Franklin County, Nebraska

For Another Day

Please let me introduce you to the writings of Connie Baisden Barker. Connie is a teacher at Van Elementary School in Van, WV. Connie writes a column in the Coal Valley News at Madison, WV. I take this newspaper and have so enjoyed her writings from the heart. I wrote her and asked her articles.

I told her my readers love to take a trip to the mountains and this would be a good way for them to read about the hills from another person’s point of view, she was happy to let me use her writings.

Connie has a neat story about an aunt of hers. From time to time I will run personal remembrances from her childhood.

Vesta’s Treasures

My great aunt, Vesta Johnson, came to West Virginia as a small child in the beginning of the twentieth century, from a neighboring state with her father, mother, brothers and sisters. The last rays of afternoon sun were slanting over the hill, as their wagon made its way through the valleys to their new home. Her father had found work in the coalmines in southern West Virginia. He had been teaching school in Pike county, KY, but couldn’t support his family on the wages he earned.

Vesta was born in 1903, prematurely and her little legs were crippled. The doctor blamed this on her mother being kicked by a mule while she was carrying the baby. When she was born, the doctor wanted to end her life because her little body was so deformed, except her mother would not hear of it. Vesta was put in a small container, the size of a shoebox, and put on the door of the cook stove to keep warm. The February nights were still very cold and the old farmhouse was drafty.

Vesta grew strong, fortified by the very special love of her family. For the first few years of her life, she scooted on her bottom using her arms to pull herself around to play with her brothers and sisters. She began to walk when she was about six-years-old. She had a strong mind and wanted to learn. Her father started taking her in a boat across the river to school, where he taught. With a keen mind, she learned fast.

She grew into a very attractive lady and a young man wanted to marry her. Because she knew she could never have children, she would not wed. The summer of her sixteenth year a circus came through town and the operator wanted her to join and travel the states as a sideshow because she was so small. Her mother and father strictly forbid her doing such a thing because they did not want anyone looking upon her as an oddity and she remained with the family. As an adult, she stood less then 36 inches tall.

What I remember best about Great Aunt Vesta is her bedroom in her home. In this room, set a dark oak antique dresser with a large round mirror and five drawers. The piece of furniture had two large vertical drawers on each side that seemed bottomless and a smaller horizontal drawer in the front. Along with the dresser was a stool covered in an old fashioned brown print fabric.

The dresser abounded with treasures for a little girl to behold. Amethyst birthstone rings, ruby costume jewelry, and black onyx dazzled me. Her comb, golden embossed brush and mirror lie on top of the dresser. A yellow antiquated glass duck filled with jewelry, hairpins, and buttons set upon an ivory handmade doily. A black jewelry box stood upon the dresser and when opened played mystical music. A mirror was inside and painted upon this mirror was an Oriental water scene. The inside was lined in red velvet.

And in that room other items brought pleasure. A black cast iron horse, a white spotted porcelain dog and a ceramic statue of Superman sat untouched in the room. Trunks containing ivory hand crocheted doilies and brightly embroidered pillowcases lie in the room whispering of the past.

Decorated cookie tins were filled with pictures of family and friends. In these tins were numerous aged black and white photographs portraying stern faces of loved ones, long gone, and more modern colorful photographs showing smiling, cherub faces of great nieces and nephews. These pictures were a way for her to be near her loved ones and remember. Poetry, old Valentines, letters from World War II, and newspaper clippings told of her family, friends and past loves, collected and kept in special containers.

In the summertime, Great Aunt Vesta’s small yard was filled with flowers. The blossoms brought joy and color into her life. The leafy green stems lined the fence. Her pendulum clock’s four chimes announced the winding down of a day as Great Aunt Vesta glanced out at her garden. Plants she viewed all day without a single bloom suddenly, in late afternoon burst into a beautiful patchwork of red, yellow and white flowers. We sat on the porch with her and waited for the four o’clock’s heavenly scent to dance on the evening stop for hummingbirds and butterflies.

She liked animals and kept dogs at first and then later cats as pets. She talked of her animals as if they were her children. Calling each one by name and telling little stories of them.

She loved her great nieces and nephews as her own. She always made us a special treat of vanilla wafers and peanut butter or tempted us with chocolate covered cherries, teaberry gum and over ripe bananas. She always wanted us to stay with her for company.

Her kitchen was small. Her pretty red, yellow and green apple canisters sat upon a cottage-style cupboard. She climbed up onto a chair and cooked for us using a gas stove. For breakfast she made us sugar and butter on toast and homemade hot chocolate.

She seldom left her secure home to venture out into the world. She loved fireworks and was taken to town once a year to see the fantastic display on the Fourth of July. Other wise, she sat in her rocking chair on the front porch and waved her hand as people passed.

She lived through 14 presidencies, the Great Depression of 1929, two World Wars and Vietnam. She lived when many people worked for one dollar per day; electric lights, “talking movies” and automobiles were only a novelty.

In her last days, she loved her color television because it was a way she could see the world. She adored professional wrestling and would cry if one of her favorites pretended he was hurt. When she was told it was only for entertainment, she would reprimand us.

Her loving gnarled hands; waddling walk and quick wit was her trademark. She seemed never to age and when she died in her 80’s, her mind was just as strong. Her hair was still dark with only a little gray but her brown eyes had lost their spark. As I remember her waving to us out of sight, her short frame, her loving face and sweet smile will always be etched into my memory.

A man says what he knows; a woman says what will please…. Emile

Rena Donovan, For Another Day.

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