knoxcotn

knoxcotn-digest Monday, May 7 2001 Volume 01 : Number 155

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Date: Mon, 07 May 2001 10:36:55 -0400

From: "Billie R. McNamara" <knox@tngenweb.org>

Subject: Re: [KnoxCoTN] Central High School Yearbooks?

I should've read my e-mail in chronological order! <g> As always, Dr. Jim

comes through with the Ftn City answers...

At 10:06 PM 5/4/01 -0400, J. C. Tumblin, OD wrote:

>Go to the Central High School Library during school hours. They have a

>Heritage Room

>where almost all yearbooks from 1895 to date are present. If you ask

>kindly, they will

>usually copy a few pages for you.

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Date: Mon, 07 May 2001 10:51:00 -0400

From: "Billie R. McNamara" <knox@tngenweb.org>

Subject: [KnoxCoTN] 06 May 2001 Sunday Afternoon Rocking

Sorry about the delay -- I went to visit cousins yesterday, so I was a

little preoccupied <g>.

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Sunday Afternoon Rocking

The Perennials Remember (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series)

"Don't eat the dirt!" I think I remember my mother warning me of that many

yea-long years ago…or maybe it was more like, "Wash your hands before you

eat". Today I was tempted to "eat the dirt". It looked chocolaty and moist

and utterly life giving. There is nothing that feels more healthy to me

than digging around in fat black soil, tucking little plants in, giving

them a drink, moving on to dig around in more fat black soil. I positively

feel healthy with dirty hands, as long as they got that way digging about

to make a home for something green. Maybe it is the ancestry kicking in,

since the majority of mine, up until a generation ago, made their living by

the soil.

Of course it was not "food stuffs", but flowers I was tucking in. And as

always, a trip to the market was in order to replace the annuals. Their

"happy little faces", for that is how I always think of them, brightened

the flowerbeds. I do not profess to have a "green thumb", but spring is

not spring without the ritual of welcoming flowers to our lives.

Perennials are my favorites. Never ceases to amaze me that Mother's Day

is always trumpeted in with a snowball bush heavy with blooms, or that my

tulips never forget me, and the forsythia forever heralds visitors. Never

ceases to be a comforting miracle when the first fragrant scents of lilac

remind me this is spring. They are old friends. They have bid me hello

each season for nigh on thirty years now. As amazed as I am with the

annual miracle, I would be as hurt and disappointed as if a human friend

had neglected to "drop in", should they forget me each year. But they

don't. And I expect they will drop by to say hello for many a spring when

I am no longer here. I hope so. They are a part of what makes this place

a home. The snowball that has been the backdrop for many a Mother's Day

photo, many a prom picture, has survived two tornadoes, once torn to its

very roots. The azalea was my first Mother's Day gift many years ago. The

tulips my children helped me plant, when they were so young their little

chubby hands had to be guided to drop the bulbs in their respective places.

The perennials are more than beautiful old friends. They are memories;

they are annual celebrations of a long ago happy moment, each one of

them. They never forget, nor allow me to forget, and they return to remind

me of a blessed life. And so I know…even when I am no longer in this

place, they will return to celebrate the happy stories of my life. Just as

my grandmother's do…

She lived in what is now known as Land Between the Lakes. The people who

lived there for generations between the rivers were moved out by government

dictum. Some were relocated to make way for the lakes and dams, some for

the easements, and others…my own family… bought out that the communities be

disbanded, the homes be torn down, the people scattered, to create a

wildlife refuge and sportsman's paradise. That they did. And in pain, the

people left the land upon which they had lived generation after generation,

the place they had given birth and buried their own. And in confusion,

frustration, often anger, they left all they had known and their people had

known, and now the generations of those families are scattered all over the

country. The place now is much like it must have been when my ancestor

first came to it early in the 1800's. No trace of a homestead remains, and

visiting the area means one must come prepared to do battle with ticks and

copperheads. Few of us there are, and fewer every year, who can point and

say whose homestead was here, whose there, where the tiny white church

house stood, or the one room school. The younger generation, many well

advanced toward middle age now, sees only a wilderness where we point. But

the perennials remember…

Not a foundation and not a board remains. Not a chimney rises from the

undergrowth. Trees grow where the kitchen was, and the forest has

encroached upon and covered the pastures and the yard. But where my

grandmother planted flowers, where her own children's chubby hands were

guided to plant the seeds and tuck them deep in the soil, still they spring

up annually to celebrate a moment nearly a century ago. If one looks about

with eyes that wish to recognize, they will see a rose here, a lily there,

a daffodil yonder. The homes were torn down, buildings moved, the forest

allowed to reclaim what was its own…but the perennials remember. And

celebrate. Every year they yawn, and stretch and burst forth in cheerful

celebration of the lives of people who tended them long ago and now are

gone. Whatever befell those people, their flowers are not silenced. That

at least, could not be taken away. Once there was a people here, who

settled a land, and flourished. Once there was a people here who built

homes and schools and churches, and tended their soil. And the perennials

will forever remember…the happy moments of her life, my life, and your own.

Just a thought,

jan

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(Note: Afternoon Rocking messages are meant to be passed on, meant to be

shared...simply share though e-mail as written without alterations...and in

entirety. If planned for a publication, permission must be granted by the

author. Please forward sufficient information concerning the nature and

intent of the publication.

Thanks, jan)

Sunday Afternoon Rocking columns are distributed weekly on the list Sunday

Rocking. This is not a "reply to" list, and normally only one message per

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Comments about the content of these messages can be sent to

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Date: Mon, 07 May 2001 11:00:52 -0400

From: "Billie R. McNamara" <knox@tngenweb.org>

Subject: [KnoxCoTN] Greenville Co. SC Library is great!

Because so many people came into East Tennessee from NW South Carolina, I

just HAD to tell y'all about my recent extraordinary experience at the

Greenville County (downtown Greenville) library. The staff was polite and

very helpful. The equipment all worked beautifully. The copy costs were

very reasonable. They have the expected complement of reference books and

vertical files, but I wasn't prepared for the HUGE collection of census

microfilm -- not just SC, but NC, TX, TN, and several other states all the

way through 1920 -- including soundex!

Parking was free (Saturday) and ample within a block of the building. The

only issue I had was there's no elevator to the floor where the collection

is, so my knee hated me.

I went in there armed with nothing but a handful of pictures and some old

letters. I didn't find anything useful in my quest to return the pictures

to the caucasian family (Howards in Piedmont and collateral lines), but I

was able to track down living descendants of the negro family whose letters

dating to the 1870's were entrusted to me for delivery to the right

people. In four hours, using just what was available in the Greenville

library, I was able to identify 4 generations of the former slave family

and have clues to go back one more!

So -- if you're working on people who came from that part of the world, be

sure you treat yourself to a visit to the Greenville library.

And, if you're interested in the letters and what I've learned, go to

http://www.tnhillbillie.net/sc/livingston/

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Date: Mon, 07 May 2001 12:43:04 -0400

From: "Billie R. McNamara" <knox@tngenweb.org>

Subject: [KnoxCoTN] Knoxville near the top in ozone pollution

Our mountains are being killed by more than billboards...

http://web.utk.edu/~enr/news/badair.htm

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Date: Mon, 07 May 2001 13:01:56 -0400

From: "Billie R. McNamara" <knox@tngenweb.org>

Subject: [KnoxCoTN] This could easily be adapted to genealogy...

A friend shared this with me -- I immediately recognized myself, and then I

realized how quickly I could apply it to why my genealogy research never

seems to get "done" <g>

Friends,

I have a condition often found in folks of my age. The scientific world is

frantically searching for a cure. This is an ailment many of us suffer from

and may not as yet have been diagnosed. However, now you may be able to

discuss it with your loved ones and try to explain what really happened to

you all those times you tried so hard to accomplish something and didn't.

It's call it the "Butfirst Syndrome." It's like when I decide to do the

laundry - I start down the hall and notice the newspaper on the table. Okay,

I'm going to do the laundry - Butfirst I'm going to read the newspaper.

After that, I notice the mail on the table. Okay, I'll just put the newspaper

in the recycle stack, Butfirst I'll look through that pile of mail and see if

there are any bills to be paid. Now where's the checkbook?

Oops! There's the empty glass from yesterday on the coffee table. I'm going

to look for that checkbook, Butfirst I need to put the glass in the sink. I

head for the kitchen, look out the window, notice my poor flowers need a

drink of water. I put the glass in the sink, and darn it, there's the remote

for the TV on the kitchen counter. What's it doing here? I'll just put it

away, Butfirst I need to water those plants.

Head for door and Ack! I stepped on the dog. The dog needs to be fed. Okay,

I'll put that remote away and water the plants. Butfirst I need to feed the

dog.

At the end of day:

Laundry is not done,

Newspapers are still on the floor,

Glass is still in the sink,

Bills are unpaid,

Checkbook is still missing,

The dog ate the remote control.

AND, when I try to figure out how come nothing got done all day,

I'm baffled, because I KNOW I was BUSY ALL DAY!

I realize this condition is serious....and I should get help,

Butfirst I think I'll read all my email

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End of knoxcotn-digest V1 #155

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