A Jaunt to North Carolina II

I read recently on a friend's blog that her work schedule--I don't think I know what she does--sends her off to sleep at 8:00 pm and wakes her up at 2:00 am. This reminded me of a story my uncle--a United Methodist minster (retired)--once told from the pulpit. My grandfather, Amos Stackhouse "Stack" Reeves (known to me as "Papa") was one of those folks in the rural mountain community of Walnut, NC, that Thomas Jefferson would have identified as a member of the "natural aristocracy," local leaders who are sought out not because of political or military campaigns but because of their natural abilities. Well, one fellow in the community was often coming 'round to ask Papa this or that question about farming (planting times and methods, etc.). The interesting part about this fellow's visits was that they were always at the first sign that Papa's house was astir in the morning. As soon as the first light appeared in the window, this fellow's voice would break the predawn stillness, calling from the yard, "Stack?"

The story goes that Papa and his youngest son (Joseph MacDonald Reeves, known to me as "Mack", the one who eventually became the Methodist minister) decided to go to this fellow's house in the middle of the night to see just how early he got up. Arriving at their planned observation point at 2:00 am, Papa and Mack were surprised to find their neighbor's house already lit up in the darkness. So, they quickly thought of a question they could ask him and went and knocked on the door. When the fellow's wife answered, Papa asked if her husband was home. She responded (at 2:00 am, mind you), "Well, he was here earlier this morning, but I'm not sure where he's gone off to right now."

It was to Papa's house, now Mom's house, that I went on Friday. I was surprised to find a little reunion going on there. I have two living Reeves uncles (out of seven), and both were to be at the house on Saturday. My mom and my aunt still live in Walnut, and the four of them--Harold (from St. Claire, Michigan), Mack (from Shelby, NC), Mom and Ernie spent some time Saturday afternoon just laughing and telling tales of the old times with Papa and Mama Reeves.

Except for one sister in poor health up in Michigan, these four are the last of a family of eleven--seven boys and four girls. Like my cousin Dan, who, with his two sons Josh and David, drove Harold down to the homeplace from Michigan last week, I wondered what images--with what variety of shadings of memory--played through their minds as they sat there together. I also wondered how often during that short afternoon of laughter the thought stirred in some dark corner of their minds that this might be last time all of them would be there in that house together. Truth be told, it's possible that it won't be. The oldest in that gathering was 83; Papa lived to be 86 and Mama Reeves lived to be, I think, 93.

So, I went to visit my mother for a night and experienced a wonderful little reunion of uncles and aunts, my brother, a couple of cousins (my favorite, Joe, included) and their children, my wife and son and me.


248 NWT