Rolling Along

     The holidays have a way of making us miss those that are no longer with us. For me it is the gentlest soul I have ever known, or ever will. They just don't make them like her anymore. She went through hardships none of us could even imagine. Born dirt poor, lost her mother when she was very young. Soon she lost several brothers, and then her father. Later on, as a young woman, she lost her husband and then after remarrying, lost a child. Who was she? My Grandmother. She died 5 months shy of her 100th birthday in June of 2008. So why am I writing about her now? Just recently a cousin was going through my great aunts things, my great aunt had died as well not long ago. Anyway, my cousin happened upon something so special and so surprising it has compelled me to write this in memory of a lady who was never loud, or boisterous. Who never patted herself on the back for anything. Who lived with more dignity and grace than anyone I have ever known. While she had the gentlest of hearts, she had a spine of steel! She loved and served God reverently and soberly. After losing her first husband, who was only 27 years old when he died of a heart problem called Dropsy ( a hole in his heart)leaving her with two young children. Her then youngest child of two years being my Mother. This was during the great depression. She and my Mother and Uncle nearly starved to death, literally. She prepared what little food there was and if there wasn't enough she went without so her children could have more.

I am trying to paint a portrait with words of her, and hoping I do a fair job of it. So, what did my cousin find? A poem my Grandma wrote that no one but my great aunt knew about until just recently. The family all knew she loved poetry, she could quote poetry right off the top of her head anytime at all. But we had no idea that she ever wrote it herself! This has had such an impact on me, being a poet myself. When did she ever have the time to read poetry, much more write it?! She was a farmers wife, up at dawn and down at sunset. She worked in the fields, raised four children, cooked, cleaned and did more in a single day than any of us today could even begin to imagine doing and managed to keep her sanity and her sunny disposition! It sort of broke my heart when I read her poem. She never had a chance to explore her talent, or even to read the poetry she so obviously loved. She was never bitter about anything. But a sadness was always behind her eyes. I know it was for oh so many things, some I have mentioned previously, others not. She never had time to dream in her youth, she had siblings to care for, and later, a family of her own.

So, here it is Christmas and we won't see those loving eyes or tender smile beaming back at us and I miss her so much my heart just aches. I wanted to give you an idea of why this poem is so special, why it has filled me with such emotion. You will never know her in any other way and I want to do her an honorable justice when I include her poem, that was found untitled, that I took the liberty of titling for her for you to read...to know...and to cherish your own precious Grandma and everyone in your life you hold dear. Here it is, may you find her humble work as beautiful as I have. I know now where my talent came from. Thank you Grandma, I love you and miss you terribly.


Rolling Along by Clara Oldham

As I was out walking one morning in June
I saw the red roses so freshly in bloom
I walked down to the river with banks deep and high
clear water was flowing as blue as the sky

I thought about Spurrier, my long ago home
on the banks of the Nolin flowing peaceful along
I thought about old friends, the store, and the mill
and over on the hillside the lone whipperwill

I thought about violets growing by the roadside
so thickly in bloom when brother Mike died
I thought of my Mother so sad and so blue
I tried to be cheerful but my heart was broke too

The store and the mill now have long since been gone
but the water in the old Nolin keeps rolling along.





She wrote about her brother Mike, who died at 16 years of typhoid fever. Of a place my family still live. Yes, the store and mill are gone but the river called the Nolin still rolls on. She felt the passage of the years, and the loneliness for family long past. But she never ignored the beauty that surrounded her. Loss early in life will do that to you.

In loving memory of Clara Oldham
1908-2008