My other great grandparents on the Distaff side had a bit of story about them. Great Grandma Sarah's sister was married to Jesse Hughes. Great Grandpa John Milton Jones built a two story house next door to where we're now building a camp on the homeplace. He worked for various people from time to time since he was a very little boy. He had a brother named Dow (I am not kidding). Both boys left home when they were very young, in the single digits.
Once Grandpa John (Jones) was working for a Preacher. The Preacher and family would eat their supper and then tell the servants to help themselves, but they had to pray over their food, the remnants of the Preacher's meal the same as the Preacher had done when the meal was fresh.
Grandpa knew the Preacher was listening to hear the prayer, so he said his prayer loudly: God bless the owl who picked the fowl and left the bones for John M. Jones. Amen.
My Grandpa Hall (son of Elias) would recite that when someone was taking on the lion's share of food onto their plate.
Before Great Grandpa Jones died, he saw a white horse come into the yard and he predicted his own death. It came for him three times and he mentioned it. "I saw the death horse but I'm not ready to ride." This was told to me by Goldie Webb, my second cousin (grandaughter of Roberta who was sister to Ada, who was my grandmother). She said he saw the horse come for him again the day he died.
As near as I can figure, one of Grandpa's sons farmed the homeplace after Grandpa died. He raised sweat potatoes and peanuts, so the soil must have been more sandy then. It's loam and clay now. Mom's uncle owned the farm when she was a child and she loved to go and sit near the wellhouse, under the Beechnut tree, which was small then. There were two work horses on the place, named Pat and Patty.
I don't know the name of the ones who lived in Grandpa's house after he died. My mother's uncle lived in the house we later lived in. Grandpa's big two story house burned down. A woman and her baby died in the fire, trapped just inside the doorway and couldn't get out. Daffodils grow in front of where the doorstep would have been, beside the path that led to the door.
The old Beech tree was cut down later and now another grows in its place, but the well has been filled in. I remember the old beech tree and the owl that used to roost there. I remember when it was cut and when the well was filled in. Mom was not happy about either of those things. Ben Short cut the tree and Dad tore down the well house and filled in the well.
Yesterday, I found an old hewn stone down over the hill. I loaded it into the wheelbarrow and trucked it up to be of use near the bunkhouse (yet to be built). I'd left a gift in the ancestor's corner just prior to finding the stone. I guess the ancestors returned gift for gift.
As I've said, I'm fanciful. I like to imagine the old way just under the surface of the new. Perhaps these ancestors have come back again to the school of life, but memories of them remain in the land, and so they are still living. And some may still walk the spirit path, seeing us on occasion, as we build or care for the place they loved or as we take time to remember them.
I wrote a poem once that had the lines:
I find bits of broken dishes as I plow,
They're eating, eating dinner from them now...
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