, poet, friend, having met him only in recent years through our associations in the Georgia State Poetry Society and the Byron Herbert Reece Society of which we are both members. Occasionally I am able to meet for a meal with him and his wife, LaVerne, or to travel to a meeting together. Having grown up in the same county, Charles and I didn’t know each other back when we were youth. I did know Charles’s older brother, Donald, as we were nearer together in age. The day of Mrs. Dora Hunter Allison Spiva’s 104th birthday celebration in February, 2009, Charles and I were both there and were able to read to her our individual poetic tributes for her profound influence on our lives. She had much to do with each of us choosing and pursuing careers in teaching.

Charles Weymon Cook writes in his “Introduction” to his book, Beyond the Mountain Haze: “My southern style ‘earthy’ verses simply reflect people, places and events that have influenced my life. Some things just tear at the heartstrings and trigger a melody in your soul that you wish to share with friends and neighbors.”

This very modest appraisal by the author of why he had to write the book only goes partially into why he should, indeed, have shared it. He had something to say, and he said it with apparent ease and facility. Find a copy of Beyond the Mountain Haze. My prediction is that you, as I, will return to its pages again and again for inspiration, information and enjoyment. He lifts the haze and allows us to see a miracle heart, restored and ready to give praise to the Creator of all beauty and the Sustainer of life. And this he does in understandable, sensitive and positive poetry. Congratulations, Charles Weymon Cook, mountain lad grown to productive citizen, whose knowledge and appreciation of family, environment and associations shine forth from the pages of your book.

c 2010 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Mar. 18, 2010 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Reece Family Afterthoughts (Part 7 in Reece Family Series)

To Bobby Josiah Queen, current citizen of Union County and a person vitally interested in family roots, thank you for the volume of information you sent me on the Reece families in Union County.

This entry, at least temporarily, will wrap up my articles on the Reece family. Enough remains, untouched, from what Bobby sent, that could make a good-sized book. I was not surprised at how, from the earliest Reece settlers to Union County through marriages, many prominent last names show the relationship of this family to subsequent generations.

And so it is, in general. We “live and move and have our being.” Each generation leaves its mark, a circle in time, some work, some monument of service, some contribution to add to the corpus of knowledge or achievement. Or, alas, if we lack motivation and desire to contribute in a worthwhile manner to the good of all, our record can mar as well as help.

We can aspire to do as Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) wrote in his great poem, “A Psalm of Life”:

“Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.”

I was interested, for example, in seeing how Bobby Josiah Queen himself lay in the line of Reece descendants. He got his second name from his grandfather, Eli Josiah Reece (04.02.1878), son of Quiller Frank and Elizabeth Clarica Adelia Logan Reece. Eli Josiah Reece was the sixth of sixteen children born to Quiller and Eliza. And Quller Frank, as you recall, was a son of William “Billy” Reece and Mary Daniel Reece. Uncle Billy Reece mined gold from the creekbed of Helton Falls Creek and hauled it to the Dahlonega Mint for processing.

Bobby’s mother was Nora Elizabeth Reece (11.08.1907) a daughter of Eli Joseph Reece. To them were born four children, Carl Winford Queen, Durwood Norris Queen, Bobby Josiah Queen, and Frances Louella Queen. I won’t attempt to trace the marriages and descendants of these Reece kin. Bobby Josiah Queen followed in the footsteps of several of his ancestors and gave patriotic service in the U. S. Marines and the Coast Guard. He married Carmela Rinaldi. He chose to return to his beloved Union County after his service years.

And looking through the many names of Reece descendants, I noted with great interest that my high school classmate, Elbert Dennis Wilson, now of Michigan, is also a descendant of Eli Josiah Reece and Sallie Lou Ella Stephens Reece. Elbert’s mother was Mary Eliza Reece (11.20.1901), daughter of Eli Josiah. Mary Eliza married Abraham Lincoln Wilson and Elbert was their fourth of nine children. Isn’t it strange that as high school students we hardly gave a thought to our genealogy? Then we did not know, somehow, that grandparents and great grandparents were important to our history. We failed to sit at their feet, hear their stories, and record them while these noble people were alive and could enlighten us on who begat whom and what they did in the hills and valleys of Union County.

Going back to William “Billy” Reece and his wife Mary Daniel Reece, I note that their daughter, Margaret Louise Reece (08.16.1856 – 06.20.1941) married John Spiva (04.22.1851 – 11.28.1933). To this couple were born Mary Jane, Eliza, Minty Caroline, Henry W., Emma, Frank, Jewell W., Gardner C., Josiah H., and Guy Cook Spiva. This family link opened up another avenue of genealogical lines back to the original Reece settlers in Union County. These, too, would make another book, and my friend, Geraldine Spiva Elmore has done much to preserve the Spiva legacy in her research and writings. Thank you, Geraldine.

This brief overview only partially covers the links and names going back to “Billy” Reece and his children. But last, and not least, I want to pay tribute to the last-born of Quiller Frank and Elizabeth Logan Reece’s children, Alice Elizabeth Louise Reece (01.23.1893), who married Olin Hayes. Her great niece, Esther Minerva Clouse Cunningham (daughter of Nellie Caroline Reece and Zeb Clouse) wrote of her great aunt Alice Hayes:

“I remember Aunt Alice Reece Hayes. She was my grandfather’s youngest sibling. She stayed at home and took care of her parents (Quiller Frank and Elizabeth) until they died. She married late in life and never had any children. I think she felt her responsibility to keep her parents’ family united. When my grandma “Roxie” (Roxie Potts Reece, wife of William Drury Reece, firstborn son of Quiller Frank) was sick and dying, Aunt Alice and her husband, Olin Hayes, came. I brought them to my house to spend the night because my Aunt Kate was caring for her parents.” And so went this testimony of Esther Cunningham, who remembered her Great Aunt Alice as a “keeper of the family history.”

To Bobby Josiah Queen, thank you for these and other great stories of the Reece Family in Union County. I leave this family saga now, not because the story is finished by any means, but because it is too large for inclusion in sketchy columns in a weekly newspaper. For those of you, like Alice Reece Hayes, who want to be “keepers of the family history,” learn your stories and record them. You will be glad you did. Much for posterity hangs in the balance of our finding and recording the stories. “Lives of great men (and women) all remind us” even now to catch a glimpse of the sublime in the lives of others who made a difference.

c 2010 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published February 25, 2010 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.