Remembering Nettie



1990



My grandmother died last week on Tuesday, May 22nd. She was born December 23, 1912. I remember her saying often in recent years, "I might live to be a hundred." Except she pronounced it "hunderd."  "I might live to be a hunderd," she would say.  And she almost did.  She was the last of her siblings to pass, the last of her generation. Her life spanned a full century, an accomplishment that not many can claim.  But that is certainly not her greatest achievement. As Abraham Lincoln said, "In the end, it's not the years in your life that count; it's the life in your years." And neither precludes the other. She certainly did a lot of living in her 99+ years and left a legacy that included 5 children, 17 grandchildren, 29 great grandchildren, and 2 great great grandchildren.  Her clan was well represented at her service along with some friendly locals who loved her like we did. Many at her service knew her as Grandma; some called her Mama, some Aunt Net, and others Miss Nettie.  All those who called her simply "Net" have already passed on, and she is with them now. Her sisters and brothers, her husband, many friends, and her parents, Maw and Paw as she called them. She was much loved, and I feel she was pleased by the attendance and the outpouring of love from so many.

My memories of Grandma are precious. When I was a very young girl, she lived with my step-granddad (we called him Paw Paw) in a big white farm-style house on Buena Vista Street in Ellaville, Georgia. The house had a big, deep porch that spanned the full width of it with a swing on one end and rocking chairs on the other. Big, old abelia shrubs lined the front of the house. I can still smell them, but it was only in recent years that I realized what they were. The front door was in the center of the porch and opened into a wide central hallway that divided the house into two apartments. Grandma and Paw Paw lived on the left, and I remember my fun, cool, young Aunt Elaine and her new husband living on the right.  There was a ramshackled, shared bath at the end of the hall at the back of the house. The first room on the left housed the console TV where we watched Ed Sullivan and The Lawrence Welk show. It also contained the guest bed where I slept when I spent the night. In my memory I could lie in that bed in the front room and see straight through the next bedroom, the dining room, and into the kitchen. So when Grandma got up early and pulled the cord on the single light bulb that hung from the kitchen ceiling, I could see that she was up. (I'm not sure that you could actually see from the front room all the way back to the kitchen, but that's the way it is in my memory.) Soon enough after Grandma was up, I could smell the coffee percolating and breakfast cooking. She always made eggs, grits, the best buttered toast or maybe even biscuits, and bacon or sausage. Seems like she always had homemade jelly or preserves, usually blackberry from the previous summer's pickings.  I would spend the night with my Grandma many times over the years, and not always in this same house for she moved a number of times, but the essence of the memory is the same.

We visited Grandma every weekend when I was little. Family meals around her big table were common. Every Christmas Eve was spent at her house; then we would make the long drive home. It was only a 30 minute ride, but seemed much longer to a child. By mid-morning on Christmas Day we loaded up the 1961 Ford Falcon and headed back to Grandma's house to show her what Santa had brought and to enjoy her wonderful cooking. She was a gifted southern cook who could throw together a feast in no time and never seemed to stress over it.  She was a hard working woman who somehow always managed to make ends meet. She grew up in poverty and didn't finish school. She worked in the cotton fields, then the cotton mills, and later sewed shirts at Manhattan Shirt Factory in Americus.  She could stretch a dime and never wasted anything - not cardboard or tin foil or old worn out clothes. Everything was reused in some way. She loved to shop at Goodwill and often combined floral prints with plaids or whatever struck her fancy. She was not concerned with fashion; if she liked it she wore it. She never studied music but could play by ear; I heard she could play the piano, but I never got to witness it. Many times I enjoyed her harmonica playing. One Christmas comes to mind - late on Christmas Eve she played into the wee hours while we all laughed and danced. She had a hearty laugh that could easily turn into a snort.  She loved story-telling and often shared stories from her childhood. She enjoyed gardening, berry picking, canning, cooking, rocking on the porch and talking with family and friends. She loved coffee - not just the drink, but the ritual surrounding it;  I can still hear her asking, "you want some coffee?" One of her favorite treats was an occasional co-cola and snickers bar.  She was a hopeless romantic and loved a good looking man, especially if he could play the guitar and sing.   She was strong-willed, disciplined, and fiercely loyal to her own.  She loved her family, her home, her town, her church, and her God. And we loved her.

May, 2004