Bill LeslieBill Leslie's Carolina Conversations
People are always asking me where to take vacation. What's a cool place? What's the most scenic drive? Carolina Conversations attempts to answer those questions and others.

Monday Morning

How do you remember your parents, grandparents and other loved ones who have passed on? What tangible things did they leave behind that help you remember their many gifts and talents? Maybe they carved toys out of wood or left handmade quilts. Please share your thoughts on this topic.

This week on Carolina Conservations I'd like to share with you some of my father's mountain watercolors and my stories about growing up in Western North Carolina. These paintings, prose and poetry are included in a new book to be released on Friday evening October 17 with a signing and musical performance at Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh . The book is called Bue Ridge Reunion. There is also a companion CD which I will talk about later.

The first painting is called Monday Morning. My father finished it in 1965. However, it had been marinating in his memory and imagination for about 20 years. It was taken from a windy wash day in autumn. I don't know the specific location but I believe the painting came from a country scene in northern Burke County about 20 miles from where my family lived in Morganton. This watercolor reflects a much simpler time yet includes the struggles of the day. There was a rhythm of life back then that was pretty predictable. Here's what I wrote about the painting in Blue Ridge Reunion:

A windy wash day,

Dawn after our day of rest,

Big baskets of heavy wet work,

Lift ‘em up on the line,

Smell the sweet Appalachian air,

Sheets and pillow cases in a pine tree breeze,

Flapping flannel shirts will soon be dry,

Tomorrow we'll iron 'em,

Wednesday we'll sew 'em,

Gather groceries on Thursday,

Scrub a dub on Friday,

Bake and shake on Saturday,

Worship and rest our bones on Sunday,

Before another round of weekly chores,

The Blue Ridge Rhythm of Life.

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My grandfather on my mother's side was called Pa. My parents both had serious health issues when I was very young and I spent a lot of time staying with Pa and Mammy. If you're lucky, as a child you get to have someone love you unconditionally. Pa did. He had lots of other grandchildren, but we had that connection. I would ride with him to Wendell and Zebulon on his weekly trips to sell eggs to the small local grocers. At the last one he would always buy me a small cup of vanilla ice cream with a little flat wooden spoon to eat it with as we made the trip back home. I have a straw cap he bought me one one of the last trips we made together since "working men" should have a cap. He would sit in his rocking chair and let me whittle his lap full of wood shavings at night while teaching me how to do it safely. The cap is in my closet, the chair in the bedroom and the knife is in the safety deposit box. He died suddenly when I was 6. Fifty-one years later and my eyes still show I miss him.

My grandmama was a very special lady. I remember her crocheting and sewing. I remember her sewing my clothes and begging her to hem my dresses to my finger tips. (This was in the early 70's) She never would and now I understand why. She made all of my Barbie clothes. I kept them for years, but they were distroyed in the floods of Hurricane Floyd. In the summer we would go to the garden and get a watermelon and take it to the wash house. She and I would cut it and just eat the heart. My grandaddy was a worker. He could find something to do no matter what the weather. I remember he would sing in the fields and you could hear him all over the farm. "Bringing in the Sheeves"(sp?) What a beautiful voice he had. I could go on and on just like all of you, but these are some of my best memories of them. My grandmama died in 1979 and my grandaddy died in 1990. I miss them both. :-(

Beautiful memories and legacies. Thank you for sharing. I'd love to read some more.

My grandmother Dorothy, died when I was 9 years old. I have to admit that because she was sick and sort of cranky she wasn't my very favorite. But among the things that she left behind was a large wooden bookcase full of family history. She was an avid genealogist and spent most of her times collecting photographs, writing letters to possible cousins and writing down every bit of family information she could find. Although I was born and raised in Ohio, I have discovered since moving here that among the records she left were details about the lives of my North Carolina ancestors that predate the Revolutionary War. Knowing where you come from is surely a gift to be cherished.

I enjoy reading these grandmother/grandfather memories, I have a bunch of my own. But this sort of dialog has caused me to reflect on the sorts of memories we are making for our own grandkids.

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