When we kids were young, we called her Auntie (pronounced “Ain’t-ee”) Myrtle, even though we lived in California and didn’t use a “Southern accent” on any other words. She was my mama’s big sister. Mom was the baby of 3 girls born and raised in rural Arkansas, and Aunt Myrtle was the oldest. The house they grew up in is now dilapidated, literally falling to pieces out there in the lush Arkansas countryside.
Aunt Myrtle was the only one who stayed local, living most of her life within 30 miles of the original farm. She had taught in the one-room schoolhouse that still stands as a memorial of that time, and my mom lived with her when she went to high school in the “big city.”
Back in the day
Every year or so throughout the 50s and 60s we’d go back to see Aunt Myrtle and Uncle Leonard at what I thought of as “the old home place.” It was a beautiful rock house with peaked roof and a fancy “parlor” we weren’t allowed to play in.
At some point they built on a big “rumpus room”—a family room with the biggest fireplace I had ever seen. I remember roasting corn and marshmallows in that fireplace, and I was pretty sure it was the best portal that Santa had ever had. Aunt Myrtle was a beautician, so she also added a salon down a long hall from the rumpus room. All of us girls got haircuts and permanent waves every time we visited—whether we wanted them or not!
Road trip
Mostly we drove across country to get from California to Arkansas (before air conditioning in cars!), but I remember we rode the train once when I was 4. My sister and I had matching hats, and one of us left hers on the train. That, strangely enough, is my strongest memory of the train trip across country. In later years we couldn’t remember which of us lost her hat, but I’m sure it was the end of the world at the time.
I was the baby in a family who moved every 4 or 5 years my whole life, and the rock house was my solid place. As far as I was concerned, it was my ancestral home, my heritage—even though none of my immediate family had ever lived there. I absolutely loved visiting Aunt Myrtle and her family. Her kids were the cousins I was closest to, even though we lived so far apart.
Fun times at the old home place
I have random memories through the years, like my dad helping with a difficult calf delivery in an Arkansas rainstorm. That was the first time I knew cows gave birth standing up. Of course now I know how common that is in the animal kingdom, but it was sure a surprise at that time.
They raised Charolais and Black Angus cattle, and we rode all over the farm checking on them in the back of Uncle Leonard’s pickup. He had what we called a “farmer’s tan”—his skin was brown and leathery everywhere except the top of his head. I couldn’t wait till he took off his hat (which all gentlemen did when they were inside, back in the day). I was terribly fascinated by the clear delineation where his hat’s protection of his light pinkish pate ended above his tanned face. I’m sure I stared a lot when I was a kid!
We kids picked poke sallet to cook for dinner and caught polliwogs (aka tadpoles) in the pond behind their house. We chased lightning bugs (aka fireflies) in the warm summer evenings, creating makeshift lanterns by putting them in Mason jars for a few minutes.
A small attic room was tucked away in the middle of the house. Even though it was my cousin’s bedroom for awhile, it seemed to me to be a mysteriously secret hideaway. I think we were even “lost” from our parents there once, when we couldn’t hear them calling and they didn’t know where we were.
We didn’t find Nemo
We also fished. A lot.
They had ponds all over their property, and even had bait ponds. I completely drew the line at seining goldfish for bait, but I learned to handle the minnows. I can hardly imagine it now.
All the neighbors were welcome at each others’ fishing ponds, and Aunt Myrtle always knew which ones had the best chance for a good catch at any given time. We loved to fish—especially Dad and Mom, Myrtle and Leonard.
They all got along like siblings. Aunt Myrtle called Dad “Wib” and he called her “Myrt.” Dad always said he abandoned his first name, Wilbur, when Walt Disney created a grasshopper named Wilbur. He went by “Bill” the rest of his life. But to Myrt he was always Wib. I loved hearing it because it seemed like such a special nickname.
Everybody Loves Myrtle
Aunt Myrtle had a huge heart. She treated us like her own kids and we loved her like a second mom. Everyone in their corner of Arkansas knew and loved her. She knew just about everyone in town and we were related to a lot of them—cousins once, twice, or thrice removed. Like Rube, who let us plough behind his old blind mule with a hand-held plough. We took turns guiding the wooden plough as the mule pulled it. Those were the crookedest rows you’ve ever seen, but Rube just laughed! It was awesome!
Aunt Myrtle’s favorite restaurant was a local catfish joint, and she was very proud of the fact that once she turned 90 she got all her meals there for free. It’s the only place we ever ate out when we visited, and Aunt Myrtle had certainly earned her free meals!
There’s no place like home
We were visiting the home place one summer when a tornado came through. I remember only snapshots in my mind, but I’ll never forget how scared I was. They had built a tornado shelter into the hillside about 30-40 feet from the house. I was maybe 5 or 6 and two of my cousins were younger than I. It was a very Wizard-of-Oz kind of experience getting everyone into the shelter.
Daddy was taking me to it when he turned around and saw my Mom struggling in the wind and rain with my baby cousin. He had me “hug a tree” so I wouldn’t be blown away, literally, while he went back to help Mom. He grabbed me again as they passed my tree, and we fought through the howling wind into the shelter.
It smelled like musty dirt, which I think maybe it was. I remember a bed covered with a wool “army blanket,” and that it was stocked with food and water. But the air became staler and staler with all of us in there. So Daddy and Uncle Leonard went back out into the storm to clear debris from the pipe sticking straight up out of the hillside like a stovepipe. We were terrified while they were out there, but we soon were able to breathe fresh air.
All of this may have taken an hour or two until the tornado had passed. I was little so I don’t know, but it seemed like forever. The house and property sustained only mild damage, thankfully. But some friends had a big old tree in their front yard that literally twisted in two in a tornado. The top broke off, and the trunk that remained was twisted like a rope. Their house, about 25 feet away, was untouched. Tornadoes are fickle beasts.
All in the family
In the early 1970s I went to the same college in Arkansas that my dad, brother, and sister had gone to, about an hour away from my aunt and uncle. I was blessed to spend quite a few weekends with them. I loved bringing my friends with me to experience what I enjoyed so much, and they were always welcome. Aunt Myrtle, however, told my mom she thought maybe I was afraid I’d be bored and that’s why I brought friends with me. Nothing could be further from the truth. I just wanted to share the joy!
Aunt Eula, Mom, and Aunt Myrtle in an old family movie
Many years later my daughters attended that same university. They also spent precious time with Aunt Myrtle. She was the closest thing to my mom, for all of us. When we lost Mom, we cherished Aunt Myrtle even more and always loved spending time with her and our cousins.
One year my daughters drove out to the house where Mom was born. They brought back small boards that had fallen from the now dilapidated house that Aunt Myrtle, Mom, and their sister Aunt Eula grew up in. Their old home place. The girls affixed brass labels to the boards and gave them to us for Christmas. That same year, not knowing about the boards, I painted a picture of that unpretentious farmhouse and decoupaged it on trivets for my family members. The memories have outlived that house.
Moving on…
By the time I was in college, Aunt Myrtle and Uncle Leonard had built a shiny new home at the top of a hill. It was just up the road from the old home place—which now belongs to their younger son and his family. Their older son built a house just down the hill for his family, which was close and lovely and so nice for the entire family.
My aunt and uncle’s new house featured a wall of glass doors and windows that offered a dramatic vista of breathtakingly beautiful Arkansas hills and valleys. One of my favorite things was seeing and hearing the brilliant scarlet birds they called “Redbirds” in her yard. Aunt Myrtle loved sitting by the window and watching them. Cardinals were special to my mom, too; and my sister and I, as well as my daughters, love to use cardinals in our Christmas decorating. Warm fuzzies!
Folklore says that cardinals are sent from heaven as a sign that your loved ones are still with you. I love that sentiment. Seeing “Redbirds” does bring my mom and Aunt Myrtle to my mind in a sweet way. I thank God for the precious memories of them and their sister Eula.
Fire!
Some time after Uncle Leonard had passed on, Aunt Myrtle’s beautiful “new” house caught fire in the night, I think from a heater malfunction. Firefighters rushed from town to put out the flames, then let her back in when it was deemed safe. Thankfully, they had caught it before it damaged much.
Unfortunately, though, the fire sparked back up a couple of hours later. Aunt Myrtle ran down to her son’s house and the firefighters came again, but they were unable to keep it from burning to the ground. It was devastating, but my aunt was an indomitable woman. She rebuilt her house in the same place and was able to live there and enjoy it the rest of her life. In her later years her older daughter and her husband were blessed to live there with her.
Home is where the heart is
I always thought the “old home place” was a place where my heart belonged. And I still feel an intense connection to the rock house—but I realize now that “home” was actually not the place but the people. I had my own home place with my family, wherever we lived. Having moved around all my life, I loved the permanency in my aunt and uncle’s lives, but what is most special is that they are family, and family is home.
Do you have a “home place” you feel forever connected to? Is it because of the people or the place? Or both? I’d love to hear your thoughts and stories. Please share in the comments below, and sign up if you’d like to stay connected through email.
For more family stories, check out these posts: