John and Clara Russell Above, one view of the house at Avon. There was no other house in sight. All that could be seen in every direction was hills as seen in the background here. It was a place of serenity and simple living. And love.   Below:  My grandmother, Dicie, (Pop) Homer's wife on left;  and Dell,  pop's sister from Avon.   Clifford Sommerville, Pop in middle, and I believe Sam, Pop's brother.

It’s about a very small community in Doddridge County, West Virginia. My grandfather, “Pop” was born in 1887 and raised there in a clapboard house where my great grandmother, Clara (aka “Ma”) and her two daughters, Nettie and Della, lived for their entire lives. My great grandfather passed away three years before I was born. Clara and John were Pop's parents.  Those girls were so devoted to Ma, and took such good care of her.  Her hair fell to her ankles, and at bedtime every night they would take down the bun, brush her beautiful white hair and braid it into one plait.  In the morning, they would put it back in a bun.  My fondest memories are the times Pop and I visited them often in the late 40s, and several times, I got to stay for a week or two at a time.  The house had only five rooms with no electricity and no inside plumbing.  From the outside, the house looked very small, but the rooms were very spacious. Water was pumped from a well with a hand pump, which was on the back porch, just outside the kitchen door. Cooking was done on a very large wood-burning stove and these grand ladies turned out the tastiest food such as I have never eaten since. They cooked three full meals each day, and the aroma of the wood smoke and fresh-baked bread filled the house. On each visit, the first order of business was a visit with Ma,  to the cookie jar in the pantry, out of which she took the largest sugar cookie I’d ever seen. How big were they? Well, I later learned the cookies had been cut with a large coffee can. Just beyond the garden was a two-seater privy, which was kept as clean as their house. A foot bridge across a small stream led to the barn which housed chickens, guinea hens, geese and of course, a cow. Fresh eggs, fresh milk, and fresh vegetables from the garden. I remember vividly the soothing sound of silence except for the ticking of the captain’s clock on the mantle. I would sit in the big padded rocking chair (and sometimes in the old wooden rocker) enjoying the tranquility. To this day, I love the sound of a ticking clock. I can close my eyes and see the white picket fence lined with roses and all the beautiful flowers and shrubbery which surrounded the house. I recall the taste of the icy-cold water, which we drank from tin cups. I remember my great aunt playing hymns on the old pump organ. Bedtime was shortly after dark. The oil lamps were lit only during the winter evenings when days were shorter, so it was to bed by 8 PM and up at 4 AM. By five, that mouth-watering aroma had filled the house. In her later years, Ma contracted Alzheimer’s.  I don’t remember what it was called back then, but Pop found out quite suddenly when he showed up for a visit, and she did not know him.  The girls had to keep an eye on her because out of habit, she would go to the garden and sometimes come back with an apron full of vegetables that were not quite ready for picking.  As a result of being a part of this family, I think the most important thing that I learned from them is that happiness comes from within the heart. No pretense, these fine ladies, just plain, simple folk. I am fortunate to have these wonderful memories.

 
 
 
 
 
 

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