Tribute to Emma Williams’ 100th year
If I had been born at another day and time, I wouldn’t be here to pay tribute to My Mother, Emma Louise Williams.
I also would be around to, (when I go over to give her a bath) see her big toothless smile and hear her say “Hey Baby Dear” (the name she calls me).
I wouldn’t be able to see the covers she has folded around her waist thinking they are an apron full of turnip greens that she has picked for dinner.
Sometimes, she thinks she’s wrapped up in cows chain. She has caught and held the cows to keep them from running to the Reed’s farm. She’s reading stories to her children by kerosene lamp light and warmed by the pot bellied stove.
Pigs escape, foxes raid the chicken coops, a war is raging, there is a depression, soap operas are on the radio, the kids are running wild, the sugar is rationed, there is a drought, boll weevils are eating the crops, She’s making quilts with the 2 Miss Sarahs and Aunt Peter or Cousin Sister. They killed Dr. Martin Luther King, She voted.
She’s taking care of her cancer ridden mother, and burying the love of her life, my father, watching her only son go off to the Army, then off to prison.
Sometimes, the white folks are on the road watching her or she’s struggling to keep the farm or secure a deed for Pleasant Ridge Church from Mr. Perry, the plantation owner on which the church was built.
Sometimes she’s yelling for us kids to get out of a tree or get in the house for supper. Sometimes she’s spanking someone’s butt, talking to a new Son-in-law, smiling at a new grand baby, or watching a child graduate from college.
Sometimes, she’s making tea cakes, pies or barbecuing pork steaks to sell at the Williams’ Grocery store that she ran for many years.
Sometimes she’s laughing at some good fortune, selling farm fresh vegetables, milk, and butter on the town’s square. At other times, she crying from anxiety about the conditions of the crops or the world.
With the aid of Alzheimer Disease (something scientist say we’ll have should we be blessed with a long life) she may not remember what she had lunch just a few minutes hence but she can take me back for a look at her long life.
In 1933, Daddy went to Sunflower County and plucked her out from all the rest even against her Mother’s will, I am told. The married on his $.75 a day income. He had secured a little 2 room house with a bed, a table and 1 chair on the Perry Plantations just behind Pleasant Ridge Church, where the rest of his family lived and worked.
He wanted her for her beautiful, big legs, long pretty hair, and her dreams for a better life. What he got was a woman who was mentally agile and physically, nearly as strong as ox, who would work from sunup till sundown, without ONE complaint and was grateful for what little God was giving them.
He went to work on the plow. She made gardens and possibilities. She stopped him from drinking and gambling and brought Jesus in his life.
Soon they bought 40 acres of land which we call 18 and moved off the Perry Plantation. Mother was enterprising. They soon raised cows, pigs, Chicken, guineeses, and children. Daddy became a member of the PTA, the Masons, a deacon at church, and, in my opinion, a very good father.
Together, they bought more land, developed a homestead, on what is now Emma Williams Road, developed friend ships, helped to raise other peoples’s children, gave of themselves to others, and became contributing members of Tunica County.
Five generations of descendant of Jackson and Emma Williams have lived and thrived on the homestead they established. Most of us live by their mandate to make a good life and this world a better place.
If I had been born at another day and time, I would not be here today, to pay tribute to My Mother Emma Williams to whom I want to say publically, “Thank You Mother, For MY Life.
© Rachell N. Anderson, Psy. D. November 21, 2012
If I had been born at another day and time, I wouldn’t be here to pay tribute to My Mother, Emma Louise Williams.
I also would be around to, (when I go over to give her a bath) see her big toothless smile and hear her say “Hey Baby Dear” (the name she calls me).
I wouldn’t be able to see the covers she has folded around her waist thinking they are an apron full of turnip greens that she has picked for dinner.
Sometimes, she thinks she’s wrapped up in cows chain. She has caught and held the cows to keep them from running to the Reed’s farm. She’s reading stories to her children by kerosene lamp light and warmed by the pot bellied stove.
Pigs escape, foxes raid the chicken coops, a war is raging, there is a depression, soap operas are on the radio, the kids are running wild, the sugar is rationed, there is a drought, boll weevils are eating the crops, She’s making quilts with the 2 Miss Sarahs and Aunt Peter or Cousin Sister. They killed Dr. Martin Luther King, She voted.
She’s taking care of her cancer ridden mother, and burying the love of her life, my father, watching her only son go off to the Army, then off to prison.
Sometimes, the white folks are on the road watching her or she’s struggling to keep the farm or secure a deed for Pleasant Ridge Church from Mr. Perry, the plantation owner on which the church was built.
Sometimes she’s yelling for us kids to get out of a tree or get in the house for supper. Sometimes she’s spanking someone’s butt, talking to a new Son-in-law, smiling at a new grand baby, or watching a child graduate from college.
Sometimes, she’s making tea cakes, pies or barbecuing pork steaks to sell at the Williams’ Grocery store that she ran for many years.
Sometimes she’s laughing at some good fortune, selling farm fresh vegetables, milk, and butter on the town’s square. At other times, she crying from anxiety about the conditions of the crops or the world.
With the aid of Alzheimer Disease (something scientist say we’ll have should we be blessed with a long life) she may not remember what she had lunch just a few minutes hence but she can take me back for a look at her long life.
In 1933, Daddy went to Sunflower County and plucked her out from all the rest even against her Mother’s will, I am told. The married on his $.75 a day income. He had secured a little 2 room house with a bed, a table and 1 chair on the Perry Plantations just behind Pleasant Ridge Church, where the rest of his family lived and worked.
He wanted her for her beautiful, big legs, long pretty hair, and her dreams for a better life. What he got was a woman who was mentally agile and physically, nearly as strong as ox, who would work from sunup till sundown, without ONE complaint and was grateful for what little God was giving them.
He went to work on the plow. She made gardens and possibilities. She stopped him from drinking and gambling and brought Jesus in his life.
Soon they bought 40 acres of land which we call 18 and moved off the Perry Plantation. Mother was enterprising. They soon raised cows, pigs, Chicken, guineeses, and children. Daddy became a member of the PTA, the Masons, a deacon at church, and, in my opinion, a very good father.
Together, they bought more land, developed a homestead, on what is now Emma Williams Road, developed friend ships, helped to raise other peoples’s children, gave of themselves to others, and became contributing members of Tunica County.
Five generations of descendant of Jackson and Emma Williams have lived and thrived on the homestead they established. Most of us live by their mandate to make a good life and this world a better place.
If I had been born at another day and time, I would not be here today, to pay tribute to My Mother Emma Williams to whom I want to say publically, “Thank You Mother, For MY Life.
© Rachell N. Anderson, Psy. D. November 21, 2012
