Ken and I longed for one last visit to my Indiana roots. As his health deteriorated, we continued to hope but alas, it was not to be. After his death in January 2022, I expressed a desire to take a trek back in time. Terri, my daughter, was quick to assure me that she would accompany me and Gary -- my son -- supported our plan. I consulted my various Doctors who supported me without reservation.
On July 30, Gary
took us to the airport and waited until he was sure that we were in good hands. He watched as our airport attendant rolled me to the departure area. We had a four-hour connecting flight out of Phoenix during which, I enjoyed my favorite pastime people watching.
At the time I
reserved our flight I reserved a car.
Upon texting my family, about the plan, I immediately received a telephone
call from my nephew, David, ordering me to cancel the car rental. He and his brother,
Tom, would pick us up at the airport and drive us approximately 90 miles to
French Lick. My friend, and high school
classmate, Phyllis Jones Lemon, had generously offered us accommodations in an apartment
that she maintains there.
We arrived
in Indianapolis a few minutes late but adjusted for today’s travel standards, on
time. It turned out that David was still
suffering residual fatigue from a recent co-vid event and his daughter, my
great niece, Katie, and nephew, Tom, were waiting. While Tom drove around the
arrival area, Katie met us at baggage claim and helped us to the car. It was 830PM by the time we were on the road
to Bedford. They delivered us to the
Hampton Inn, and Katie extended an invitation for brunch the next day which we accepted. Once checked in we were quick to relax, already acclimated to our new time
zone.
Sunday
morning, Tom picked us up at the hotel and drove us through the scenic
countryside by great nephew, Luke's abode, and great nephew, Kyle’s recently built new home. We
stopped and chatted a minute with Kyle who was working in the yard. After a warm welcome from Katie and Cody, we were introduced
to my two great great nephews, Henry almost 3, and Charlie, almost one.
After a wonderful lunch capped off with multiple desserts, including a banana pudding to die for, we proceeded to French Lick where we were greeted by Barbara, Phyllis’ sister. Phyllis owns Ballard apartments, and she graciously offered us an apartment for the week. We drove in two cars because my niece was loaning us her car for our use during the week. Do you get the idea that we were privileged? Everyone enjoyed a short visit but, aware of our two days of activity, were soon off and we were left to unpack and relax.
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Terri and I
settled in and Terri went for a walk while I relaxed. Phyllis's brother -- Eddie -- came by to welcome us
“home” and we shared memories of the “old days.
After my mother died in 1947, my father moved us into town. I was just beginning my sophomore year of
high school. Phyllis lived down the street from us and we walked to school
together and soon, became great friends. I became a frequent guest (pest?) in their
home. Her parents and entire family
treated me with great kindness and caring.
Although her siblings were younger than I, they remembered me, and I
remembered the large, wonderful family where I had enjoyed so many
good times. What a
wonderful first day.
Monday was
intended to be a “laid back” day in deference to my age and related limitations. Nephew, Steve called and came by to say hello and give us a welcome hug. Niece, Debby, texted her welcome and we
issued an invitation to visit, and she accepted but first, she had chores to
complete. While we waited for Debby,
Terri and I drove over to Milos for breakfast.
Milos now occupies the site previously called The Villager and before
that, it was a drive-in restaurant called The Chatterbox, if my memory serves me
correctly. I remember the Chatterbox
because it was built and owned by another of my High School friends, Martha
Harrison’s grandparents, the Lashbrooks.
They ran the soda fountain in Deremiah Drug Store during my High School
stint! If my memories do not agree with
the facts, these are my memories and for the record, fact should rule over
fiction! Although the restaurant has
changed and is only open for breakfast and lunch, I had begun my visit to the
haunts and memories of my youth.
Back at the
apartment, great nephew, JD, dropped by to welcome us during his lunch break from a business call nearby, Soon after JD left, Debby arrived. We exchanged greetings and reviewed the latest happenings in our lives. After bringing each other up to date, we decided to take a brief ride out into the
countryside. The green lush terrain was delightful. It is something we do not see much of in drought-ridden California. We drove through the hills
of my youth and arrived in Red Quarry, past the farm where I grew up (and the house in which
I was born). We drove past the Church that was the source of my spiritual awakening (for
lack of a better name) and to the farm where my Grandparents lived and where my
parents lived until circa 1920. I do not
know the exact date they moved to Red Quarry, but my dad’s parents died in 1918
and I believe it was sometime after that.
I know that my four elder siblings, Floyd, Trevor, Thelma, and Dorothy
were born there and that both my brother Carl and I were born in the Red Quarry
home. The drive back to the homestead site was rather hazardous but Debby is an
adventuress driver and was not deterred.
In reviewing this trip with my niece, Zoe, she reminded me that a family
by the name of Clark had bought the old home place, which triggered my memory. Sometimes it takes two faulty memories to make a good one!
Thursday was the day designated for our cemetery tour, a tradition that goes back to my visits home when brothers Trevor and Carl would take me to the cemeteries where the family is buried. During those outings, they would review with me their memories of the various family members buried there. It was always an all-day trip, and this day would be no different. David rented a van and nine of us (including 3-year-old Henry) left the apartment at 10AM. Our first stop was the Baptist Cemetery where my grandfather, Singleton Pinnick, and many of our ancestors reside. From there we went to the Ames Chapel Cemetery where my parents, grandmother Murray, brother, Floyd; sister, Dorothy, and her husband Tommy Powell, rest. Moving on from Ames we went to a cemetery where my Great Great Great Grandfather James D. Pinnick (aka Grandsire) lies. Grandsire (I don’t know where he got that title, but it is the title I have always known him as) served in the Revolutionary War according to stories handed down by past generations, although specific genealogy of the family cannot be tracked. There are suggestions that the family may have been Quaker and thus, Grandsire and his brother may have changed their name or perhaps my ancestry simply crawled out from the proverbial rock.
We then proceeded to Red Quarry for a delightful visit to what will always be my “home”, the house in which I was born and the farm where I grew up and lived until I was 14 years old. Paul King who now owns the property is always so very kind and generous to visit with me and bring me up to date on changes that he has made. Ninety-two-year-old Paul acquiesced in my request for a tour of the farm in his “farm cart”. I delighted in sharing my memories of areas where once an apple orchid stood, gooseberry bushes and raspberry bushes thrived, a grapevine covered a path to the smokehouse and cellar (which still stands) and hen houses occupied space now filled by Paul’s vision. Paul has a thriving garden of tomatoes, vegetables, and two wonderful persimmon trees as well as he reminded me of the Quarry from which Red Quarry gets its name and the old coal mine that once provided the coal to heat our home.
After our extended visit with Paul and his wife, Barbara, we stopped at the Red Quarry Church. Workmen let us into the Church and though it has changed significantly from the Church I attended in my youth, it still brought back man memories of my life as a youth. My parents were instrumental in the formation of the church and as a youth, I used to look at the pictures of the church in its construction stages and my mother would point out various faces of people who had participated in the construction. Those pictures (or copies) now hang on the wall at the back of the church, and I enjoyed revisiting the memories of that proud period in my parents’ life.
We then visited the property where we visited with Debby on Monday. I also pointed out the location of what I
believe to be the log cabin of my father’s maternal Grandparents, Davis and Sarah Emmons, and related my stories of visits to the old log cabin where an aunt-in-law resided during my youth.
From my semi-fictional reminisces of a story seeking authentication, we drove to the Stanfield Connel cemetery, deep into rural Martin County, where my mother grew up. My Great Grandparents, Hiram and Anna Connel, and many of the Stanfield/Connel family are buried there. My Great Grandfather Connel was injured in the Civil War and suffered throughout his lifetime from those injuries. The area surrounding the cemetery is now all grown up, but I vaguely remember visiting there when I was very young. My mother shared many stories about her life there as a child and the school located on the farm that she attended. In the early to mid-1800s, someone in the family built a schoolhouse and (presumably) hired a teacher to educate the children in the neighborhood. nd d neighborhood children whose parents wanted to learn. and his grandchild. Debby remembered that there is a spring near where the old schoolhouse once stood from which the family received their water. How I wish I had been a better student during those tours in earlier years.
The rented van had to be back by 5PM and it was now well past lunchtime, so we rushed through the country roads to Highway 56 and the Hill Country Club where we had lunch in the clubhouse overlooking the beautiful Donald Ross Golf Course. What a day and what a wonderful trip down memory lane with my very special family. I just wished they could relive the many similar trips that I have taken with my two brothers. Trevor was the historian; Carl’s stories bordered a bit on the mystical at times. Although Debby thought we were in the vicinity of Peggy's Hollow (a favorite story of my brother Carl) I am not sure we were actually on the road that I was led to believe where the events actually happened.
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Back at the apartment, I basked in my reminisces and rested while Terri continued her exploration of a town with three golf courses, two major hotels, one main street, and a population of 1,791 (roughly the same as when I lived there in 1950).
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Saturday morning proved to be decidedly warmer with high
humidity. It was a day that the Pinnick
family was meeting for a potluck lunch.
When I was a youngster growing up, the Pinnick reunion was the highlight
of my dad's summer. It was always on
a Sunday and on the appointed day my mother would rise early, fry a chicken,
cook a pot of green beans, and my sisters, Thelma and Dorothy, would make
appropriate side dishes which I remember as including potato salad, rolls, coleslaw, etc. Cold drinks and ice cream were provided.
It was the one time of the year that my dad had
to visit with his many cousins and family who lived in Bicknell and surrounding
areas too far for regular visits. It was a special time, and I cannot recall a
reunion that my siblings did not attend if they were within commuting distance. During the last few years, those reunions have not been held. I was glad to attend what I hope will be a
regular reincarnation of the event.
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Brother Floyd’s
youngest son, Kenneth’s daughters, Mary Duncan, Judy Edwards and Beverly Dees along with brother Carl’s daughter, Deborah were instrumental in the planning of the
event. Crudos to all. They did a fabulous job, but the weather did
not cooperate. It precluded me from being more active in seeking out and
visiting with more of the family. I had
also looked forward to meeting Donald’s daughter, Donna, but she was not
feeling well and felt that she should stay home. She was diagnosed with covid the next day. We all thank her for her diligence in
protecting the rest of us and we are glad that she was diagnosed in time for an
early recovery.
In years past, I always tried to see Donald and Kenneth during my brief visits home but alas, I never met any of their family except maybe Donald’s youngest son – I believe his name was Donald also. My memory is vague, but I think we all met at the Villager. Ahhhh so many memories and not enough data storage. I regret that I did not get to spend more time visiting and getting to know the Floyd Pinnick family.
I was
delighted to meet the daughters of Orlando Pinnick, Jr. They are descendants of the Bicknell branch of the Pinnicks. I would have loved an afternoon spent visiting with them and getting feedback on the history of the Bicknell family. I enjoyed sharing my fond memories of how my brother Carl and I
always looked forward to the annual reunion and seeing Jr and his sister, who I
remember as being called Missy (Mitsi?). Orlando Pinnick, was close to my father’s age and the son of my dad’s favorite Uncle
Will. It did my heart good to know that
they treasured their memories of the annual reunions as do I. My
father had 4 paternal Uncles and 8 paternal aunts and 4 maternal Uncles. Looking back, I was only aware of two that seemed particularly close to my father, Uncle Will on his father's side and Uncle Ark on his mother's side. There were others, but less significant in my memory.
Lunch was served at 1PM. I was moved by Mary Duncan’s husband, Travis' eloquent words of reflection on the value of family ties in his request for blessings on the food and the
gathered family. I regret that I did not
get to visit with him or Mary.
Too soon we
learned that people were leaving, and we rushed to get a family picture which
tended to conclude the gathering. I was
left feeling a bit sad with the thought that perhaps the concept of family may have lost its luster. I was also grateful for the relatives that were there and I was able to visit. I hope that the planners were not disheartened and the tradition will continue.
Nephews Steve and David with wives, Terri and Becky, and niece, Joy joined us for a short visit back at our apartment for a delightful finish to a good day. When all had gone, I relaxed on the porch,
enjoying the silence of the small town with the tweet of birds and sounds of
nature in the background. It was a
lovely day and a good memory to carry with me in these, “my golden years”. To
my delight, Eddie, my benefactor’s brother, stopped by to say goodbye and we
had a second memory back down memory lane.
What a great way to close out a
special day.
Sunday
morning, Terri and I packed, tidied up the very pleasant and comfortable apartment
so graciously loaned to us for the week, and prepared to move out. Barbara, my friend’s sister, came by to take
the keys and say goodbye. What a
wonderful family from my childhood. I
think that I have been the most blessed person in the world with many good
and wonderful friends that I have been so lucky to know. Few people have been so privileged.
Terri and I
drove out to Red Quarry for a quick visit with another old and dear friend,
Norma Kerby Jacobs. Norma and I go back
to elementary school. After my mother died, I think I stayed more nights at her
house than I spent in my own home.
Norma had a sister, Donna, who was two years older than us but she, too,
was like a sister. We did everything
together and Donna and I met our boyfriends while we were all out walking with
another friend, Joan Daugherty. Norma and Joan ignored the flirting young boys
in a car that drove by and honked the horn. Donna and I were willing to flirt back. The boys ended up stopping and talking with
us while Norma and Joan walked on ignoring them. Expressing our need to catch up with our
friends, the boys let us go after we agreed to a later date. Our life had changed, and we had moved into
that brave new world of “twosomes” and the double date of yore. After
Donna moved on to other “prey”, I continued to date my friend off and on
throughout High School. Norma, Donna, and
their parents were my extended family of yesterday and today, I remember them
with the love and hold my memories of them close to my heart. It was sad to again, bid Norma goodbye, both
of us fully aware that we were probably saying goodbye for the last time, at
least on this sphere.
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My final
visit o my Red Quarry itinerary was completed, Terri and I drove by the former
Target mansion, now the home of the Pete Dye golf course for my last visit to
the home that I always longed to live.
As a youth, I would sit in our front yard and look, enviously, at the
beautiful home on the hill and aspire to live there one day. Only someone who believes deeply in the hope
and freedom of a country that encourages those dreams can have those kinds of
dreams. True. I never realized my dream,
but that dream provided me with a vision that life can be good and thus, I
realized my vision. Life has been good.
The next
morning, great nephew Luke, joined us at the hotel for a brief visit before we
said goodbye to Becky and the great great nephews, Henry and Charlie. En route to our lunch with niece, Zoe, and
great-niece, Rachel Baum, we stopped for a quick visit with another friend from
my childhood, Joan Daughtery Ward.
Joan’s family, like the Kerby’s, were my extended family and I look back
today and know how truly fortunate I was to have such good friends and
families. I often think of Hilary Clinton’s book IT TAKES A VILLAGE. Village is
a word. I think the key is inhabitants and perhaps my title for the book would have been “IT TAKES A GENTLE HEART” It is not the Village. It is the people who make a difference. It is the heart!
Joan and I shared our memories, our many good times together with Norma and Donna Kerby, and the many trips to Spring Mill with her parents in her dad’s school bus; our church; school days, and our memories of our teacher who we always called Miss Mae. What a wonderful childhood we had in spite of the many challenges that we experienced.
After our stop at Joan’s, we met Zoe and Rachel for lunch at the Cracker Barrel, a must-visit for Ken wherever one is located. Another three hours of visiting and sharing and we had to leave for the airport. David and Katy dropped us off and we said a final goodbye, checked in, and awaited our flight to Phoenix and home. Everything went smoothly until we got to Phoenix where we were met with a 5-hour flight delay. We were supposed to get into Burbank at 905PM. In fact, we arrived at 130AM. But who is complaining? We got home safe. I didn’t fall. I loved the trip down memory lane. No Aunt has ever experienced more attention, caring, gracious hospitality, and unconditional love. I am truly blessed with a .family that I am so proud of and friends that are the very best. Yes, Indiana is truly the land of GENTLE HEARTS AND GOOD PEOPLE, many of whom are my family, extended family, and friends.
I want to add a special thanks to my wonderful daughter who accompanied me and made this trip possible. She was diligent in her oversight, a good sport, patient and thoughtful.
