By Jan Chaffin March 9, 2021
My Mom died eight years ago yesterday and since then I’ve attempted to unpack the 50 plus boxes of mementos and heirlooms. Among them is a photograph of my Mom’s Mom taken by my cousin Loy. I decided to hang it above the pantry of my 1890’s house. It seemed like the right place for a photo of her holding a recently canned jar of white potatoes. She is standing in her own canning pantry lined with shelves of nutritious future meals in neatly ordered rows of glass jars.
She is neither proud nor shy. She is capable, appreciative, kind and has the strongest arms I’ve ever seen! She is smiling and filled with grace. Her hair is drawn back into a functional bun and she is wearing oval wire rim bifocals. Her short-sleeved flowered smock has been lovingly hand-washed and well-worn. The sunlight from my kitchen window is fading her photograph and I’ve debated moving it. But it’s already getting too light and I have a more preserved scan on a thumb drive somewhere.
Her strong arms held eight healthy babies and raised them mostly on her own. Before her husband John passed away, she hitched a wagon to her horse every Friday and rode twenty miles from Arrowhead Mountain to fetch him from his job constructing some of UVa in Charlottesville. Every Sunday, she made the same trip to return him to his dorm. In between, she planted, harvested, canned and prepared food for her entire family.
I visited the Hurtt homestead with my cousin Betty after my Mom died. The property is no longer in our family, but we were able to wander around and peer into the separate stone, mortar and wood-crafted “cold” kitchen for canning as well as the main and outhouses. From photos and stories, I could imagine the entire family crawling into chilly beds with heated rocks and chamber pots.
My Mom adored her Mom. When the children had to split up after Grandpapa died, Mom went with Grandma to live in town. My Mom’s grace and beauty were admired by my Father, who lived next door. He immediately declared he was going to marry her someday. And so he did, before he went off to land on Omaha Beach during the WWII Normandy Invasion.
So much fades away. Family, friends, youth. Even though the photograph is fading, I smile whenever I glance up at her, because her arms give me strength. I am her daughter’s daughter and I too have strong arms.
