About Us

“Mamaw, tell us a story!  Tell about the first time you saw Papaw.  Or tell about the time Mother and Uncle Buddy threw the cat off the ‘vi-dock!’”
Stories.  Family stories.  They’ve been a part of my life for just about as long as I can remember.  
When my brother and I were growing up during the 1960’s, my maternal grandmother, Mamaw Rellie took care of us while my parents were at work.  After we had tired of jumping on the tire in the side yard (our trampoline),  playing “church,” and folding pieces of notebook paper into airplanes which we sailed across the front yard or Mamaw’s living room, depending on the weather, we whiled away many a long afternoon snuggled up next to Mamaw on the sofa listening to her recount stories from days gone by.  
Mamaw, who was born in 1900, if you believed her version, or 1901, if you believed her brother Ed’s version, was the youngest of twelve children.  She recounted to us stories from her childhood.  How her brothers would pull down small trees, saplings, for her to “ride.”  How she was terrified of the train locomotive and had to be coaxed aboard the train when her family moved to Arkansas when she was nine.  How her Daddy made her school desk for her and her friend to share.  How she was amazed when she saw her first automobile at the age of twelve.  How she had lots of “beaus” when she blossomed into a beautiful young lady.  Occasionally, she would even  bring out a fragile postcard, yellowed with age.  From “somewhere in France,” it contained a message written to her by her beloved Herschel, the man who she would eventually marry, during World War I.  
All of these things and so many more are tucked deep inside my memory.  Then there are the stories told by my mother who grew up in North Little Rock during the 1920’s and 1930’s .  Who came of age during World War II.  And stories told by my daddy, who was born near Mayflower, Arkansas, in 1912 and grew up on a cotton farm.  
Tim has his own wealth of stories from his side of the family.  Stories told to him and his sister while they were in the care of their beloved great-grandmother, Grams.  Stories from his dad about his great-great-grandfather who left Pennsylvania and went west to “grow up with the county.”   Stories from the research Tim has diligently done to learn more about his family who settled in Kansas and began a life on the frontier of a young country.    A trunk half full of pictures, portraits of ancestors, in their nineteenth century clothing, hints of stories of which we only know bits and pieces.  Oh, if they had only left a written record of their experiences!  What stories those would be!
Mamaw, Mother, and Daddy are all gone now.  There is no one left to ask whenever I have a question about just how a certain story went.  No one to clarify a detail or share an extra tidbit.  If their stories are to live on, I must be the keeper of the flame. 
The purpose of this blog is simply to tell stories.  Family stories told to us by our ancestors.  Stories of our own adventures from the past and present.  Stories which we hope you, dear reader, will enjoy.  Stories which we hope our son and the generations to come will treasure.