GRANDMA ARLEDGE

IT WAS PROBABLY FORTY YEARS AGO that my father-in-law, Ray Steel, often took little stubs of pencils and whatever small bits of paper were handy and frantically wrote down some poetic verse that came to his mind. This era of Ray Steel, the Poet, began as a result of a challenge by the preacher of our congregation for “everyone” to go home and write a poem. Need I say, my father-in-law was the ONLY ONE who took up this challenge. During those years my wife’s father entertained and amazed his family with his bits of verse but one portion of his writings was a treasure in itself – he wrote some history about Grandma Arledge, his maternal grandmother: Mary Elizabeth (Butler) Arledge was born November 11, 1844 and passed from this earth March 29, 1917. Here is my father-in-law’s story about his Grandma Arledge – and oh yes, the poem he wrote about her..
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MY GRANDMA

Ray Steel’s GRANDMA ARLEDGE with her husband, James Nelson Arledge
Written by Ray Steel
September, 1978
It seems only yesterday when I was a little boy of eight or nine and we would visit my grandparents who lived on a little hill farm in Hocking County. We would board that old steam locomotive, which no exists, and what seemed like an all-day trip took us to the nearest small town, where we were met by my grandfather in his horse and buggy to take us the remaining five miles.
How we looked forward to that buggy ride, for Grandpa would let us take turns driving the horse! Yes, we were headed for Grandma and Grandpa’s; anyone not having grandparents who lived in the country has missed a world of pleasant memories, especially at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
When we reached our destination, there would be Grandma standing in the doorway of her little log cabin, with outstretched arms and a smile on her face, waiting to greet us with a big hug and a kiss.
There were so many nice things to do at Grandma’s, like helping Grandpa feed the chickens, playing with the little lambs, climbing old rail fences, and eating those Golden Delicious apples right off the tree. And we would gather walnuts, hickory nuts and chestnuts, and sometimes throw stones or wade in that little stream down by the potato patch. When we were at Grandma’s we had the time of our lives!
In the evening, after a hard day of play, we would sit around the old box stove by the dim kerosene lamp, with the smell of wood smoke, and listen to the sizzling and crackling of the fire. Eagerly we waited for Grandma to tell us one of her stories of how she lived when she was a little girl.
Grandma was a fine Christian woman, and one who was always thankful for what she had, though it wasn’t much in worldly goods. But she had many friends and much happiness.
Just before retiring, as we all knelt down to pray, Grandma would lead us. Grandma’s prayers always seemed lengthy for a little wiggly boy, but, oh, how I wish I could hear her pray just once more!
Sunday dinner was always a joyous occasion, with a large crowd gathered. The only thing that didn’t seem fair to us was when the preacher’s kids got to eat at the first table and we had to wait for the second. But it was worth it in the end, because Grandma would let us eat on our favorite plates, the ones with the presidents’ pictures on them. How delicious was her fried chicken, with that golden brown gravy on homemade bread!
Grandma was always thoughtful and kind. One thing we liked about her was that, when we had done something a little shady, she was always on our side and ready to defend us.
Grandma had two wishes, both of which were fulfilled: She didn’t want to live to see another war–and she died two days before World War I was declared. She also wanted her funeral on Sunday morning, the usual time she went to church. There was an overflowing crowd at Grandma’s funeral; the little one-room church where she had attended so faithfully was completely filled, as was the churchyard. Grandma was laid to rest in the little cemetery across the road from the church she loved so dearly and was so much a part of.
I remember the night Grandma died; she passed away in Mother’s arms, with a smile on her face and a prayer on her lips. With outstretched arms, she died, praising God. What a beautiful way to leave this world.
Yes, that was my grandma. As a result of the lasting impression she had on me of what it means to be a Christian, I wanted to follow in her footsteps, and have tried throughout my life to do just that.
To Grandma, I dedicate this poem:
A sweet old lady with silvery hair,
Like the kind in a story book, with love to spare.
Her face was filled with love and joy,
The perfect dream of a little boy.
Her soft voice was gentle, she was one-of-a-kind,
Many friends and fond memories she left behind.
The cabin she lived in wasn’t so much,
But her warm friendly smile gave it just the right touch.
She was small in stature, with a heart of gold,
And laid up in heaven she had riches untold.
She wasn’t the kind who lived for wealth,
But was thankful for happiness and for her health.
With her worn-out Bible at the close of the day,
She would read from God’d Word as we all knelt to pray.
She raised a large family, one I loved like no other–
Someone just like Grandma–that one was “My Mother”.
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TAKING TRIPS down memory lane is a favorite pastime at our house. THE WORDWRIGHT