My great-grandmother was a strong, self-sufficient woman who neither wore pants nor uttered a curse word her 90+ years. She also had a fondness for snuff that I found nasty. She lived in a log cabin in Middle Tennessee. As her children got older they added planks to the sides so that you couldn’t see the logs and a door to the front hallway that was originally an open hallway separating the sleeping and living halves of the cabin. Over time, water, electricity, phone and a bathroom were added although the electricity and water were rarely used. The weekend before Christmas her eight children, their spouses, and their children all gathered for a monster feast. While it was common to see fried chicken bought from the Piggly Wiggly and other easy foods at the Memorial Day family potluck dinner gathering near the river, the Christmas gathering required hours of serious preparation and cooking that had all the women in the kitchen and the men huddled together elsewhere. As productive and chatty as the women were, the men were stoic and relatively silent. Children were sent out to play and those that lingered were encouraged into the woods with the promise of long-lost Civil War relics and Indian arrowheads. I searched for years until one day I found a broken crock among other interesting bits of debris. I dragged my mother to the site of my great archeological find only to be informed that I had found some of my great-grandmother’s long-buried trash, unearthed by raccoons. I don’t think I searched the woods again after that disappointment.

7 thoughts on “109977716759454934

  1. I always enjoy your family stories. I can’t wait to hear about the weekend of visitors and chocolate binging and what happened to 1/2 naked thursdays?

  2. LOL That is too funny Rene – I didn’t believe that there was actually a store called Piggly Wiggly either!

    Hmmm Tennessee woods in December? Better you than me lol.

  3. That’s a great story. For some odd reason, I was just thinking about my grandparents today, too.

    The Piggly Wiggly? Like in Driving Miss Daisy? That’s cool. My husband told me that there really were Piggly Wiggly’s, but I was skeptical. I was also skeptical about him growing up on a farm, since the only farms I’ve known were the corporate kind, but lo and behold, he grew up on a farm with chickens, cows, the whole 9 yards.

    Thanks for the story!

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