The Senior Adult Years: Are They the Best?

America's adult population is growing year by year. We once considered those above age 65 as being "seniors." But now, with retirement coming earlier, those 55 and even younger are numbered among retirees and the senior adult population.

Robert Browning, English poet, in "Rabbi Ben Ezra," wrote these often-quoted lines:

"Grow old along with me,
The best is yet to be;
The last of life
For which the first was made."

Can we really consider retirement years "the best" of life? Much of it can depend on attitude. After working that magical "30+ years" or even more at a career, unless one prepares for the changes retirement brings, he/she may find a sense of vacancy and purposelessness entering life. Retirement years, for some, are considered a time when life's work is finished and the person is no longer useful to himself or those around him.

Right attitude can mean that the retiree embraces the years remaining in life. Retirement years can be a challenge, a time to pursue new interests, to travel, engage in hobbies, do neglected work around the house, make new friends, volunteer at jobs that will benefit people and the community. Even these retirement activities can become overwhelming if "personal time" is not woven into the fabric of retirement lifestyle.

The possibilities are limited only by one's perspective. The senior citizen can determine to make the last of life the best, as Poet Browning declares, or he can shrivel away in some self-inflicted "pity party." A choice is involved, and the option to be productive and active is being taken by many senior citizens today.

Because of advances in geriatric medical care, retirement income, and opportunities for continued learning, senior adults can be fairly healthy, economically independent and mentally productive. Awhile back my husband and I were at Duke's Creek Falls seeing the fall scenery there. We met a friendly couple outfitted with a nice recreational vehicle which had been home to them for six months on their extended trip. They lived in Florida and were on their way back to Florida for the winter. Their trek in the past months had taken them all the way to the west coast and up to Washington state, and from there diagonally back across mid-America until they came to Duke's Creek Falls in White County, Georgia. Their friendly manner and outgoing personalities made them a delight to meet. We exchanged home addresses. They told us they hoped to make many more trips, learning about America first-hand by visiting each state. As they met people along the way, or picked up brochures at Chambers of Commerce, they found interesting and historic sites to explore. Their interest in life, though senior citizens, was still keen, geared to learning about and seeing America first-hand. Before retirement, their demanding jobs and rearing their family had not allowed them time to pursue this goal of their later years. I personally hope they've found many more cascading waterfalls and breathtaking sights along their journey.

Hobbies are another benefit of retirement years. I talked to a woman recently who was excited about her church's senior citizen group of ladies who meet weekly to piece quilt tops and quilt them, using patterns passed down for generations. The "quilting bee" is reminiscent of early pioneer days when women enjoyed the occasions to help each other "quilt out" a covering they would give to a new bride or use to add to the store of handmade quilts to keep a family warm in harsh winters. At senior citizen centers now and in some church groups, the "quilting bee" is becoming popular, providing opportunities for camaraderie, friendship and productive work.

For those unable to do their own driving to sites they would like to see and activities they would like to engage in, there is help for them. "Golden Clubs" offer many opportunities for guided tours and access to dramas or other entertainment.

For those who like to read or write, community organizations of reading clubs and writing groups are fun and invigorating. These help to keep the mind alert and looking forward to the next meeting.

Poet W. B. Yeats had some advice for seniors: "When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book." Each day should find the mind stretched and the imagination unfurled through reading. Reading keeps the mind alert. It also can provide a subject for intelligent conversation with friends.

Perhaps one of the greatest benefits of retirement can be strengthening of family ties. If one is fortunate enough to have family, children and grandchildren (and even great grandchildren!), special times with them can be a wonderful blessing and create memories for all involved.

Some may say I've looked at only the "best scenarios" of retirement in this article. What about illness? Debilitating diseases? Pain, discomfort, seemingly endless trips to the doctor, the hospital-all a part of retirement years? I am not so naive as to disregard these. I know from personal experience that we deal with all of these challenges in retirement years. But again, attitude and how we face these challenges of illness and eventual separation from a beloved mate enter into how we manage. There is a supernatural strength for every day. The attuned senior knows that God's help and strength are just a prayer away.

All the years of a senior citizen's life accrue to an apex: "the last of life for which the first was made!" With right choices and proper attitude, the best can, indeed, yet be.

c 2006 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Sept. 28, 2006 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Mountain folk – the way we are

Those of us born and reared in the Appalachian Mountains have certain distinctive characteristics. (Note: education tells us to call our up-bringing "reared"; the mountain vernacular is "born and raised," and some astute persons might say, "‘raised’ several times in the woodshed if we disobeyed parents or were disrespectful of elders.” )

Characteristics of mountain people are noticeable in personality, work ethic, lifestyle and language. Although we have changed somewhat through education, exposure to a world beyond the mountains, and those "levelers" of cultures, the availability of television, radio and other forms of media, the solid characteristics of our forebears are still evidenced in many mountain natives into the twenty-first century.

The mountains are now populated with persons from many places. But to find a native mountaineer is almost a guarantee of encountering persons who bear noble and notable characteristics.

In personality, mountain folk are slow to accept change. Cogitative in nature, the native of the mountains weighs issues, considers alternatives, and acts on conclusions. He holds dear the methods of his forebears, and seeks to follow them.

He may reason, "If it ain't broke, why fix it?" Good enough may be a standard for quality, and "making-do" is often a way of life.

Another maxim to which the mountaineer holds is, "If it was good enough for Pa, it's good enough for me." With antipathy toward change ingrained in the mountain mind, natives are extremely dubious of imposed and legislated changes. Evidences of this mindset were seen in the days of school consolidation when each community wanted to hold onto its local school, even though advantages were to be had through bus transportation to a more modern and better staffed and equipped school. Many argued and put up strong opposition to selling land for rights-of-way for building new highways or developments. The land is a part of the native mountaineers' ways, dear to them.

There are not as many farmers now, but in the era when my father was a farmer in Union County, he often resented being told how many acres he could cultivate in certain crops. After all, did the land not belong to the farmer, to plant as he desired? Cooperatives and agricultural agendas finally broke through some of the personality barriers of the mountain farmer. But that's not to say he always liked the new ways.

Another facet of the mountain native's nature is perseverance. His word is his bond. Honesty and integrity are earmarks of his character. Regardless of how hard the task or how remote the goal, a dogged persistence marks the true mountain man's temperament. This characteristic, no doubt, was ingrained from the pioneer forebears who overcame great odds to find their way into the mountains through virgin forests and unmapped lands. Their tenacity in conquering the wilderness, clearing farmland and building homes left a heritage of resolution and endurance. Independence was a feature of their persevering spirit. Passing the traits on to subsequent generations of mountain folk, the early settlers left us with a stick-to-it-ive-ness that is deeply ingrained.

The mountain work ethic is another noteworthy transfer from hardy ancestors. Hard toil was necessary to bring the mountain land from wilderness status to productive farms and family businesses. The early years of settlement in the mountains saw many entrepreneurs forming a self-sufficient enterprise along mountain streams. Water wheels turned turbines that ran mills to grind corn and wheat. Sawmills shaped tall timbers into lumber for houses and industries.

Barter made yield of farm, forest and mountain a means of trading goods not produced in the hills.

Industrious housewives knew how to card, spin, weave and sew. Scarcity became the impetus for making-do. But whatever the enterprise, hard work was required. A day's labor was given for a day's labor in return as neighbor helped neighbor.

Consequently, this work ethic confirmed the idea that the laborer, indeed, is worthy of his hire. Shoddy work reflects indelibly on one's character. "He or she is a good worker," was a compliment desired and well-earned.

Many in other areas of the country consider the mountaineer's lifestyle as slow and unhampered, even today in this fast-paced age. It is true that the mountaineer desires and usually makes time to be friendly with neighbors, to pass the time of day with those we meet, to take time "to smell the roses," to inhale the pure air and appreciate it, watch glorious sunrises and sunsets over the mountains.

Tied with our mountain characteristics is the ability to meet eventualities head-on.

We are not always as leisurely and slow-paced as our personalities indicate. We have learned to rush with the rest of the world. A main difference lies in the way we set our pace. By knowing that certain jobs need to be done and forming a timetable for doing them, the mountaineer moves purposefully, deliberately and efficiently. "By this time next week," the mountain farmer says, "this field will be harvested." And he sets the pace required to do it.

We don't waste much time on regrets or non-achievements. Some things are meant to be, the mountaineer reasons, and why opine that it be otherwise? From this mindset comes a certain assurance and satisfaction reflected in a lifestyle of peace and oneness with self, with nature, with people and with God.

Then there is the mountain language. I, personally, regret that it is fading away. But we hear echoes of it even now, "I reckon," or that inevitable dropping of the "ing" to just "in." Takes a fur less time t' talk that away!

If you have doubts that these distinctive characteristics are true of mountain folk, just talk to a native who has reached fourscore and ten years. Or, better still, if you are a mountaineer yourself, reflect on your heritage, your "raisin'." You may reach the same conclusion about the way we are.

c 2006 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Sept. 21, 2006 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Recounting High Humor of the Hills

Some of the stories were written down in a century-old ledger book that belonged to James Harry Turner's grandfather, James Lon Turner (2-21-1875 - 5-5-1972). On the unused pages of the old ledger book, Harry began to record humorous stories, many of which had been told and passed down by generations of his mountain ancestors.

Harry Turner (1928-2005) added to these as long as he was able, collecting choice anecdotes that dated back to Revolutionary War times and reached down to the present. He always intended to publish them, but feared that he might somehow offend someone still living who might recognize familiar stories as being part and parcel of their family folklore. And so it was, after Dr. James Harry Turner's death in 2005, his son, Dr. Joseph Blair Turner, assumed the cloak of storyteller, compiling his father's tales and adding some of his own to form a delightful compendium with the signal title of High Humor of the Hills. It has both Drs. Turner as joint authors and was published by Nathan House Books, Oakwood, Georgia, 2006.

The book is a valuable addition to our mountain literature and lore on several levels.

The first level is given in the title. It is a book of "High Humor," coming from our mountain folk for many generations, kept alive by repetition, and serving to add a bit of levity to what was often a "hard road in a rough land."

Dr. Joe Turner has done an exceptional job editing the stories and arranging them by eras. If you want a tale from the Revolutionary period, "How Skinflint Won the Race" will pit the frontiersman against a "Virginia Dandy" in a bare-foot race (only the story says they were "bar-foot").

The Civil War era brought forth such tales as old Ben Nix and "The Mule Shoe Dentist" when a blacksmith doubled as the community's tooth-puller. Through various decades, the true tales of humor represent a people, humble and unpretentious, who found entertainment by listening and telling events, often with themselves as the subjects. Neighbors had time to exchange stories, share laughs, lift each other's burdens.

Altogether, the book contains 200 stories and 139 pages of delightful vignettes. The reader will enjoy the volume as a straight read-through, but will return again and again to reread and learn the variable shades of humor certain favorite tales convey.

So on the level of historical reference book, this volume has merit.

Another level of the book's value is in the language. A five-page "Appalachian Glossary," alphabetized and with meanings of now almost obsolete mountain words and phrases is a reference not only for the vernacular of the stories but for a language that is rapidly passing away. It has been said that the Appalachian people, especially those of previous generations before the media rendered a "standard English" language for us all, was one of the truest Scots-Irish and Elizabethan English tongues still practiced. Dr. Joseph Blair Turner writes in his foreword: "I have attempted to capture the more folksy expressions. If it seems different, remember that socio-linguistically there are no right or wrong accents or dialects, only some people who do not appreciate the beauty of folk-tendered expression, preserved by the folk themselves. This culture is vanishing. I am thankful I was there, warmed by its fading rays" (page xv).

High Humor of the Hills will bring laughs. But, further, it will bring understanding. The storytellers who people its pages are real, proud of their heritage, unafraid of hard toil and life's knocks, able to pick up and move forward, always keenly compassionate and ready to lend a helping hand. As both Harry Turner and Joe Turner state: "These are my people. I am one of them." And those of us born and reared in the Appalachian region-or Union County, Georgia, in particular- can relate to the tales, to the thread of hope that lies beyond the pranks, to the people seeking some respite from grueling work and sometimes drab life. As Dr. Harry Turner states in "The Prologue":

"You wouldn't dare call them 'hillbilly.' They aren't. Just real honest- to-goodness folk, getting more of life's blessings than you might be, dear reader." They care not for aberration nor embellishment, but life as it comes." (page xii).

Many of the stories show strong faith held by Appalachian people. Even though these stories deal with faith laced with humor, that faith is, nevertheless, an unswerving dependence on God. Harry Turner expressed this faith of the people well: "Neither are they complacent in their fear of God—their Divine Master. They are His stewards of the soil. They toil and grow strong on it. They laugh deep and long there in the valleys, next to Heaven's crests, heeding the only call that counts to them: God's." (page xiii).

The author who first started recording the stories, Harry, son of a dirt farmer, and the author himself a longtime agricultural agent in the mountain counties of Georgia, knew first-hand of the strong affinity between the land and the people. High Humor of the Hills will provide amusement while teaching the reader many valuable lessons he will remember.

For purchasing information, see the website at NathanHouseBooks.com. I think you (as am I) will be glad to have your own copy for $12.95 (price includes shipping). If you do not have internet, you may order from Nathan House Publishers, P. O. Box 1696, Oakwood, GA 30566.

I personally congratulate Dr. Joseph Blair Turner for completing this book. He invites readers to contribute their own stories of true mountain humor. In the future there very likely will be a Volume II of High Humor of the Hills. But first, I highly recommend that you get Volume I of this brand new publication for yourself or for a gift. And if you hear of a book signing at a book store near you, I recommend that you go to meet compiler Dr. Joseph Blair Turner who felt it his mission to complete the work his father had begun.

c 2006 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Sept. 14, 2006 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Georgia’s highest peak – Brasstown Bald

Both Union and Towns counties claim portions of Georgia's highest mountain, Brasstown Bald. Before Towns County was formed from Union in 1856, the mountain lay within the boundaries of Union. After Union was divided out to form Towns, the highest part of Brasstown Bald Mountain--also known as Enotah Bald--lay in Towns.

The name of the mountain was called Enotah by the Cherokee Indians who once inhabited the area. After the gold rush of 1828 when white settlers rushed pell-mell into the area seeking yellow riches around Nacoochee Valley and Dahlonega, and even into Union County later at the Coosa Gold Mines, they confused two names the Indians called the highest peak: it-se-ye meant "fresh green"; unt-sai-yi meant "brass".

The latter, for brass, was attached to this highest mountain in the Wolfpen Range. It rises through the mists, fogs and clouds to 4,784 feet. A peak to the southwest is Blood Mountain which reaches a height of 4,458 feet. Legend holds that the Cherokee considered Blood in greater reverence than Enotah Bald, unusual for the Indians who normally named sacred the highest peak in their area.

Perhaps their reverence for Blood goes back to the battle between the Cherokee and the Creek nations for sovereignty of the mountain region when it is said that Wolf Creek, originating high on Blood Mountain, ran red with the blood of brave warriors.

The Indians also had a story for what happened on Enotah Bald. A great flood once covered the earth. It killed all except those in a great canoe which landed on top of Enotah. The land was cleared on top of this high mountain by the Cherokee to make crops for sustenance. The "fresh green" –it-se-ye--for them meant renewed life after the trauma of the flood. It-se-ye could also have referred to "cloud forest" on Brasstown Bald. Even to this day an area of Georgia's tallest peak has a portion on the northeast section watered by moisture-laden clouds. There in this "mountain rain forest" lichen-covered birch trees, wild flowers such as laurel and rhododendron, various herbs, giant wood fern, allium (the common ramp of "ramp tramp" fame), ash, oak, willow, beach and even an occasional sugar maple (somehow imported from northeastern sugar maple stands) grow and thrive in this “cloud forest.” If anyone tries to walk in this area he may be hampered by lichen-covered damp rocks on which footing can be very insecure.

The tower at Brasstown Bald.

The first tower on Brasstown Bald (Enotah) Mountain was built in the early 1920's by the Pfister-Vogel Logging Company. It was constructed of chestnut and locust wood, and rose on the peak so that watchers could see smoke from any forest fires within the areas where the lumber company was conducting logging operations.

Brasstown Bald now stands in the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest. Between 1911 and 1930, the government bought approximately 743,000 acres of forest land and set it aside as a preserve. The present facilities of Brasstown Bald are open from May through October, with weekends open in November.

Much credit is due Ranger Arthur Woody for measures that led to preservation of forests in the north Georgia area. He wanted to see the forests that had been riddled from the thirst for virgin timber restored to refuges for wildlife and tall trees, deer in the forests, fish in the streams. He worked diligently to encourage the government to buy lands for forest preserves.

The second tower at Bald Mountain, built in 1935 by the "CCC boys" (Civilian Conservation Corps) was the dream of Ranger Woody. He sat at his kitchen table and drew plans for the stone and wood tower that replaced the old wooden tower constructed in the early 1920s. After World War II, the Woody Stone Tower was replaced by a steel tower in 1947. The present structures, visitor's center, and educational facilities with the thought-provoking "Man and the Mountain" program, recount the history of the area through various eras.

October is normally a time of "bright blue weather." If you have not visited Bald Mountain recently, perhaps you would like to choose a clear day in October to take your family up this highest peak in Georgia. You can ride a shuttle all the way from the parking area to the top. Or, if you are physically agile and want the challenge, you can climb the one-half mile trail to the top. Those who know about such statistics say that it rises 500 feet in elevation in the one-half mile, and is equivalent to walking 1,000 miles north. From the 360-degree observation deck on a clear day, you can view some of the most spectacular vistas in Georgia, and even into other states. Every time I have visited Brasstown Bald (several times in my lifetime) I have always been awed by the majesty and beauty of the Wolfpen Ridges reaching out in all directions, our beautiful Southern Appalachians.

c 2006 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Sept. 7, 2006 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

No Coincidence: To Learn of the Late Emma Lena Nix Dyer (1889-1955)

Webster defines “coincidence” as “the occurrence of events that happen at the same time by accident but seem to have some connection.”

Notice that coincidence is “by accident,” but that the events can also “seem to have some connection.”

Writer Haddon Chambers in the early twentieth century in his drama, “Captain Swift,” spoke of “The long arm of coincidence.” The English poet Lord Byron wrote, “’A strange coincidence’ to use a phrase/ By which such things are settled now-a-days.” Thomas Hardy, writing on the destruction of “The Titanic,” likened the glacier and the giant liner being “on paths coincident—twin halves of one august event/’Till the Spinner of the Years/Said ‘Now!’.”

So far, nothing as cataclysmic as the wreck of the Titanic has occurred, and we would hope that it would not. But indeed, it was “the long arm of coincidence,” and, we believe, intervention by the “Spinner of Years” that Bruce Dyer of Dalton and I came to have a telephone conversation a few weeks ago, and it was from him I began to learn of his beloved grandmother, the late Emma Lena Nix Dyer, about whom he wanted to know more information.

It happened like this, in a string of “brought together” coincidences (or, as Bruce and I now believe, it was no ‘accident’). Someone in Dalton where Bruce Dyer owns and operates several carpet-tufting mills took him a copy of “The Union Sentinel.” It was the issue when we were pleading with Dyers and Southers everywhere to attend the July 15 Dyer-Souther Reunion, and especially to attend the 3:00 p.m. ceremony that day that would review the contributions of inventor Micajah Clark Dyer (1822-1891) as a portion of Georgia Highway 180 was named in his honor.

“This has something about the Dyers,” the donor of the paper said to Bruce Dyer. “I thought you would like to read it.”

And with that coincidental giving of the paper, Bruce Dyer was furnished with my telephone number. This was after the reunion happening on July 15, but he called me and we talked a long time. He didn’t know much about his connections to the Dyers, except that his grandmother, Emma Lena Nix had married David Marcus Dyer. Beyond that, he had no inkling of whether or not he was in the direct line of Micajah Clark Dyer. I told him I had a few resources I could check, and I would be back with him in a few weeks. With that one telephone conversation, we struck a rapport, and I wanted, if possible, to help Bruce Dyer, businessman, connect with his ancestors.

To make a long story short, I had great success in tracing Bruce Dyer’s roots back to his great, great grandfather, Micajah Clark Dyer, and even beyond the inventor to the first known Dyers in the line. Furthermore, I was able to trace the roots of his grandmother, Emma Lena Nix, back to the earliest known Nixes in America. I had help, of course, from online sources, from genealogy buffs like myself, Linda Trader Jordan of Gainesville, Dr. Joe Turner of Gainesville, and the five books of genealogy my cousin Watson Benjamin Dyer published from 1967 through 1988, and a helpful tome, “The Nix Family Tree,” published by Wanda West Gregory in 1980.

I could hardly pull the wonderful information together fast enough and send to Bruce Dyer. On August 28 I had the second telephone call from him, thanking me profusely for my efforts and assuring me that he and his two sons, Mark and Jeff, who are in the carpet business with him in Dalton, were delighted with the results of my findings and were trying to absorb the various family connections I had unraveled for them.

Since the subject of this column set out to be about Emma Lena Nix Dyer (1889-1955), I will continue with that subject, and a lofty subject she turned out to be, indeed.

Emma Lena Nix was born November 22, 1889 in Union County, Georgia, the fifth of eight children of John Wesley Nix (1-5-1863 – 10-13-1896) and Minty Lavada Reece Nix (2-12-1863 – 8-6-1933). Emma Lena married David Marcus Dyer (1885-?) on January 6, 1907 in Union County. The couple lived in the Owltown District of Union County. David (“Dave”) was a son of Robert F. Dyer (1856 - ?) and Elizabeth Fortenberry Dyer (1856-?). And Robert F.’s parents were Micajah Clark Dyer (1822-1891) and Morena Owenby Dyer (1819-1892). Indeed, I had easily traced Bruce Dyer’s lineage on the Dyer side back to the nineteenth century inventor of the “Apparatus for Navigating the Air.” And on the Nix side, back through John Wesley, Archibald Carr, James, William “Grancer”, and John Nix.

Bruce knew some information about his grandmother whom he loved dearly. He told me when they held her funeral in Whitfield County, Georgia following her death on July 12, 1955, that “crowds of people came out of the mountains (around Owltown, Union County) to pay their respects. She and David Marcus Dyer had lived in Owltown until they moved to Dalton about 1946. She had been a noted mid-wife in the era before doctors were readily available to attend births around the countryside in Owltown. Those who came to her funeral were some of the grown-up children she had delivered, and their elderly parents who appreciated what this good woman had done for their families.

Emma Lena Nix Dyer was a devoutly religious woman. She and her family attended the Church of God in the Owltown Community. One summer, a Rev. Woody was leading a revival, and Mrs. Dyer got “in the Spirit,” and in her state of spiritual ecstasy, she walked around inside the church building with her hands raised, praising the Lord. Rev. Woody fell in behind her, and so did most of the congregation. When Mrs. Dyer sat down, the preacher went back to the pulpit and resumed his preaching and the congregation seated themselves and sat listening.

She did most of her trading with traveling peddlers who came by the Dyer house in Owltown. She saved up eggs, and caught fryer chickens to barter for goods from the peddler’s wagon (or, in later years, his truck). She also was noted for the produce she canned from her garden and orchard, and often traded pickles, jams, jellies and vegetables for the peddler’s wares. When the peddler got back to town, people rushed to his wagon to see what Mrs. Emma Lena Dyer had traded. They wanted first choice of her goods, knowing that they were “put up” with care and attention to detail.

After World War II, the Dyer family moved from Owltown District to Dalton, Whitfield County. David Marcus Dyer was a carpenter by trade. He worked for awhile in Atlanta, building houses, until they moved to Dalton. There both of Bruce Dyer’s grandparents died and were buried. The lineages on “both sides” of this family, Nix and Dyer, show a line of stalwart pioneers, salt-of-the-earth people who lived by high moral and religious standards, treated their fellowmen with respect, and left a legacy of hard work and stability.

c 2006 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Aug. 31, 2006 in The Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Going home, A tribute to John Paul Souther (1915-2006)

Lt. Col. (Retired) John Paul Souther and wife, Virginia Parks Souther September 23, 2000.

In his book War Not Forgotten: A Frontline Officer's Eyewitness Account - World War II - North Africa and Italy (Wolfe Publishing Co., 1995) Lt. Colonel John Paul Souther entitled Chapter 11 "Going Home." After three years of rigorous service in the First U.S. Armored Division in the North African and Italian Campaigns, he was finally going home to Gainesville, Ga., to see his wife, Virginia Parks Souther, and his 37-months old son, Billy, whom he had never seen.

Virginia had met her returning war hero in Atlanta, leaving their son in Gainesville with her parents. When John Paul and Virginia arrived home, young Billy ran from the porch with his hands outstretched, saying the wonderful words, "Hello, Daddy!" He had seen pictures of his daddy and greeted him for the first time in his young life, not with shyness, but with excitement. John Paul Souther wrote: "There could be only a few such joyous occasions as this in a lifetime" (War not Forgotten. Page 224).

Friday, August 18, 2006 was "Going Home" time again for John Paul Souther.

When his daughter, Lynn Souther Godshall, called to tell me of her father's death, she said: "He died quietly and peacefully about 3 a. m." He had shed the bonds of earth and illness, and with a transition not unlike the end of the war and returning home to family, he was welcomed to his eternal home by the Lord he loved.

On earth he had earned many medals and commendations for his bravery and excellency in battle. I imagined the Lord's welcome to this trustworthy soldier and follower: "Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful...enter into the joy of the Lord" (Matthew 25: 2, 23).

"Going Home" had much meaning for World War II veteran, Lt. Colonel, retired, John Paul Souther. He was a decorated soldier returning after rigorous years during World War II. He was one of those we now term "the greatest generation." But he had another love for home, and "going home," back to his roots in Union County, GA.

He was born May 4, 1915 to Jeptha Freeman Souther (1865-1953) and Mintie Iva Ann Dyer Souther (1876-1937). He was the eighth of nine children born to this couple. In a tribute lauding the attributes of his mother written March 16, 1987, John Paul said of her: "Today, there are eight of these nine children living between the ages of 68 to 89. This being very extraordinary has to reflect her ability on how to raise a large family...My brothers and sisters... think of our mother in this great accomplishment." (p. 332, Souther Family History by Watson B. Dyer, 1988).

Seeking to pay even greater respect to his mother and father and his upbringing on a dirt farm in Choestoe, Union County, Ga., Lt. Col. Souther wrote a book-length tribute to them and to their way of life. Between the Blood and the Bald, Choestoe, Georgia, 1915-1940 (c2000) is a look at 25 years of life there. Taken together, both this book and War Not Forgotten comprise a chronological account of life from strong family roots in Choestoe to a valiant (though humble) hero's part in World War II. At the same time biographical and memoirs, his widely received books added greatly to the history of an era from 1915 through 1946.

It was my privilege to work with John Paul Souther on some major historical projects, and to participate in and observe him as he engineered several more.

On April 30, 2005, just prior to John Paul's 90th birthday, we held a program at the site of the Souther Mill on Cane Creek, Choestoe. Jesse Souther Jr. (1813-1869), grandfather of John Paul, built the grist mill in 1848 after he had migrated from North Carolina. My own great grandfather, John Souther (1803-1889), older brother to Jesse Jr., had arrived in Union County about 1836. He and another brother, Joseph Souther (1802-1937) all assisted with building and operating the mill. Following Jesse Jr.'s ill health and death, his youngest son, Jeptha Freeman Souther (1865-1953), father of John Paul, when he became old enough, and with the help of various millers, oversaw the operation of the Souther Mill until it was closed in 1937. Theodore Thomas, a great, great grandson of Jesse Souther Jr., built a shed to house the memorial plaque and pictures at the millsite. Now people who travel by where the old mill stood for almost a century can stop and read a portion of history. It was a cold, misty day, that April 30, 2005, when we met for the program to honor work of our ancestors. But the fact that John Paul Souther, at almost 90, was able to see this dream of preserving history accomplished gave all of us present a warm glow of gratitude.

Earlier, John Paul Souther had purchased and installed tombstones at the graves of his grandparents, Jesse Souther Jr. and Malinda Nix Souther at Old Choestoe Cemetery. Tracing some of the exploits of his grandfather, John Paul knew that before his move to Union County, Georgia, Jesse Souther, Jr. had served in the U. S. Army during the removal process when the Cherokees were sent to the Reservation in Oklahoma in 1838.

Another preservation effort by John Paul Souther was marking the graves of Malinda Nix Souther's grandparents at the Stonecypher Family Cemetery at Estanollee, Ga. She was a daughter of William Nix and his wife Susannah Stonecypher Nix. Susanna was a daughter of John Henry and Nancy Curtis Stonecypher.

The stately ceremony conducted in 1995 saw numerous people gathered near the two story mansion (preserved and still standing) John Henry Stonecypher built for his family about 1790. With a lofty tribute given about the Revolutionary War service of John Henry Stonecypher (1756-1850), with taps played by John Paul's grandson, young Jonathan Mark Souther, and appropriate patriotic music for the processional and memorial service by Jonathan Mark and my own son and grandsons (Keith Jones, Brian, Nathan and Matthew), we stood beneath tall trees and thought on the legacy left by John Henry Stonecypher Jr. and his wife, Nancy Curtis Stonecypher. Thanks to John Paul, the small family cemetery had been surrounded by an ornamental iron fence and gate, and a granite marker told major highlights in the lives of the Stonecypher patriot of Revolutionary War fame. Thanks to John Paul, it was a time of deep reflection and appreciation.

In John Paul's own words, he stated that "my largest project was the George Washington Bicentennial Year bust" erected at the corner of Washington and Green Streets in Gainesville and dedicated on December 14, 1999, the bicentennial of our first president's death. As chairman of the committee, John Paul Souther raised $42,975.00 for the successful project. The original bust, twice life-size, sculpted by Dr. John Lanzalotti, is mounted on an eleven-ton base of Elberton, Georgia granite. There passersby on Washington Street, Gainesville, can see the bust of George Washington and think on the contributions of the "Father of Our Country."

In 2004, although not able to attend the Dyer-Souther Heritage Association Reunion, John Paul Souther donated to the Union County Historical Society Museum the oxen yoke his grandfather, William Jesse Souther Jr. had used when he moved from Old Fort, NC to Choestoe, GA., in the 1840s. Theodore Thomas had restored the yoke and had it in tip-top shape for the presentation. That same year, Virginia Parks Souther, John Paul's beloved wife, presented a picture of her husband in his World War II uniform, and a picture of the medals and awards he earned in service. These all can be seen in the Old Courthouse Museum, Blairsville, GA.

This week a hero was laid to rest. One who loved and cherished his home on earth and contributed significantly to life and freedom here, was freed from the bonds of feeble flesh and made his last trip home. His "Going Home" was celebrated with accolades and fond remembrances. All of us who knew him have been enriched by associations with John Paul Souther, farm lad, soldier extraordinary, businessman, historian, family man, kinsman.

c2006 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Aug. 24, 2006 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The Matheson Cove: In the Shadow of the Devil's Post Office

Mr. Steve Oakley, Director of the Union County Historical Society Museum in the majestic, restored old courthouse on the square in Blairsville gave Eva Nell Mull Wike, Ph.D., my telephone number. She called me. The first time we talked, after precursory introductions, we were like old friends who had been reconnected after years of separation, although we have not yet met each other in person.

The tie that binds Eva Nell and me is a common love for and appreciation of history. And some common family roots. But more about the shared family roots later. The intention of today's column is to introduce the reading public to Dr. Wike's book published in 2006 with the inviting title of The Matheson Cove: In the Shadow of the Devil's Post Office. Consider this a review of the book, and even with my words of commendation, I cannot do justice to Dr. Wike's book published by Tennessee Valley Publishing, PO Box 52527, Knoxville, TN 37950-2527 (The publisher may be reached online at www.TVP1.com. The hardbound book may be purchased from the publisher or from the author, Eva Nell Mull Wike, Ph. D., 109 Oklahoma Ave., Oakridge, TN 37830-8629 for $25 + $4 S&H [$29] Copies are available at The Book Nook in Blairsville and at Phillips & Lloyd Book Shop on the Square, Hayesville, NC.)

Eva Nell Mull Wike

This is a book of history, a book of remembrance, a book of family solidarity in a changing era, and a book about a place, almost magical, yet real and inviting.

Matheson Cove is a real place, a valley overshadowed by the Shewbird Mountain. The cove is located near Hayesville, N.C., and was the place where Eva Nell grew up in a hardworking family with not many of this world's goods but an abundance of love and values.

The Devil's Post Office was a cave in the Shewbird Mountain, an off-limits place where Eva Nell and her sisters longed to explore but which was forbidden by their parents. On Sunday afternoons, some of the more daring teenagers living near the Shewbird Mountain would venture up to the Devil's Post Office, take letters they had written during the week, and deliver them to crevices in the deepest recesses of the cave. What happened to the letters was a matter of legend as well, for the missives were never seen again. As Dr. Mull writes, "there is not a dead letter box in that post office!"

Shewbird Mountain got its name from an old Cherokee Indian by that name who hid out in the cave to avoid the trek to Oklahoma during the Trail of Tears.

Matheson Cove got its name from the early Matheson settlers who left the highlands of Scotland and migrated to the United States, claiming 300 acres in North Carolina in present-day Clay County. Dr. Wike tells the story of their settlement and how Dallas Matheson was ahead of his time in cultivating peach, apple and chestnut trees in the Cove. The heart of the book is about the ancestors of Eva Nell Mull Wike, the author, both on the Wimpey and the Mull sides of the family.

Eva Nell heard fascinating stories of her maternal great, great grandmother, Matilda "Minny" Little, a fullblooded Cherokee maiden, who hid in a cave in the region of Union County, Ga., called Track Rock. Thus Minny escaped being sent on the Trail of Tears in 1838. The young girl was afraid but determined. Her later life proved the true mettle of this Cherokee lady.
Minny Little married Asa Thomason on January 13, 1857 and they were parents of the author's grandmother, Lula Bell Jane Thomason who married William Isaac Wimpey. And from these came her mother, Martha Jane Wimpey who married her father, Joseph David Mull.

The Mull family and their ancestors had likewise settled in Matheson Cove. And so the story continues, page after interesting page, to recount ways of making a living, rearing large families, dealing with serious illnesses, accidents, deaths, and grief. Always there is that stalwart will to keep pressing on, to provide better opportunities for the next generation than the parents themselves experienced.

The book is well illustrated by the author's husband, James Wike, an artist who has the ability to add interest to the true story by his drawings and enhancement of old photographs. The book is a treasure of history and memoirs, of hardships and change.

Matheson Cove and Shewbird Mountain, as well as the Devil's Post Office, have now been ravaged by modern twins called development and change. As Jack Douglas Matheson states in his poem which Dr.Wike includes in her book, "I've felt a lot of memories/ In that old mountain's face./It breaks my heart to see it go,/And lose all its grace."

Dr. Eva Nell Mull Wike has captured much of the grace and way of life of the Matheson Cove. Get a copy of the book. You will be enthralled by its pages, written by one who truly loves the place. It is fortunate for readers that she stored away memories and recorded them for posterity. We hope we will experience more books from this retired mathematics teacher turned author as she explores other stories of beloved ancestors who paved the way for us all to have a better life.

(Note: Dr. Wike is available to speak to groups or to have book signings. Anyone interested in scheduling her as a speaker may contact her at 865-482-2545.)

c 2006 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Aug. 17, 2006 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.