PICKING UP ROADSIDE RUBBISH IN THE JANUARY COLD

This past week has continued to have the bitter cold of this January in Alabama.  In fact, the entire month has had  below normal cold, as night temperatures have dipped into single digits in some locations.  In contrast, the sun and the bright blue sky have been extremely brilliant during these frigid conditions, resulting in sunny, clear days.  The wind from the north has truly made the temperatures feel unbearably, cold — colder than the actual readings. On such a day, Thursday, January 23, 2014, I choose to be outside.  I was appropriately dressed for the weather—layered clothing, gloves, and a skull cap which we used to call a toboggan. I was exposed to the outdoor weather conditions from 12:30 pm until 5:30 pm.  That is why I’m writing this article to tell you about my leisurely, but surprising, day.    

My wife, Pat, and I were visiting my mother in Winston County, Alabama.  One of my objectives during the visit was to pick up trash off both sides of Winston County Road 21 (Poplar Springs Road) from my mother’s driveway entrance,  past all the Kilgore old home place land,  past the state of Alabama land, and stopping at the Winston/Walker County line.  

While visiting Mother these past few months, it was obvious that the road litter was becoming worse by the day.   The country road has become a major thoroughfare of sorts, connecting Alabama Highway 195 to Alabama Highway 5, used by various travelers in the area.  It has also become a commercial route for trucking interests. With all the coal strip mining in the area, the paved highway has become progressively dangerous.  The heavy traffic has resulted in a severely  damaged road surface, with very poor and unsafe shoulders.  It is difficult to safely meet oncoming traffic because the road is too narrow for huge eighteen wheelers when meeting oncoming traffic.  The ubiquitous pot holes  are a result of the abuse.  In fact, on this day, a special truck filled with asphalt was creeping along County. Road 21, filling the numerous potholes.  Another by-product of all this road traffic and abuse is constant litter appearing on the roadside.

Picking up litter was a project that my father, Cecil Kilgore, carried out until  his death in April 2012.  He never walked  as far as the county line picking up trash, but he did go past the property he owned.  I never heard him complain about the people or the trash.  He just silently went about the task of keeping his property clean.  I was able to share time with him, helping him to pick up trash on the side of the road. Daddy is my inspiration to continue the ritual.

This week I choose to start at the county line and work back to Mother’s driveway.  I took Daddy’s truck and parked it at the county line.  I used the truck bed as my retaining and holding station for all the bags I accumulated that day.  The amount of trash I picked up amazed me.

Right at the county line, someone had used the location as an actual garbage dump, resulting in six bags of trash just from that one site.  Then there were four bags of trash acquired from the state land going toward the old Kilgore home place. On the roadside dividing the old home place property, I got  two bags of garbage, one which was filled with construction and flooring debris left on the side of the road in front of Granny Kilgore’s house. There was also some wood, two wooden pallets, and a five gallon bucket used for mixing grout, all of which I could not place in a garbage bag. I filled twelve garbage bags with trash during my sunny, but cold afternoon, plus all the construction items found. 

Among the items found were the usual glass soda and beer bottles, multiple plastic drink bottles, paper cups, carry-out styrofoam containers, plastic bags, cigarette boxes, snuff cans, pillows, paper plates, and candy wrappers.  All along the roadside and in the grass  ditches there were small pieces of coal which had fallen from the coal trucks. These I left untouched for obvious reasons.  The amount of liter I picked up certainly points to the fact that we are a careless and trashy people.  I just don’t understand it!  Why can’t people take their trash home with them and place it in their garbage cans?  We have garbage pickup in the most remote areas of the state, and it would make for a much more beautiful country side if there was no trash left on the side of the roads. Enough preaching!

I would like  to share about a most unusual and puzzling item I found while collecting the roadside trash.  It was a yellow and white shoe box with the name, YELLOWBOX on it.  On the side of the box were the words: Style—Kylie, Color—Black, Size—7.  When I picked the box up to place it in a garbage bag, I felt the weight of the box to be heavier than expected. It wasn't an empty shoe box, so I decided to open it.

What I thought I saw at first were two small stuffed animals.  On top was a stuffed, miniature pink monkey or gorilla.  Below it looked like a small stuffed puppy—black in color with touches of brown on the end of its mouth and legs.  The little dog was lying on its side with legs extended in a natural side pose. The animal looked  like a replica of a Miniature Pinscher puppy.  Next to the mouth of the puppy was a miniature chewable dog bone.  The fur on the beautiful little puppy was smooth and shiny.   

But on second look, I realized that it was not a stuffed toy at all.   It was the body of a real puppy..  This became obvious when I looked at the dog’s opened eye, and saw that the eyeball was sunken in with a colorless, cloudy, dark look.  I couldn’t believe someone took the time to carefully place the dog into a nice shoebox, gave it a stuff animal as a burial companion, and a bone next to its mouth,  and then discarded it on the side of the road.  What I saw made no sense to me.  It still doesn’t.  Someone showed some thought and loving interest to go to the trouble of creating such a thoughtful final scene for this little dog.  Then, the box was left on the side of the road with the rest of the trash, discarded in a very non- caring way.  I took the box and placed it in the bed of the truck.  

 After filling most of my bags, at 4:00 pm I had a cell phone call from Mother, wanting to know how I was doing, and how much longer I would be out.  She was wondering how I was making it in the cold weather.  I assured her that I was making it fine, and that I had been comfortable all day because of the multiple layers of clothes I was wearing, and because I was moving about, walking all the miles I had.  I told her I estimated I would be back home around 5:30 pm because I still had both sides of Granny Kilgore’s place to pick up.  I knew it would not take me as long there because the liter wasn’t as prevalent.  My estimation was correct, and I was back to Mother’s right at 5:30 pm.  I immediately told them about the YELLOWBOX, and what I had found in it. I asked them if they wanted to see what I described, but they declined.  

The box remained  in the back of the truck overnight. During the entire evening, my mind could not turn loose of what I had seen in the box, and the fact that i needed to do something about it. 

After waking up early on Friday morning, it finally came to my mind how I could take care of the yellow and white box.  After breakfast, I went to the tool shed and got some tools so I could dig a grave for the little puppy.  I selected a special place that i only know, that is protected by a marker, preventing any wild animals from getting to the box’s contents. 

 I’m still trying to play out all scenarios that would explain the mystery of the YELLOWBOX and its special contents. Reflecting on all this,  I’ve come to believe that the little pink primate was  a dog toy.  The puppy was not a newborn pup because its head was too defined and its coat was not that of a newborn.   If you have any thoughts about the entire situation,  please make comments in the box below. I will sign off now as the roadside trash picker-upper of Poplar Springs Road—at least for two miles of it.  

Johnny Kilgore

YOUTHFUL MEMORIES OF WILLIAM GRADY KILGORE by Ronald J McKeever

William Grady Kilgore

June 26, 1904 - December 17, 1991

by Ron McKeever

My memories of Uncle Grady consists of two parts, separated by four years when we moved to West Virginia.  The coal mines were hiring, so in 1942 we moved from our house located next to Grandpa and Granny Kilgore’s place to Nauvoo  to be near the mines.  It was hard for Pop to walk from Poplar Springs, work eight or ten hours in the coal mines and then walk the five miles back  home.  It was a sad day for us grand kids because we had lived seven years within one thousand feet of our grandparents, Sarah and Virge Kilgore, but  moved we did.  

It became our weekly goal to go back to the farm and spend the weekend with Grandpa and Granny.  Some cousins lived in the house we rented and other cousins would come on the weekends.  For that reason it became our goal to walk the five miles back to the Kilgore old home place to see everyone.  We older four kids (Ronald, Glenn, Patricia, and Joe McKeever) walked, while Pop, Mom, and the little ones, Carolyn and Charles, visited on Sundays, by usually borrowing a truck from Bedford Noles.  We knew that Uncle Grady worked on the railroad, and that work required him being away from home during the week. We also knew that Grady and William Prestridge would be driving home from work on Friday evenings.   Many of those times, they would pick us up and haul us to the farm for a wonderful weekend visit. 

Grady Kilgore on left
William Prestridge on right

In 195l, the coal mines closed in West Virginia which resulted in our returning to the place of our birth—  our rural Winston County,  Alabama farm. What little I knew of farming had been long forgotten.  But strangely enough,  Uncle Grady saw in two youthful boys (Glenn and I) an eagerness to learn.  By trading up, Pop had gotten us a mule and Grady already had one,  Glenn and I,   each with our mules, began helping Grady on his farm.  You may be asking why Grady’s children weren’t helping.  The reasons were that Jim and Jerry were just small children, Herbert had joined the Army, and Doris was in school in Talledega.  Glen and I each earned $3.00 per day plus a delicious meal at noontime.  

Aunt Nettie could absolutely cook the best fried chicken, and on top of that, a special dessert— a concoction called ice box pie.  This delicacy required the use of a refrigerator which Uncle Grady and Aunt Nettie had.  Aunt Nettie would mix up a batch of graham crackers with all the ice cream ingredients and freeze it in the refrigerator freezer compartment.  Two teenage boys could eat you out of house and home, so I’m sure Pop was glad to farm us out, while Grady was glad to get the labor.   Grady would work the railroad....we would plow what he told us to do....and we all enjoyed every day of it.  

Grady was always laughing....always had a pocket full of peanuts....and even in his latter years, you
never went by his house unless he gave you something.  It might be peanuts...or sweet potatoes...or             scuppernongs...whatever was available.  

After I married and left to make my fortune in Birmingham, I would often visit Grady, and help him work on his water well pump.  He was the salt of the earth. We often sat around the fireplace at night to hear him regale us of yarns, some of which might have been true.  As I have grown into old age, I can appreciate the hard work and character that the man exhibited which made this country what it was....not afraid of work and living honestly.  I had the honor of assisting in his funeral at Colbert Memorial Gardens.

GRANNY KILGORE'S BEDROOM by Johnny Kilgore

Photograph of Granny Kilgore

Granny Kilgore lived a simple life up to her death in 1963.  During those last years of her life, she only lived in a small portion of her wood-framed farmhouse.  She resided in one room and prepared meals in another smaller, adjoining room. The reminder of the house was virtually closed off and not used in any way. We are fortunate to have the Kilgore Old Home Place still standing, and hopefully, it can be made livable again someday.

Front Porch Outside Window
off of Granny Kilgore's Bedroom

Granny’s home was built by her dear husband, Virge, our grandfather, and the patriarch of the Kilgore family.  He died on Christmas Day in 1949. There was always children and grandchildren who stayed with Granny upon Papa Kilgore’s death because she was fearful to stay by herself at night.  She lived in the house much like people live in efficiency apartments today.  The bedroom was the primary site of her existence. It was used for a living room during the day, a bedroom by night, and a restroom during the darkest night hours  by pulling out the chamber pot (also called  a “pee pot”) located under her bed. In other words, the space was Granny’s living and sleeping quarters, all in one.  The dimensions of the bedroom was approximately 16 feet by 14 feet (a guess on my part).  My objective in writing  this piece is to describe that living space.

Chamber Pot

Sketch of Granny Kilgore's Bedroom

From the hallway, when standing over the bedroom threshold, the first thing one notices is a large fireplace on the opposite side of the room.  It is so large that it takes up about one-third of the room’s outside wall.  It is made out of large sandstone blocks that Papa Kilgore collected and cemented together to form the  house chimney. When originally built, the fireplace was kept open, and used for both heating the room and cooking the family meals. A simple, extremely wide and long plank, painted dark brown, is used for the mantel.  It shelves an old Victorian style mechanical winding pendulum clock.  The clock sits on a long piece of white scarf cloth much like a runner, and hangs down from the mantel.  The fireplace opening is closed up to accommodate a vent hole for the cast iron wood burning stove that provides heat for the room.  The stove jets out into the room beyond the hearth.  There is a large window on each side of the imposing fireplace.

Old Singer Sewing Machine

Stepping over the threshold through the entrance of Granny’s bedroom, we see immediately to the right and left, two cast iron, whole beds against each wall against both front corners of the room.  One is against the outside wall of the house, and the other is against the wall next to the kitchen. They take up a majority of the room’s space while creating a walking path directly from the door through the middle of the room.  The bed to the left against the outside front wall is Granny Kilgore’s bed.  The bed to the right, next to the kitchen, is for anyone who spends the night with Granny. The grandchildren are the ones who mainly use this bed through the years.

Many times there would be two grandchildren staying the same night at Granny’s house. That one bed  is where both slept.  During their age of innocence, it made little difference if boy cousins and girl cousins shared the same bed for a night’s rest.  There was no such thing as a private personal room for a child during those years.  I remember sleeping in that same bed with my girl cousins’, Joan Spain and Carolyn McKeever.  I also slept in that bed with my brother, Mike many times, which was the same arrangement we had at home.   One of the main reasons the Kilgore Old Home Place means so much to us,  the grandchildren of Papa and Granny Kilgore, may be found in the fact that every cousin who lived in the Nauvoo area  stayed overnight in the same room with Granny Kilgore at some point and time. 

Getting back to our tour, we now stand in the center path of the room, parallel to the foot of both beds while facing the fireplace stove.  We  see a Singer Sewing Machine to our left.  It is located on the same wall as Granny’s bed, but in the opposite corner near the fireplace.  Also, closer to the heater and in front of the sewing machine is a large high-back rocker, dark brown in color, with big arm rests. The seat and the center back is made of leather-like material.  This makes it a comfortable and enjoyable chair for Granny to use as she reads her Bible, sings from her special hymn book, and spends hours watching television. Behind that rocker  and next to the sewing machine is a vanity (not drawn in the room sketch). The black and white, Emerson television is located across the room and to the right of a door that goes into the kitchen.  The T.V. sits on a special table which rotates in order to change the viewing angle of the screen while resting in bed. In the corner, under the window to the right of the fireplace, a low table holds a table radio where Granny tuned in to listen to Joe Rumore's program. 

The walls, floor, and ceiling of the bedroom are of wood.  The  wall’s wide planks are painted an off-white and have small cracks where the planks join. The outside front wall (front porch adjoining) has two long windows covered with lace curtains and shades. The windows on either side of the fireplace also have the same window treatments.  On the bedroom/kitchen wall, beyond the foot of the guest bed, is a door providing access to the small, but modern kitchen (sheet-rock walls, enamel sink, running water, refrigerator, & electric stove). This door has the television on one side of it and the guest bed on the other.  Because the bedroom is divided up by doors and windows, there is very little on the walls, with the exception of a calendar, and maybe, a picture of Uncle Johnny who died at a young age from a motorcycle accident. The floor, painted a dark brown, is made to withstand heavy traffic. To help protect the floor, a large linoleum area rug in floral pattern covers a large portion of the wood surface.  There is a protective metal heat shield base underneath the stove and placed on top of the linoleum to protect it from hot coals and ashes.  The ceiling is ten feet tall, uses tongue and groove planks, and is painted the same color as the walls.  Hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room is a long, electrical chord that ends with a single light socket holding one single exposed fluorescent light bulb having no shade. 

My descriptive tour of that simple small room is complete.  There have been very little changes in that room through the years.  Granny’s bedroom has provided a place for many “precious memories.”  It has provided a place of warmth…love......nurturing….rest….fun….work.  It has provided a place for family and friends.  May it continue to serve as reminder of our heritage.  Much came forth from that one small room.

Kilgore Old Home Place

   

  

YOUTHFUL MEMORIES OF SARAH NOLES KILGORE

November 24, 2013

Youthful Memories of

SARAH NOLES KILGORE

Feb 1883 - Feb 1963

By Ron McKeever  

 On this cold morning, I flipped the light switch for instant light, walked into the hallway to increase the thermostat for instant heat, and headed to the bathroom for instant hot water.  After washing my face, I headed to the kitchen where coffee was instantly brewing and breakfast was being prepared.  Granny Kilgore never enjoyed any of the “instant things” in the first 60 years of her life.  

Grandpa would rise first and build a wood-burning fire in the open fireplace.  He would then light his lantern and make his way to the barn to feed the livestock in preparation for the day's activities.  Granny would build the fire in the wood-burning cookstove to heat water, make the coffee, and prepare the breakfast.  Electricity did not come to the farm until the early 1950’s.  Appliances would come later.  

Since there was no refrigeration, care was taken with the fresh food. Fresh eggs were used soon after being gathered.  The meat preserved in the smokehouse was cut the night before a morning breakfast. Oftentimes, the pork was ground into sausages and canned.  It would be reheated at breakfast time.  Any excess milk was kept cool by lowering it into the well, or occasionally, it was placed in an icebox, if one was owned, after a block of ice was purchased from a peddler passing by.  Another option for keeping milk a couple of days was placing it in a tub full of sawdust.  Chickens were killed the day they were to be eaten.  If the preacher was coming to dinner, guess who got the choice part?  I have scars on my hands to this day from helping Granny and Mom clean chickens.  

  

When washday came around, several tubs of water would have to be drawn by hand from a drilled well. The wash pot had to be scrubbed and filled with water.  Then a fire was built under the pot.  The work clothes were boiled in the wash pot. Other clothing was hand-cleaned on a rub board.  The water in the clothing was wrung out by hand.  The clothes were  either hung on a line or draped over fences and bushes to dry.  

Soap? Now, that's another story.  Occasionally, washing powder would be available, but soap was homemade.  The ashes from the wood-burning fireplace would be collected and water would be allowed to drip through the ashes to produce a lye.  The lye was mixed with older lard that had passed the useful stage and this mixture would be hardened and cut into squares to be used as soap.  This soap not only removed the dirt, it could also remove skin if the mixture was not exactly right.  

Any clothing that needed starch got special treatment.  Starch was made by mixing flour and water.  It might have had another secret ingredient but it was not known to the kids.  

When ironing clothes, a heavy, solid cast-iron metal iron was heated on the fireplace.  To determine if the iron was hot enough, Granny wet her finger and stuck it to the iron.  Some clothes would iron better if they were damp.  A spray bottle consisting of a coke bottle with holes punched into the cap did the job.  

Almost nothing was thrown away.   Clothes were patched and patched again until they finally disintegrated.  Granny Kilgore would make work shirts and under clothing with fertilizer bags that had been washed and rewashed and rewashed to remove the Royster name and number.  Some of the cousins would joke about all our names being Royster and we were 8-8-8 or 4-10-7 or one of the other numbers that designated the strength of the fertilizer.  

Because of the lack of hot water, baths were a luxury, especially in the winter time.  Usually, a wash tub was placed in front of the fireplace, and water was heated on the stove or in the water closet in the cookstove. One bath per week was usually it, and that was on Saturday night.  

On Sunday, everyone went to church, getting there by walking or riding in a mule-drawn wagon. The closest church to Granny and Grandpa’s home was New Oak Grove Freewill Church, also known as Possum Trot.    I have forgotten  if they ever told me if both names applied.  

Granny was afraid of crossing bridges.  Often the mule pulling the wagon would hesitate to cross a one-lane bridge and that made Granny afraid that he would dump the wagon load into the creek.  She usually got off, waited until the wagon crossed, and then got back on.  In 195l, I went with her to spend a week with the Spains in Guntersville.  To those who know that area, the Arab causeway crosses the lake there for about two miles.  She  wanted me to ask the bus driver to let us walk across the causeway rather than ride the bus.  I explained that if he did, we would be left alone on the other side.  

After Grandpa passed on (December 25, 1949), Granny was never left alone at night.  When she got an Emerson television, she had all kinds of volunteers to stay.  Of course, she was in bed 15 minutes after dark, but we could watch through the snow on the round screen and enjoyed every minute of it.  As the years accumulated, she would spend time with her scattered family but always wanted to be at home at bedtime.  She passed away on February 2, 1963 while at Mom's (Lois) house.  Both Mom and Pop died in the same room where Granny left us.  Almost daily, I thank God for the grand heritage of some of the greatest people this old world will ever know. 

YOUTH MEMORIES OF JOHN WESLEY "VIRGE" KILGORE Feb 1880---Dec 1949

by a Grandson of John Wesley "Virge" Kilgore,

Ron McKeever

The McKeever family moved from Nauvoo, where I was born, to the house at the location where the present house now stands in 1936  (the original house burned in 1954).  My first memory of Grandpa was about 1939 when my brother, Glen and I discovered that Grandpa had built a store attached to his house.  He sold the items people couldn't grow on the farm..sugar, salt, baking powder, several kinds of dry goods and candy.  I was 4 and Glen was 3 and Grandpa traded us a piece of candy for each egg we brought him.  We discovered where his hens laid their eggs so we were kept in candy.  Mom told us later that he knew what we were doing but it suited him fine.  

I remember stumbling through the fields to carry Grandpa water when I was 6 years old.  I recall feeding the ears of corn into the sheller so he could go to Iver Prestridge’s mill to have the corn ground into meal.  In 194l, Pop began to work regularly at the coal mines near Nauvoo, and he had to walk 5 miles from the farm , work 8 or 10 hours, and walk back to the farm.  For that reason,  we moved to the No. 2 Brookside-Pratt mines.  Because Grandpa grew more than was needed on the farm, he sold veggies and fruit to the coal miners.  He would come by our house, load up Glen and me, and away we would go.  Grandpa drove the mule and wagon and our job was to go from house to house, selling anything he had on the wagon.  Oftentimes, he would have milk, butter and maybe, a couple of roosters.  Two or three years later, he traded up to a pickup truck,  so now we traveled in style.  We would work the coal mines and then go to Nauvoo and sell any excess.  The only drawback was that Grandpa chewed tobacco and we were teenagers before we found out the spots on us weren't freckles.  

On weekends during the summer, we often walked the 5 miles back to the farmhouse to spend the week with Grandpa and Granny and all the cousins that would pile in.  The Chadwicks  (Ruby Kilgore Chadwick, 4th child of Papa Virge & married to  Johnny Chadwick) lived in the old place a couple of years, and then the Spains (Ruth Kilgore Spain, 7th child of Papa Virge & married to Ted Spain)  lived there for several years, so we always had loads of cousins to visit with.  It seemed that every Sunday was a reunion with other family members coming to visit.  Grandpa was a hard worker.  He coal-mined, drilled wells, farmed, did blacksmith work, and anything else he could do to support his family.  He traded, bought cattle and sold them, and even did a little real estate.  Mom told how he was plowing in the field one day in the early '40's and someone came by wanting to sell 40 acres of land. Grandpa gave the man a double-eagle ($20) gold coin in payment for the 40 acres. It was 2 or 3 weeks later before they ever recorded the transaction.  

The mines at Nauvoo closed in 1947 and Pop (Carl McKeever) found work in Affinity, West Virginia.  That meant moving.  We came home on vacations in 1948 and 1949.  Mom (Lois Kilgore McKeever) told us after Grandpa passed that he hated to lose his 'boys' because we were of some help to him.  The last memory I have of him is his reading his Bible by a kerosene lamp, sitting in a rocker by the fireplace.  Living so far away, Mom was the only one able to come home for his funeral.  Almost every snapshot I have of him, he was at Possum Trot Church (present-day New Oak Grove).  Mom told us that there tons of flowers at his funeral because everyone knew and respected him.  What a legacy ! 

THE SUN SETS ON THE KILGORE OLD PLACE ONLY TO RISE AGAIN

Life is very busy for those raised on a farm. Whether tending a large amount of acreage. or a small track of land, there are always things that cry out for constant devotion and attention.  It becomes a ritual following the demands of the land--a covenant between man and the soil he cultivates, nurtures, and oversees. Early morning awakenings....a big breakfast on the table...chores carried out...a long, long day of work.   Each day repeated.

In early spring the soil is prepared for planting.  By mid-summer the crops are pointing upwards to the sky, drawn by the warmth of the sunlight.  Life is good.  Work continues.  Hoeing the crops is a necessary activity in order to weed out any unnecessary plants, allowing the crops to grow tall and produce as they should.  Harvesting the produce and properly storing it for future us are both carried out with special care and attention.  Various crops are ready for picking at different times of the year.  Peas, butter beans, okra, potatoes (both sweet and Irish), onions, cucumbers, and squash have their time, as well as peanuts and watermelons.  Apples are ripe on the trees.  Picking apples, cutting apples, and preparing apples for consumption encompasses the whole family.  The pigs are fed the scraps--apple cores and apple peelings.

There is early corn and late corn.  There is corn for human consumption, and another for animal feed.  The crops and animals are dependent on each other, and the family’s existence is supported by both. There is always activity.  Yet, more important is the faith required and acknowledged.  It is vital to this way of life.

Though, there is  little time for recreation and entertainment,  when Sunday comes there is a needed break in the weekly routine.  Time is set aside for going to church.  But even on the Lord’s Day, there are chores carried out before leaving home. Allowing time for duties to be performed, the church service purposely begins at 11:00 A.M.    Animals are fed.  Eggs are gathered.  Cows milked.  Then everyone gets ready for the journey ahead.  Everyone wears their “Sunday best.”   

It is recognized that Sunday is a day of rest just like the Good Book admonishes.  It is part of life’s cycle--work during the week and rest on Sunday.  Sunday’s rest is certainly a change of routine, but it is not totally restful.  Nor does  Sunday’s rest  indicate any type of laziness.  Meals are needed.  There are mouths to be fed.  Guest are invited for a Sunday meal.  Maybe even the preacher!  The stove is heated up,  ready to cook a wonderful spread.  There is always food on the table.

After a big Sunday meal, children play in the yard.

 Life is simple, but  hard.  Life is rewarding, yet a struggle.  Life’s duties start with the rising of the sun.  Rest comes with the setting of the sun.  So is life on the Kilgore farm--a place establishing memories of family-- sweat and tears-- planting and sowing-- working and rest--joys and grief--life and death.  There is a time and a season for it all.

“There is an occasion for everything, and a time for every activity under heaven;

a time to give birth and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to uproot,

a time to kill and a time to heal; a time to tear down and a time to build;

a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance;

a time to throw stones and a time to gather stones; 

a time to embrace and a time to avoid embracing;

a time to search and a time to count as lost; 

a time to keep and a time to throw away;

a time to tear and a time to sew; a time to be silent and a time to speak;

a time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace.”

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8

“THE SUN RISES  AND THE SUN SETS; PANTING, IT RETURNS TO ITS PLACE WHERE IT RISES.” Ecclesiastes 1:5

      

REFLECTION ON MY RETIREMENT, 2011

Two years ago, on August 31, 2011, I retired. I know many of my first cousins have also retired, and I’m sure there are stories that accompany all those retirements.  I would like to take this time to share a little about my work and retirement.  This site was established with a purpose of presenting stories that focus on the family (cousins, aunts, uncles, and parents). But I’m running out of ideas, and therefore I came up with the idea to write something about me. I hope you don’t mind. 

I had served Ridgecrest Baptist Church in the Birmingham, Alabama area for 30 years when I retired.  I almost wrote 30 “long” years, but in truth, it was 30 short years.  Whether viewed as short or long, during that duration, I saw many changes occur in the church and in our family.

My job title changed over time.  My initial title was Minister of Music.  I was both ordained and licensed into the Gospel Ministry by the First Baptist Church of Wetumpka, Alabama, the church I served for almost nine years, prior to coming to Birmingham.  When I came to Ridgecrest in  August of 1981, I cherished that title of Minister of Music even more because it did not have attached to it the words, “and Youth”. At Wetumpka First Baptist, I had served these dual positions, Though I enjoyed working with young people and saw many wonderful things happen in their lives under my ministry,  music was my first love and my calling.

My responsibilities at this much larger city church involved leading or overseeing multiple choirs from preschool- age through senior adult- age,  planning and leading the music in the three worship services each week, and ministerial duties such as hospital visiting and personal home visits. We had a choir for each school grade in the children’s division.  Our youth choir approached 100 participants at one point, and our adult choir sang from 80 to 90 people.  Over time as Minister of Music, I saw the children’s choirs move to combining some grades into a younger children’s choir with first through third graders, and an older children’s choir with fourth through sixth graders .  Our youth choir divided eventually into Junior High Choir and Senior High Choir.  My title also eventually changed to “Associate Pastor” to reflect the responsibilities the church expected of me.  

 The “Associate Pastor” title remained during the rest of my tenure at Ridgecrest, but additional descriptions were added, such as “Associate Pastor of Family Ministries in Music,”  and my last designation being  “Associate Pastor of Music and Senior Adults.”   During all these title changes, I worked beside four different pastors, two interim pastors, and I even acquired another title for a short time-- “co-interim pastor” during one phase of our church’s life.

In viewing my long tenure at one church, I easily am reminded of many people who have already gone home to be with the Lord.  Many were active and contributed a major part in the life of the church and in my personal life during those earlier years.  Lists are dangerous. Someone may be overlooked unintentionally.  But I would like  to mention some special people at this point who contributed much to Ridgecrest in those earlier years--names who many present members would not know or remember, and certainly the readers of the blog would not know. But in honor of all these did in support of their church, and in support of the things I tried to do, I fondly remember:   

Dot and James Bailey, Leila Banks,  Ollie Mae Blackwood, Elvy and Clestelle Brakefield, Maude and Hershel Bryan,  Johnny and Mary Burfield, Louis and Corky Camp, Zelda Carson, Patty Cooper, Virginia and James Davidson, Madge Fisher, John Franks, Grady and Kitty Gallops,  Everett and Lalia Grizzle,  Ruth Halbrooks, Franklin and Roberta Jones, Carlo and Olivia Martin, David McBrayer, Sarah Moon, Harold and Mildred Moore, Al and Billie Pearce, Curtis and Mozelle McPherson, Manuel and Willie Murray, Jim and Lazetta Nuss, Mr. W. A. Parker,  Beth Ramsey, Billy and Thelma Reid, Joyce Reynolds, Clyde Lee and Huey Sewell, Jane and J. L. Sivley, Margaret Sorrell,  Imogene and H. D. Storie, Pruda Tanner, Bill and Dot Thrasher, Billie Tucker,  Bob and Dean Tucker,  Glenice and Melvin Van Dyke, Katie and Julius Waites, Vertice Wood, Edith and Julian Yarborough,  and the list could go on, and on, and on...........

I must take this time to mention one pastor with whom I worked for more than 16 years, and that is Dr. James M. Castleberry, better know as Brother Mickey.  I worked with Mickey at First Baptist of Wetumpka for almost nine years. When he was called to Ridgecrest in Birmingham, I soon followed.  Those were very active and productive years. Our children grew up together. We became as much friends as we were co-workers in our church. Mickey passed away at too early an age.

But getting back to the changes. My children grew up and left home to go to college and then on out into the world, people left the community to move to the neighboring counties,  and the church transitioned from being a large church to being a mid-size congregation. With the changes in the make-up of the church, decisions had to be made which were both painful and difficult.   Relocation meant moving from a large facility, with a 2000-seat auditorium,  located in the Huffman area of the city, to a small transitional facility on 3rd Street in the Center Point area.  Then the permanent move was made to a converted warehouse on Highway 11 in Trussville, Alabama, where the church presently meets. The move has allowed the church to reach a new area of people, and there is growth in the church again.

Sanctuary Photograph of the church facility
which was sold to a up and coming congregation

In looking back at the journey, I must say that God’s hand was upon my family and me, and also upon our church.  There were joys mixed with tragedies, celebrations mixed with the daily grind, and hope always overshadowing despair.  

Since retirement, time has moved even faster.  I have devoted my time to writing this blog, keeping up with the Kilgore Cousins group Facebook site, overseeing different projects for my mother’s home, overseeing as well as doing much of the work in the remodeling of the kitchen in our home, leading the music in different churches around the state when asked to supply, and then since January of this year, serving as interim Minister of Music at a small area church, Central Baptist Church, in Argo.  Also since January of this year, I have resumed something I have always loved, reading mystery novels, and in so doing, I have discovered some authors unknown to me.  Of course, there is always yard work, which I’m very poor in doing, and other small tasks to perform around the house.

I share all this to say this.  As we get older, and life brings changes, our attitude and flexibility in response to those changes are so very important.  I have a full and happy life. “For I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.” (Philippians 4:ll)  I wish the same for all my kin. 

        

Family photograph at my
retirement reception held August 27, 2011 at
Ridgecrest Baptist Church
in Trussville, AL
(from left to right: John Mac, Johnny, Pat, and Lee Beth)

My reception cake made by Dee Dodd.
She is an unbelievable cake decorator.
There were hundreds at the reception
forming a long line out the door.