The Use and Need of the Life of Carrie A. Nation [3]
kinds of dolls; it was a
great delight of mine to play with these.
To the left of our house was the garden. I have read of the old-
fashioned garden; the gardens written about and the gardens sung about,
but I have never seen a garden that could surpass the garden of my old
home. Just inside the pickets were bunches of bear grass. Then, there
was the purple flag, that bordered the walks; the thyme, coriander,
calamus and sweet Mary; the jasmine climbing over the picket
fence; the syringa and bridal wreath; roses black, red, yellow and pink;
and many other kinds of roses and shrubs. There, too, were strawberries,
raspberries, gooseberries and currants; damson and greengages, and apricots,
that grew on vines. I could take some time in describing this beautiful
spot.
At the side of the garden was the family burying ground, where the
gravestones were laid flat on masonry, bringing them about three feet
from the ground. These stones were large, flat slabs of marble, and I
used to climb up on top and sit or lie down, and trace the letters or figures
with my fingers. I visited this graveyard in 1903. The eight graves
were there in a good state of preservation, with not a slab broken,
although my grandfather was buried there, ninety years ago. My father
had a stone wall built around these graves for protection, when he left
Kentucky. I am glad that family graveyards have given place to public
cemeteries, for this place has changed hands many times and this graveyard
is not pleasant for the strangers who live there. We who are
interested in these sacred mounds, feel like we intrude, to have the homes
of our dead with strangers.
{illust. caption =
MY OLD HOME WHERE I WAS BORN IN GARRARD COUNTY, KENTUCKY.
THE OLD GRAVE YARD NEAR BY, AND MY GRANDFATHER's GRAVE.}
The memories of this Kentucky home date from the time I was
three years old. This seems remarkable, but my mother said this
incident occurred when I was three years old, and I remember it distinctly.
I was standing in the back yard, near the porch. Mr. Brown,
the overseer, was in the door of my half-brother Richard's room,
with my brother's gun in his hands. At the end of the porch was a
small room, called the "saddle room." A pane of glass was out of the
window and a hen flew out, cackling. Aunt Judy, the colored woman,
went in to get the egg, and walked in front of Mr. Brown, who raised
the gun and said: "Judy, I am going to shoot you," not thinking the
gun was loaded. It went off, and aunt Judy fell. Mr. Brown began to
wring his hands and cry in great agony. I screamed and kept running
around a small tree near by. This was Sunday morning. Runners were sent for
the doctor, and for my parents, who were at church.
Aunt Judy got well, but had one eye out; we could always feel the shot
in her forehead. She was one of the best servants, and a dear good
friend to me. She used to bring two of her children and come up to my
room on Sundays and sit with me, saying, she did not want to be in the
cabin when "strange niggers were there." This misfortune had disfigured
her face and she always avoided meeting people. I can see her
now, with one child at the breast, and another at her knee, with her
hand on its head, feeling for "buggars." I was very much attached to
this woman and wanted to take care of her in her old age. I went to
Southern Texas to get her in 1873. I found some of her children in
Sherman, Texas, but aunt Judy had been dead six months. She always
said she wanted to live with me.
My mother always left her small children in the care of the servants.
I was quite a little girl before I was allowed to eat at "white
folk's table." Once my mother had been away several days and came
home bringing a lot of company with her. I ran out when I saw the
carriages driving up, and cried: "Oh, ma, I am so glad to see you.
I don't mind sleeping with aunt Eliza, but I do hate to sleep with uncle
Josh," think I was quite dirty, and some of the colored servants snatched
me out of sight. Aunt Eliza was aunt Judy's half-sister,
great delight of mine to play with these.
To the left of our house was the garden. I have read of the old-
fashioned garden; the gardens written about and the gardens sung about,
but I have never seen a garden that could surpass the garden of my old
home. Just inside the pickets were bunches of bear grass. Then, there
was the purple flag, that bordered the walks; the thyme, coriander,
calamus and sweet Mary; the jasmine climbing over the picket
fence; the syringa and bridal wreath; roses black, red, yellow and pink;
and many other kinds of roses and shrubs. There, too, were strawberries,
raspberries, gooseberries and currants; damson and greengages, and apricots,
that grew on vines. I could take some time in describing this beautiful
spot.
At the side of the garden was the family burying ground, where the
gravestones were laid flat on masonry, bringing them about three feet
from the ground. These stones were large, flat slabs of marble, and I
used to climb up on top and sit or lie down, and trace the letters or figures
with my fingers. I visited this graveyard in 1903. The eight graves
were there in a good state of preservation, with not a slab broken,
although my grandfather was buried there, ninety years ago. My father
had a stone wall built around these graves for protection, when he left
Kentucky. I am glad that family graveyards have given place to public
cemeteries, for this place has changed hands many times and this graveyard
is not pleasant for the strangers who live there. We who are
interested in these sacred mounds, feel like we intrude, to have the homes
of our dead with strangers.
{illust. caption =
MY OLD HOME WHERE I WAS BORN IN GARRARD COUNTY, KENTUCKY.
THE OLD GRAVE YARD NEAR BY, AND MY GRANDFATHER's GRAVE.}
The memories of this Kentucky home date from the time I was
three years old. This seems remarkable, but my mother said this
incident occurred when I was three years old, and I remember it distinctly.
I was standing in the back yard, near the porch. Mr. Brown,
the overseer, was in the door of my half-brother Richard's room,
with my brother's gun in his hands. At the end of the porch was a
small room, called the "saddle room." A pane of glass was out of the
window and a hen flew out, cackling. Aunt Judy, the colored woman,
went in to get the egg, and walked in front of Mr. Brown, who raised
the gun and said: "Judy, I am going to shoot you," not thinking the
gun was loaded. It went off, and aunt Judy fell. Mr. Brown began to
wring his hands and cry in great agony. I screamed and kept running
around a small tree near by. This was Sunday morning. Runners were sent for
the doctor, and for my parents, who were at church.
Aunt Judy got well, but had one eye out; we could always feel the shot
in her forehead. She was one of the best servants, and a dear good
friend to me. She used to bring two of her children and come up to my
room on Sundays and sit with me, saying, she did not want to be in the
cabin when "strange niggers were there." This misfortune had disfigured
her face and she always avoided meeting people. I can see her
now, with one child at the breast, and another at her knee, with her
hand on its head, feeling for "buggars." I was very much attached to
this woman and wanted to take care of her in her old age. I went to
Southern Texas to get her in 1873. I found some of her children in
Sherman, Texas, but aunt Judy had been dead six months. She always
said she wanted to live with me.
My mother always left her small children in the care of the servants.
I was quite a little girl before I was allowed to eat at "white
folk's table." Once my mother had been away several days and came
home bringing a lot of company with her. I ran out when I saw the
carriages driving up, and cried: "Oh, ma, I am so glad to see you.
I don't mind sleeping with aunt Eliza, but I do hate to sleep with uncle
Josh," think I was quite dirty, and some of the colored servants snatched
me out of sight. Aunt Eliza was aunt Judy's half-sister,