Echoes Of Reminiscence

The next time you pass an old farm house with its blackened boards and paneless windows, stop for just a moment. Take time to reminisce about the people who once may have lived there. Consider the stories they could tell you of the memories filling each room and the history that still resides within its walls.

Feel the peace that can engulf you as you stand quietly, caught up in the past as it mingles itself into the present. Listen to the quiet sounds around you and remember a slower time when a butterfly could still light upon you, bringing with it the joy of your own childhood.

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Gaze Into Its Windowed Eyes

When you stand and look at an old farm house, maybe it looks tired and empty as you gaze into its windowed eyes. A new house may leave you with the feeling of promise for the future. However, a new house cannot possibly hold what a house should hold for the lack of something it has never known. But a house that has done what a house should do in sheltering a family and echoing a baby's call, is far more sorrowful, when left alone, than the new house laying in wait to be filled.

by Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track

I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.

I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute

And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.

I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;

That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.

I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;

For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.

This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,

And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.

It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;

But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.

If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid

I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.

I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be

And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.

Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,

Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.

But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone

For the lack of something within it that it has never known.

But a house that has done what a house should do, a house that has sheltered life,

That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,

A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,

Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.

So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track

I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,

Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,

For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.

The Memory Of My Great Grandmother

As a small child, my Great Aunt Mae Martin's home was one of my favorite places to visit. Hers was the old family home where she, my grandmother, and their brothers had grown to adulthood. The home fulfilled its days of promise, overflowing with love from a lifetime of usefulness and sharing.

My Great Grandfather, Columbus Marian Martin, was gone before my birth so I only have memories of him from the family stories I have heard.

However, as a four year old, I remember my Great Grandmother, Nancy Eugenia Jolly Martin, sitting on the back porch in her rocker, shelling peas or snapping beans. She always wore a long brown dress to her ankles, covered with a white apron, high buttoned shoes, and her white hair pulled back neatly into a small bun at the base of her neck. She never said more to me than hello but always tolerated my standing beside her to watch her hands work with the vegetables from Aunt Mae's garden.

The most memorable item from my great aunt's garden, for me, were her sweet potatoes. No one could grow sweet potatoes like Aunt Mae. One was large enough for an entire souffle'.

(Photo: Nancy Eugenia Jolly Martin and Columbus Marian Martin...my great grandparents)

By Eugenia S. Hunt

Though not spun of golden thread

Or silk from Orient's shore,

Gramma Emmie's aprons

Were made from love and more.

Some were made of flour sacks,

Bright colors of rainbow hue.

Sewn with needle and colored thread

By her own hands, so true.

They were from a day gone by

When useful ways were known,

Given their purpose, morn 'til night

Before her children grown.

Her apron hung around her waist,

Tied by apron strings,

Ready to protect her dress,

Baking flour and other things.

Throughout the day, the fabric

Withstood its own vast needs,

The times it dried her busy hands

After gardening and thinning weeds.

It was also there to dry the tears

Of babies at her knee.

It held them safe upon its lap

When sandman they could see.

So, don't just see the fabric

Of faded threads, not rare,

But see the love and cherish

The memories of her care.

(Photo: Maggie Ooten wearing her Great Gramma Emmie's apron.)

Have You Had The Privilege Of Drinking, From A Metal Dipper, The Icy Water Of An Old Well, As A Child?

The well was at the end of the back porch with the best cold water you have ever tasted. Hanging by its side was a huge, metal dipper used for a cool drink on hot summer days. This dipper was shared by all and, yet, I can't remember a time when any of us grew ill from the use of it.

The house was growing old and had held up many babies' stumbling feet in its time, turning it into a home filled with a lifetime of memories along the way. My own grandmother had been one of those babies. There was a wide, long hallway that cut right down the middle of the house with the kitchen, front living room, and two bedrooms on the right. To the left were more bedrooms and a front parlor by the front door. Hanging about half way down that wide hall were cranberry red, velvet drapes on either side. I thought they were just beautiful and so very soft against my small hands. All across the front of the house was a wide, covered porch intended for family time at the end of a long days work.

The people who had lived within the walls of Aunt Mae's home had shared many years of hardship, joy, work, and love for each other. They also shared their love for the Lord and depended on his strength and goodness to see them through each day.

(Photo: Actual photo of my Aunt Mae's old well and the very porch on which I happily stood, waiting with my cousins in anticipation, as a child.)

By Eugenia S. Hunt

With upraised head

And folded hands,

Upon my knees, I fall.

Unto His name

My prayer rings out,

For He will hear my call.

I lift my eyes

To lofty heights,

In wonder and despair.

My words are heard

'mid worldly sounds,

With Him, my fears, I share.

As we speak,

He calms my soul,

I feel His strength and power.

For He is there

To guide my thoughts,

To lead me through this hour.

I feel His hand,

Its gentle warmth,

It lifts me to my feet.

Again, I stand,

My strength renewed.

With Him, I am complete.

June, Patsy, Emily, And Sue

Living with my great aunt and my great grandmother, on the far side of the house, was my great uncle, John, my great aunt, Mildred, and their family of four girls. The girls were all older than me, the youngest five years my senior. I was fascinated with each of them and they were always so kind to me when I ventured to their side of the home.

June and Patsy were already teenagers and busy with their own lives. However, Emily and Sue always had time for me, especially Sue.

I remember one particular Sunday afternoon when Sue, now ten years old, was out in the long drive riding her bicycle. As I, a shy five year old, watched from the yard, she called to me and ask if I wanted a ride on her handlebars. I was thrilled and, of course, climbed aboard. All went well as we rode to the end of the drive and turned back toward the house. However, about half way down the drive, she hit a tree root with her front tire and over we went. She, ingeniously I thought, managed to tilt the bike as it fell, gently placing me on the embankment that edged the drive at this point. I didn't even get dirty, much less a scratch. I sat there watching her fall to the ground, a mangle of long legs, tires and peddles. As I watched, she climbed to her feet, brushed herself off, and then began to inspect her knee which was bleeding terribly. She didn't shed a tear which endeared her to me even more for I was about to cry out of concern for her pain. I thought her so very brave and grown up.

(Photo: Front Row: Sue and Emily Martin...Back Row: June and Patsy Martin)

By Mae Martin

My baby's eyes are dusky blue,

The color of the blue bird's wing.

When they are lightly closed in sleep,

Blue shadows sweep across her cheek.

Awake my baby's eyes are bright

With a starry light just meant for me.

And while they hold my glance and cling,

I hear the flutter of angel wings.

(Dedicated to her niece, Patsy Martin)

How Quickly Time Has Passed

As with every generation, we all reached adulthood, following our separate paths, leaving behind Aunt Mae's world. Yet, we each carried with us our share of memories to bask in at our leisure.

When I look back on the lives we have lived, I feel pride in our accomplishments, though each of us have lived very different lives. I am also amazed at how quickly the time has passed since those wonderful summer days when we had our entire lives ahead of us without a care in the world. Well, except for Sue's poor knee.

(Photo: My cousin, Michael Jordan, with our Great Grandfather, Columbus Marian Martin, riding across the fields of our great grandparent's farm.)

By Eugenia S. Hunt

Sit quietly, listen,

Hear the gentle sounds,

They speak to you

Above the universe of noise.

Sit quietly, listen,

As the lake speaks your name,

Telling you of its secrets,

Whispers of a breeze floating o'er the trees.

Sit quietly, listen,

The bees hum their tune,

To calm and comfort you

Amidst the world's rapid resounding.

Sit quietly, listen,

As a butterfly lights upon you,

Bringing with it, happiness,

Enough joy to fill your soul.

Sit quietly, listen,

You can hear Him call your name,

Speaking in a whisper

His plan for you the same.

Sit quietly, listen,

A time before noise consumed,

He remembers still,

The hope He placed in you.

Sit quietly, listen,

As He reminds of whence you came.

This life He freely gave you,

His love for you remains.

Sit quietly, listen,

As He fills your heart once more,

All that He has in wait for you,

When you follow Him to Heaven's door.

She Left, With Us, Her Wonderful Legacy Of Herself And Her Memories.

I think often about our Aunt Mae and the love she gave to all of us. She was a very meek lady who loved to laugh and loved giving to others even more. She possessed a quiet, gentle spirit that could be felt by anyone in her presence. I never once heard her raise her voice to any of us. Her words were always filled with kindness. There was a never ending twinkle in her eyes consumed with a love for everything within their sight.

Aunt Mae received great, personal pleasure in writing poems and short stories. I have copies of several of her articles, published in our town newspaper years before I was born, under the penname "The Sidewalk Philosopher." One, relating to The Contented Cow, who was not actually very contented, and another about her Grandmother's Giggle. Her thoughts on the contented cow were quite obvious. Why would anyone call a cow contented when it spends so much time looking for a way to get to the other side of the fence? When discussing her Grandmother's Giggle, she is reminiscent of a past too easily forgotten today. She described her giggle as "purely American, suggesting an optimistic outlook, a spontaneous joy of living, and a smiling acceptance of life, intermingled with sorrows." The memory of it rang throughout the house long after her grandmother had gone.

(Photo: Mae Martin, as a young woman, holding Wade Martin, her nephew, the son of Clarence Martin, the oldest child of Columbus Marion and Eugenia Jolly Martin)

By Mae Martin

Oft when clouds hang darkly overhead

And doubts surge savagely within my breast,

My heart beats fiercely and is molten lead,

And in its prison walls is tightly pressed.

I go a'straying into distant lands,

And stop to stare at tall cathedral walls,

Or lie in lazy luxury on the sand,

And watch the children playing with their balls.

I see a lovers' quarrel patched with tears,

A baby cuddled at its mother's breast.

A silver plane with monstrous shining ears,

As a blazoned eagle whirring toward the west.

Peace then enfolds me in a golden mist.

My errant heart is warm and safe and still.

I have the hope of heaven and all this,

As I face staunch and steadfast toward the hills.

(Photo: Mae Martin when she attended Anderson College, Anderson, S.C.)

And Yet Her Lasting Impact On All Of Us...

Though I was living in another state at the time of my aunt's death and had not seen her in several years, the impact she had on my childhood memories came rushing to the surface and I felt a great loss. However, I am consoled in the knowledge that her life was rich with her church, her job at the shirt plant, her garden, her home, her pets and all of her nieces and nephews whom she loved with all of her heart. Though she never married, she had a complete life and always made the best of every day.

It is nice to think that each of us are who we are because of our time spent together, enveloped in and enriched by Aunt Mae's love.

(Photo: Mae Martin and Fred Jordan...summer of 1982 or 1983...she was loved!)

By Eugenia S. Hunt

A rose, to say farewell,

Stems strong, a will for life.

Colors aglow, the twinkle of an eye,

Petals soft, a gentle nature,

Poetic, generous, loving,

The elegance of a rose,

The beauty of our memories.

My Bio

Born in the small town of Pendleton, South Carolina, in 1950, I was the oldest of two, five years my sister's senior. It was a wonderful place to grow up where the entire town raised its children. I was always surrounded by people who loved and looked out for me. I graduated from High School with the same people who were in my kindergarten class. At 58, my childhood friends are still my friends. I feel so fortunate to have known such a childhood.

After college, I worked at Clemson University until May 1972. At that time, I married and lived in Glyfada, 22 miles from Athens, Greece for two years...via USAF. We then moved to North Dakota for another two years before returning to South Carolina.

We divorced after 16 years and two children. I married my best friend two years later and moved to Florida in 1988 and together we have raised my husband's son and daughter and my son and daughter...one federal officer, one pastor's wife, one sixth grade school teacher, and the other, after working for Florida Power and Light since age 19, is now with AT&T. In 1996, I adopted my step daughter. We are blessed with four grandsons and one granddaughter.

In 1999, we became foster parents with the Children's Home Society and had a number of children under our roof in the next 5 years. In 2001, we adopted a 13 year old girl, whom we first met at the age of 11, and is now 21. I also have spent more time in a courtroom than I care to think about, fighting for the rights of the children in our care. In 2004, I turned in my license so that I could be a full time Mom to our special needs daughter and keep our infant granddaughter five days a week while her mother was teaching.

Bill, my husband, is a retired USAF Air Traffic Controller. He is now working out of the country, on Ascension Island, with Computer Science Raytheon, as their chief controller, contracted out of Patrick AFB, Florida. This enables him to continue to do the job he loves, air traffic, and aid the military. He flies in and out on furlough and I handle things here at home. I jokingly call myself a Single Married Woman.

Actually, I am a retired Accountant/Credit Manager, now a housewife, where I enjoy writing, singing, piano, and sewing. I have had numerous poems and short stories published and have sung in churches and for church organizations for years, as well as weddings, a couple of variety shows, and even at my daughter's, and later my son's, weddings, one of the hardest things I have EVER done. We are members of a Baptist church where I am a soloist and sing in the choir. I am also a member of the Women's Bible Study Group and work on the Mission's Committee.

And, last but not least, we have two singing dogs. Raven is a thirteen year old Skipperkee/Chow with bucked teeth and attitude and Whisper, our nine pound poodle, who thinks himself a Doberman.

I have been Mom To The Zoo since the morning after our wedding. My friend, Lee, who was staying with our four children and two dogs answered the phone from a sound sleep, "Hunt Zoo, Zookeeper Speaking."

My life has involved many changes and avenues that I would never have dreamed of and has given me challenges that I never thought I was equal to. But, I have found that God has a plan and, if you follow His lead, you can handle anything he puts in your hands. However, you have to first learn to listen to Him. No matter what we want from life, it must come in His time. He has given my husband and me more than we could have began to imagine back in high school and we have found that what we thought was so important for our futures back then was nothing to what we have done so far. At 58, I have learned from our foster children, to look forward to the future and the next challenge with enthusiasm and excitement. If they can trust and love us after what the world has dealt them, we can surely tackle whatever lies ahead with ease. Life is a series of learning experiences and I continue to find life to be both a challenge and a joy which grows with each passing year. I learn more and more about myself with each passing day!

Jeanie