My Great Uncle Cecil tells me that the feud between the Hatfields and the McCoys was really caused by a Martin. More specifically, his Granddad Martin. So before the Hatfields and the McCoys came the feud between the Martins and the McCoys.
He holds my gaze with his own hazy eyes that have been under the knife at least twice in the past couple years. He crinkles his face a little, but I can tell that he is not joking about this. His wrinkled parchment spotted hands sketch out the details in a graceful movement that belies the brittleness of the white hairs lying on them.
"The McCoys were a part of the home guard in the battle between the north and south, and squatted on Martin land (he starts, his faded blue eyes sparkling).
You see, (Great Uncle Cecil presses his thumb and forefinger together and jabs the air as he switches to a new tangent) my granddad was a ornery cuss and he settled in West Virginia on 150 acres of land. He had six children at the time but there was no schoolhouse. So he deeded an acre or two of the land to building a schoolhouse and got everything okayed with the school board and then paid the schoolmistress’s wages for two months-until the board caught up on payments. But when the war broke out between the North and South - the Martins didn’t want anything to do with it.
You gotta understand, it really didn’t matter what side you wanted to be on- if you were caught by the northern army, you were conscripted by them. If you were caught by the southern army, you worked for them. So my Uncle hid out in a cave until the coast was clear. Although he did almost get caught once. You see he was hiding out in a cave with his little dog, and he had taught it not to bark; it was a smart little thing. But growl it did and those army boys were right on top of my old uncle. But he ran and came to the river where he figured on jumping onto a large rock he saw in the moonlight and jumping across the stream. Well, leap onto the rock he did - but it wasn’t a rock-just the reflection of the moon. So he fell in with a big splash and if he weren't such a fast swimmer there’d be a lot more McCoys around today.
My Aunt was an ornery woman too (he pauses and gazes across the table at my boyfriend, meeting the family for the first time. "You better listen to this if you’re going to continue with my girl like this. You otta beware what ornery women we have in this family and she's Martin through and through."). When a Union soldier came visiting, wanting to steal meat and perhaps more, she hid upstairs in the loft. That soldier knew there was a young girl up there and walked below to try to peak up and see her. Well she grabs some scalding water and pours it right down on him. To this day there are still bullet holes in the beams where that soldier tried to retaliate.
So, the home guard, including the McCoys stayed on my grandfather’s land all through the years of the war. Well, the war ended but they’d gotten married to local girls and had families by that time and felt they had the right to stay on the Martin land. There were two families, the Dunfies and the McCoys and several black families. Grandfather took it to court, but the West Virginia supreme court dragged it out. You see they didn’t want to tell the Union guys, the heroes, to get off. Until just recently that was the longest court case in West Virginia’s history. Finally the judge ruled rightly and told them all to get off. But they had no way to enforce it. There were no marshals or policemen back then. The Dunfies left and Grandfather deeded some land to the blacks so they stayed - but the McCoys wouldn’t leave. There were several families of them at this point.
(Uncle Cecil gets a sly smile on his wrinkled face and smoothes his thin white hair. He hunches forward confidentially) Now I don’t like to think about it, and I hate to think he’d do such things - but I think my Uncle set beartraps for those McCoys. I asked my aunt and she says he absolutely did and I asked my uncle and all he’d say was 'You can’t believe everything you hear,' but he never denied it. (His tone is ebullient,his fingers punctuating the air) He never admitted to it,but he never denied it either. From what I heard he caught pretty many of those McCoys. And since those blacks were happy with my grandfather, they accounted for even more of the McCoys.
Now the McCoys figured that too many of themselves were getting killed so they decided to move on to a place they knew across the mountains. Granddad learned of this and sent a messenger clear across the mountains to Devil Hatfield, whom the Martins knew through marriage to some second cousin or so. So when the McCoys came-the Hatfields were ready for trouble. Now, people say the Hatfields, they were nice, pleasant folks - but you don't get a name like Devil without being a bit of a firecracker.
(Great Uncle Cecil squints his eyes and smiles slightly, wisely.) Now all accounts read that the trouble all began when a McCoy let his sow loose to eat the Hatfields’s corn-but that wasn’t what really started it all-no sir, you can bet on that. It was the Martins that started the feud and the Hatfields just took it over to give the McCoys tarnation."
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Another family piece
Representing the other side of the family, another speech I gave three years ago for my Grandma's funeral
For Grandma, Irene Niemoeller who passed away February 25, 2002
While at my Grandparents house the day after Grandma died, I picked up a book of poetry I’d given Grandma many years ago. Inside it, marking a page was a silly little letter I’d sent her probably in Jr. High School, about twenty years ago. It was one of those kid things, using the letters in GRANDMA to form nice sentences wishing her a Happy Birthday – but she kept it all those years.
And I thought to myself – My Grandma really loved me. She wasn’t just fond of me, she truly loved me as much as I loved her. Not perfectly, often gruffly with a rough concern that was part pushing away physically, part holding me close to her heart. She didn’t want me or anyone really to visit her when she was sick – but she still kept up with what I was doing, how I was; loving me from a distance. She loved all her family and even though we all have some regret – that we weren’t there when she died, that we didn’t realize how sick she was soon enough, that we didn’t make more time to visit – there is one thing we don’t have to regret. I have no doubt in my mind that Grandma knew we loved her. And that is pretty important, I think.
I came upon a poem Grandma had marked in her poetry book: A Thing of Beauty, by John Keats.
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.
My Grandma was a thing of beauty in my life, one that I never fully appreciated until I had to think about her loss. But even as I miss her terribly, I have to realize that she filled my life with other beautiful things that still remain. She gave me a Mother who loves deeply and an Aunt, Uncle and Grandfather who care so much. She connected us all into a very close family and those ties are still there – even though she is not. In this painful time of losing her, it is the skill she gave us of loving each other that gets us through. This, I think, is her most beautiful and lasting legacy.
For Grandma, Irene Niemoeller who passed away February 25, 2002
While at my Grandparents house the day after Grandma died, I picked up a book of poetry I’d given Grandma many years ago. Inside it, marking a page was a silly little letter I’d sent her probably in Jr. High School, about twenty years ago. It was one of those kid things, using the letters in GRANDMA to form nice sentences wishing her a Happy Birthday – but she kept it all those years.
And I thought to myself – My Grandma really loved me. She wasn’t just fond of me, she truly loved me as much as I loved her. Not perfectly, often gruffly with a rough concern that was part pushing away physically, part holding me close to her heart. She didn’t want me or anyone really to visit her when she was sick – but she still kept up with what I was doing, how I was; loving me from a distance. She loved all her family and even though we all have some regret – that we weren’t there when she died, that we didn’t realize how sick she was soon enough, that we didn’t make more time to visit – there is one thing we don’t have to regret. I have no doubt in my mind that Grandma knew we loved her. And that is pretty important, I think.
I came upon a poem Grandma had marked in her poetry book: A Thing of Beauty, by John Keats.
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.
My Grandma was a thing of beauty in my life, one that I never fully appreciated until I had to think about her loss. But even as I miss her terribly, I have to realize that she filled my life with other beautiful things that still remain. She gave me a Mother who loves deeply and an Aunt, Uncle and Grandfather who care so much. She connected us all into a very close family and those ties are still there – even though she is not. In this painful time of losing her, it is the skill she gave us of loving each other that gets us through. This, I think, is her most beautiful and lasting legacy.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Sorting Pictures
My Family seemed to want to see this again - it is a speech I gave at my Grandma's 90th birthday party. So, here it is.
Sorting Pictures
Grandma told us to sort through a box of pictures she'd collected through the years.
"Take what you want, I've got all I need," she said.
That was all the invitation a group of us needed and we sat at the table and scooped pictures out, randomly picking through and sorting and learning more than we would realize about a woman we'd known all our lives.
The black and white photos were sorted through first, with great glee at the young faces and West Virginia landscapes.
A pair of pretty young girls stand in front of a large rock, in simple dresses and wide smiles. "Luella and Mary," the caption reads and we see Luella as a daughter and sister in the hills where she was raised.
"Look at those girls," someone exclaims. "Is that Virginia?"
It is, and an older Mary and Luella, dressed to the 9's and obviously looking for trouble in the way of men. I wondered if perhaps it was the other two girl's bad influence on Grandma, who seems so pure and innocent to me.
But no, there is the next picture. A fashionable young woman with her hat tilted to one side, a cocky smile on her face and a gleam in her eye. Any young man who wanted this heartbreaker's hand would have to work hard to get it. Could my Grandmother possibly have been a flirt? I can't believe it - yet the picture doesn't lie, and I wonder what man could catch this woman's heart.
And there he is, dashing in his suit with her beside him in velvet. They sit close to each other, so young with the bold expression of the newlywed daring the world to throw anything at them because together they could handle everything. Luella as wife and lover.
The next picture is a crowd of unfamiliar faces at a reunion.
"There's Grandma," someone announces and points.
I look hard and finally spy her. Short Luella has ducked in the back of the tall Grants and all I can see is the part of her wavy black hair, standing beside Elner. This young wife has become a supporter, in the back, but undeniably present.
The perspective changes then and Luella disappears as we see through her eyes, a young mother in love with her children. She witnesses her eldest son playing with his cousins under an old-fashioned hand pump and labels the picture "Lowell in the water trough," the "again" is implied. She sees my Uncle Bill's first wedding - marrying my father to his prim looking cousin Debbie in a rather illicit ceremony with lots of laughing children looking on. Sharon stands in her best dress, laughing at the snow on Easter day with a long ponytail trailing down her back and we see her through her mother's loving eyes. There are no pictures of the hundreds of thousands of tomatoes and beans and corn this young wife canned over the years to keep her children fed - you can see those in the plump cheeks of her children. There is no picture of how well she handled the hardships of the years - you can see it in the laughter in her children's eyes.
Suddenly, the children are teens and they are standing beside a special young woman or man; or in some cases several young women. And suddenly Luella has a new role - that of mother-in-law. And soon after, the coveted title of Grandmother.
Then come the group pictures. All seem to involve either Christmas trees or volleyball nets and an increasing group of young people.
"What is this?" someone asks. I look and remember, and it stops the laughter a moment.
"Those were the flowers people sent at Grandpa's funeral," I say. Someone pulls out a big picture of two cocky young men standing in front of a gas station. The sign reads "Rader and Grant" and we pause a moment to remember the man who died, realizing that Luella now has another label - that of widow.
But the pictures don't stop with death. They move on to more life as friends creep into the picture and people become more and more entwined. Luella with her brother, children and grandchildren in front of the Christmas tree. Luella standing with her son, his son, and his daughter - her first great-grandchild. All these pictures add up to a collage of life, like those picture collages Susan carefully joined together. Ninety years of pictures drifting from the West Virginia landscapes in black and white to the colorful Ohio Christmas trees everyone stood in front of. A daughter and sister maturing to a sparkling bride, deepening to a loving mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. A portrait of Luella Martin Grant, my grandmother, who turned ninety years old on Tuesday, May 15.
Sorting Pictures
Grandma told us to sort through a box of pictures she'd collected through the years.
"Take what you want, I've got all I need," she said.
That was all the invitation a group of us needed and we sat at the table and scooped pictures out, randomly picking through and sorting and learning more than we would realize about a woman we'd known all our lives.
The black and white photos were sorted through first, with great glee at the young faces and West Virginia landscapes.
A pair of pretty young girls stand in front of a large rock, in simple dresses and wide smiles. "Luella and Mary," the caption reads and we see Luella as a daughter and sister in the hills where she was raised.
"Look at those girls," someone exclaims. "Is that Virginia?"
It is, and an older Mary and Luella, dressed to the 9's and obviously looking for trouble in the way of men. I wondered if perhaps it was the other two girl's bad influence on Grandma, who seems so pure and innocent to me.
But no, there is the next picture. A fashionable young woman with her hat tilted to one side, a cocky smile on her face and a gleam in her eye. Any young man who wanted this heartbreaker's hand would have to work hard to get it. Could my Grandmother possibly have been a flirt? I can't believe it - yet the picture doesn't lie, and I wonder what man could catch this woman's heart.
And there he is, dashing in his suit with her beside him in velvet. They sit close to each other, so young with the bold expression of the newlywed daring the world to throw anything at them because together they could handle everything. Luella as wife and lover.
The next picture is a crowd of unfamiliar faces at a reunion.
"There's Grandma," someone announces and points.
I look hard and finally spy her. Short Luella has ducked in the back of the tall Grants and all I can see is the part of her wavy black hair, standing beside Elner. This young wife has become a supporter, in the back, but undeniably present.
The perspective changes then and Luella disappears as we see through her eyes, a young mother in love with her children. She witnesses her eldest son playing with his cousins under an old-fashioned hand pump and labels the picture "Lowell in the water trough," the "again" is implied. She sees my Uncle Bill's first wedding - marrying my father to his prim looking cousin Debbie in a rather illicit ceremony with lots of laughing children looking on. Sharon stands in her best dress, laughing at the snow on Easter day with a long ponytail trailing down her back and we see her through her mother's loving eyes. There are no pictures of the hundreds of thousands of tomatoes and beans and corn this young wife canned over the years to keep her children fed - you can see those in the plump cheeks of her children. There is no picture of how well she handled the hardships of the years - you can see it in the laughter in her children's eyes.
Suddenly, the children are teens and they are standing beside a special young woman or man; or in some cases several young women. And suddenly Luella has a new role - that of mother-in-law. And soon after, the coveted title of Grandmother.
Then come the group pictures. All seem to involve either Christmas trees or volleyball nets and an increasing group of young people.
"What is this?" someone asks. I look and remember, and it stops the laughter a moment.
"Those were the flowers people sent at Grandpa's funeral," I say. Someone pulls out a big picture of two cocky young men standing in front of a gas station. The sign reads "Rader and Grant" and we pause a moment to remember the man who died, realizing that Luella now has another label - that of widow.
But the pictures don't stop with death. They move on to more life as friends creep into the picture and people become more and more entwined. Luella with her brother, children and grandchildren in front of the Christmas tree. Luella standing with her son, his son, and his daughter - her first great-grandchild. All these pictures add up to a collage of life, like those picture collages Susan carefully joined together. Ninety years of pictures drifting from the West Virginia landscapes in black and white to the colorful Ohio Christmas trees everyone stood in front of. A daughter and sister maturing to a sparkling bride, deepening to a loving mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. A portrait of Luella Martin Grant, my grandmother, who turned ninety years old on Tuesday, May 15.
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