THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, November 19, 1995 TAG: 9511190172
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
SOURCE: PAUL SOUTH, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 64 lines
Tucked away in a closet is a box of photographs waiting for frames and a proper hanging in prominent places.
Rummaging through the magic box the other night, my eye gravitated to one snapshot.
Dated 1940, the black and white picture was an odd size, not 5-by-7 or 8-by-10. That was not the attraction. What drew my attention were the people and their faces. Tanned men dressed in white shirts and broad-brimmed fedoras. Women in white dresses. All walking through a cotton field made white by the shirts and dresses. The cash crop was nowhere close to harvest, but the shirts and dresses of the unidentified subjects made the field look October-full.
The photo was part of a passel of images my great-aunt had given me shortly before I left Alabama for North Carolina. Most of the photos were easily identifiable. My great-grandparents' wedding portrait. A picture of my father at age 5, commanding imaginary troops in his Army uniform, complete with plastic helmet and toy gun. My grandmother on the running board of a black automobile of undetermined make.
But the faces in the cotton patch picture were unknown to me, distorted by squinting eyes and hat-brim shadows. My great-aunt told me the photo was probably taken at a family reunion.
For several afternoons that final Alabama spring, my aunt told me stories of the people in the photographs. Until then, they were just names dropped in family conversation on Thanksgiving and Christmas.
With Aunt Addie's stories, they became real people, who made a living with their hands - building churches, birthing babies, burying loved ones, growing crops at the whim of sun and rain and soil.
And they were my family.
Time has been found in the past few weeks to look at the photographs. Along with the pictures from my aunt, there are images of my mother's family as well, including the familiar faces of my grandparents, frozen in time to celebrate their golden wedding anniversary.
There is much to be thankful for this year. I have a wonderful job that allows me to work with people I not only respect and admire, but genuinely like. In the 17 months since I left Alabama, they have become my family.
And in the past year, I have met the woman with whom I will spend the remainder of my life. She is much like those in the cotton field who worked hard, loved their families, and cherished the simple life.
I will think a lot about those photographs this week, particularly the cotton-field family reunion and my grandparents' anniversary portrait.
Since last Thanksgiving, the aunt who gave me the wonderful treasure has died. And last week, at 90, my grandfather passed away.
I will remember the words he used before every meal, addressed to his Creator:
``We thank thee for sparing our lives to this good moment in time.''
And in the quiet of these crisp fall days, I will remember the legacy my grandfather, my aunt, and the folks in the cotton patch left behind. It's reason enough to be thankful.
Treat folks like you'd want to be treated.
Laugh hard.
Work hard.
Love much. by CNB