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| When dad was a child, they lived in a house where you had to cross a swinging bridge to get to it. They parked on the side of the road and walked across, 50 feet high over the Kentucky River. Their house sat on the side of a mountain. |
Our
family reunion was a couple of weeks ago and I missed it. Growing up, every year we went to Jackson,
Kentucky, a little town in the Appalachian Mountains in the Southeastern part
of the state. Back in the early 1900’s,
my great-grandmother, on her death bed made her children promise that there
would be a ‘Deaton’ reunion every year.
As the family was moving out of the hills to different parts of the
state, or out of state, it was her dream that her decedents – of which I am one
- would never forget our roots; at least the American ones.
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| As families grew, we had to rent a place to have it. |
We
loved going to Jackson, because, for one weekend a year, we were famous. Everywhere you looked was our name; Dr. Deaton the physician, Dr.
Deaton the dentist, Deaton’s Funeral Home, Deaton’s Hardware, this list went
on. The reunion actually starts in Ohio as
a Friday night dinner between the ‘Ohio Folks’; our grandparents, Dad’s
brothers and uncles and their families.
On Saturday, we’d make the four hour trip to the hills of Kentucky,
often as a convoy. We’d stop just
outside of town for ice cream and then head to whomever’s house we were staying
at and get ready for the Saturday evening dinner, filled with the traditional
and authentic ‘Kentucky Fried Chicken, beans and corn bread – real corn bread
that is made in a skillet with a heavier, grits like texture and, rather than
cut it, you break pieces off – and the cheese potatoes, cheese grits, green
beans Kentucky style, pound cakes, banana pudding, peanut butter cake, and that
list too, goes on. Perhaps they were
trying to prepare us for much, much, more of the same the next day, at the
reunion, where ‘everyone’ showed up.
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| Yearly trek down the tracks in Wolfcoal |
The
kids often stayed at my great aunt Thelma’s house and her living room and spare
bedrooms would be filled with siblings and cousins, on beds, floors and
couches. As cousins, we had a lot to
catch up on and would giggle and laugh, sharing memories, until 3 or 4 in the
morning. (Aunt Thelma was a saint!) Several houses in that quaint neighborhood
were all Deaton families so for two days we would hop from house to house, and
we were offered even more food and southern breakfasts wherever we went. But on Sunday mornings, the day of the
reunion, the kids (us) were always too tired to get up before 9 a.m., but other
families would just be arriving into town.
We’d be laying there sleeping while lines of adults would step over and between
us and we’d hear Aunt Thelma, or Aunt Jean, or Second Cousins Beth, Gail, or
Dawn, giving a tour and we were the
sight.
In the
sea of kids, we’d hear our names, ‘That
thayer is Theresa Ann, Franks daughter, and thayer is Virginia Ann, V’s daughter,
and Tony Dee, V’s Son, and Christa Ann, Brant’s daughter, and thayer’s Murry Baeth,
Brant’s daughter, and the list would go on as, in a half sleep stupor, we’d
here them oohing and ahing over a bunch of drooling, sleeping kids. After we were up and able to see what new relatives
arrived, our star status would continue, as relative after relative would hug
us and say things like, “Wha, Murry Baeth,
aren’t you just the purtiest thing! You’ve
grown up so much!” As we grew older,
and often drove ourselves, we’d sometimes arrived into town late at night and, though
we were welcome anywhere, we did not want to disturb anyone so we’d sleep in
the car. Or shall I say, any car that
had an out-of-state license plate meant that they were a Deaton so we’d find
the ones that looked the most comfortable and all get in separate cars to
sleep. In the morning, the cars would be
surrounded by worried adults, all welcoming us with hugs, offers of food, and beds to go back in and sleep a little longer, and showers. Their houses, like them, were always
beautiful, meticulous, and there was nothing better than a warm shower with
dove soap and a hot breakfast waiting.
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| Our family under tree @ cemetery (I missed that year) |
But the
best memory of all, are the many, many relatives over the years who always told
us how much they loved us! In
particular, was my Great Uncle Logan who would be sure to give each of us a big
hug as we would be saying our goodbyes and he'd say, “No matter what happens, always remember, there are people who love
you in Kentucky!” And many times through my life, when the
roads were rough, when failure was my only companion, or when my dreams
shattered before my eyes, I could hear Uncle Logan softly whispering in my ear,
“There are people who love you in
Kentucky!” and somehow, that was enough to get me through.
Many of
those beautiful, sweet spirited people have passed now and are buried together
in a beautiful cemetery on the hillside as you enter the town of Jackson. Their graves, like their houses and like
themelves, are beautiful, meticulous, and peaceful. And I think how important it was to them the legacy they would leave
behind. Deaton’s have never been ‘here and now’ thinkers, rather they
think about what they will hand down to future generations. And I think of that too! I thought about that before ever having
children, and I will continue to bring my own kids, and eventually
grandchildren, and great grandchildren to the Kentucky reunions, and they will
get the tour of the hills and be told the same stories over and over. And they will be told about reunions of the
past and the fabulous cooks who have long-since left this world.
But now, Mobile is another part of our story, a new - or perhaps old - part, a place I want my descendants, friends and family to love and explore with me, and to call home - whether or not you ever live here. And for all those I hold dear to my heart, I want to share the gift that Great Uncle Logan and my Kentucky relatives gave me. Regardless of what happens in life, or how
bad things get, how lonely you are, or how rough the road looks ahead, please,
always remember, that there is someone
who loves you and will welcome you in Mobile, Alabama.
