The Last of the Mohicans…

I am at that age where I can remember my great grandparents, and I am also a grandmother.

Six generations.

I try to create the sanctuary that I had at my grandmother’s home for my own grandchildren.

Stability. Consistency. Safety.

Where wealth came in the abundance of love.

Daddy would pick me up from their house after school and tell me, “This is time you’ll never regret”.

How right he was.

For years, Daddy didn’t talk a lot about the past.

But then daily trips to radiation brought so many beautiful stories.

Cancer is absolutely a curse, but there was a blessing in the time we spent together.

He would tell me how he loved to go fishing if he got his chores done.  He would rush to find his friends and take off to the creek.  

And over 60 years later, Reagen was married beside that same creek.

As we put out the decorations for her wedding, I called my Uncle Terry just to make sure I had the facts right. He told me that they would cut through the woods behind the Allens, down and across Old Woodstock Road and then by that little trestle near the Coke Ovens to go to Blocton.

I wasn’t sure if I remembered correctly because the Coke Ovens were just something to hunt in the winter when I was a teenager.  We would wait until cold weather to navigate the brush and hunt the face of them.

I really didn’t understand their purpose or their place in our history. And I certainly never dreamed of their place in my future.

Standing below them this past Saturday, they reminded me of the ruins of a castle.

A beautiful remnant of a working man’s castle built by the back-breaking labor of not only our local men but the blood, sweat and tears of the many immigrants that pursued a new life.

Our hometown of West Blocton was created, thrived, and then all but disappeared alongside the coal industry.

Honoring that history with the creation of the West Blocton Coke Ovens Park makes me so very proud.

My children have posed for senior portraits and prom pictures against those rock walls.

It thrilled me when Reagen and Alex also chose to be married there.

It felt so intentional and yet so obvious.

It  may have been the fog and misty atmosphere Saturday morning, or just the heartache of a daughter who misses her Dad-but part of me could feel his presence.

The young boy and his friends seemed to be roaming through those woods with a spirit of adventure.  Based on Daddy’s memories, I would compare their antics and mischief to the Lost Boys mixed with the commitment and resolve of the Last of the Mohicans.

When Jeff and Reagen walked down the aisle and you heard the bagpipes in the open air, part if not all of the wedding party became Scottish.  We were patriots to all that is noble and traitors to all that is not.

And I cannot think of a nobler cause than that of young love.

When the daylight left us, so did the feeling of Daddy’s youth.  It was replaced with the loving and tender heart of her grandfather. 

I could truly picture him leaning against a tree in his overalls.  A walking stick in hand and a stamp of approval on this marriage. 

It is funny how you can almost hear his Southern version of a Celtic Wedding Blessing-

He would let her know with a smile that she came from good stock.

And give her that same advice that he gave me many years ago…

“When life gets busy and hectic and you are raising your children, don’t forget to make time for your spouse.”

Aren’t your memories a blessing?

While searching for the love of the past, I have found so much hope in the future.

I take great comfort in knowing that our baby girl and her new husband won’t be the Last of the Mohicans…

So I will end the day in the words of my Mother-Good night, sweet dreams and God bless you.

And add those of my great-grandmother Granny James- Don’t forget to pray.

I love you both. Always.