James Hawkins Kendrick

James married Mary Alice Haskins 1886. Mary was born 7 Jun 1867, Pittsylvania County, Virginia; died 18 Dec 1940, Pittsylvania County, Virginia. [Group Sheet]

William married Mary Stella Mays 10 Nov 1915, Pittsylvania County, Virginia. Mary was born 17 Sep 1898, Pittsylvania County, Virginia; died 25 Aug 1977, Pittsylvania County, Virginia. [Group Sheet]

Nancy married Witcher Averett Finney 1 Jan 1905, Caswell Co., North Carolina. Witcher (son of John Paul Finney and Martha A. "Pattie " Aaron) was born 3 Nov 1882; died 19 Mar 1956; was buried , County Line Christian Church Cemetery, Henry County, Virginia. [Group Sheet]

Nannie married Robert Edwin Reynolds 3 Feb 1934, Callands, Virginia. Robert (son of John Levi Reynolds * and Emma Maud Reynolds *) was born 21 Jul 1912, Pittsylvania County, Virginia; died 7 Aug 1997, Danville, Virginia; was buried 9 Aug 1997, County Line Christian Church Cemetery Axton, Virginia. [Group Sheet]

Notes:

Name:
Never Married

Louise married Daniel Hutcherson Hankins 12 Nov 1951, Henry County, Virginia. Daniel (son of George Hutcherson Hankins and Nannie Mae Marlowe) was born June 25. 1929, Henry County, Virginia; died 12 Jun 2002, Salem City, Virginia; was buried , County Line Christian Cemetery, Henry County, Virginia. [Group Sheet]

Notes:

Photo Wesley with Jackie E. Reynolds

Wesley married Living (daughter of Bernice Elizabeth Reynolds) [Group Sheet]

Notes:

The Seasons of Our Lives
The seasons of our lives come and go.
There are many harvests and we make many mistakes.
In the rush of our lives, we often plant before we plow. The rows are crooked and the plants askew, when we could have plowed and planted them straight.
We neglect the weeds and lose the crop.
We sow seeds of hate and bitterness when we could have sown those of love and kindness.
We shake our fists at a cloudless sky and curse the drought, yet we never acknowledge thanks for the rain.
We often stumble over the rows of what we have planted, destroying the sees of what would have been a bountiful crop.
And when hunger comes, we often find what we have planted we cannot eat.
Each year, we begin again. Someday, will we stand before rows that are clean and straight and proud, and will feed the soul the manna it longs for. -janice 2014

My Stairway Built with Prayer

When I go to God in prayer,
I know that I will find Him there,
That he watches from above
And gives me His unfailing love.
Don't let me pray and say Amen
And never think of Him again,
But let me talk to Him each day
And follow Him in every way.
Build a stairway with my prayer,
That I can climb and find Him there.
High above the highest cloud,
Above the clamor of the crowd.
There I can more clearly see
The plan that He has made for me.
Seek forgiveness for my sin
Find new strength, begin again.

He calms my soul, He stills my fears,
He heals my grief, He dries my tears,
He's been there down through the years,
In my stairway built with prayer.

He gives me gifts beyond compare,
I see His blessings everywhere.
The beauty of the rising sun,
The golden sky when day is done.
The fields of green, the gentle rain,
The wind that surfs the fields of grain.
The stillness when the robin sings,
And promises another Spring.

I'm His child, He died for me,
He shed His blood in agony,
That from my sin I might be free,
Oh, the cost was Calvary.

And someday, when I climb that stair,
There'll be an open doorway there,
He'll motion me to come on in,
I'll live forever more with Him.

Build a stairway with your prayer,
He'll be waiting, He'll meet you there.

-janice

Just to Touch the Hem of His Garment

When we sing, sometimes we raise
Our hand to God to give Him praise,
And when we pray, our heads we bow
Before that great and shining power.
To thank Him for His love and grace
And seek forgiveness on His face.
There comes a time, though, when we pray,
We may travel back to a long ago day.
In our hearts we see Him standing there
In the garment that held so much power.
And like the woman who braved the crowd,
Amid the shouts and pleas so loud,
We just reach out and seek to touch
His garment that can mean so much.
Let me, dear Lord, when I pray
Be like that woman on that day,
With quiet faith, reach out to touch
The hem of His garment that can mean so much.
Oh, would that He would turn to me
And all pain and worry would then cease,
As He restores a lasting peace.
"Daughter, your faith has healed you,
Go in peace." Luke 8:48
-janice

Jan 2020
Janice Doss
Janice Doss "A land of rich fertile valleys guarded by friendly mountains, tranquil flowing streams, exuberant rivers, changing seasons and verdant forests. And yet, all of these are not her greatest natural resources. Drive along her country roads and you'll find them in the"big" houses and the small houses. Ghosts of them linger on in the abandoned forlorn old cabins held captive by vines slowly devouring them, their pride broken. All of them once shielded and protected the county's most valuable resource - her children. Close your eyes, be still, and the softness of some summer's eve, you'll see them. Boys and girls chasing fireflies in the moonlight. playing fox in the window packing the earth bare with their constant motion. The old car tire swing moves again in the dappled sunlight beneath the oak tree. Grass hopper houses made with ragweed, frog houses molded with wet sand. Jack rocks moving like magic on nimble hands. Rabbit tobacco rolled in paper sack, lit up, quickly puffed and extinquished as memories of the "keen peach tree switch" creep in. Grapevines on the hill, grasped with a running start soar hundreds of feet in the air before the free fall to the top of the small pines below. Watching baby crows from the top of the tallest tree. An old metal wheel guided by a stick with a loop of wire was as good as driving a '42 Ford. Barrels held stationary at the top of a hill while one climbs on before it begins to roll. Faster and faster, the feet fly to stay on top. Close your eyes and feel it still...Oh, what danger, Oh, what thrills!
Janice Doss Tons of water brought from the creek to fill the wash pot. Cows to bring up for milking, aching arms moving the dasher faster as the golden butter forms. Apples and "roastin ears" on the flu pipe at the tobacco barn and the chance to spend the night.. Berries to pick, apple trees to climb, long dusty roads where bicycles go to "fur" off places Fishponds for swimming and fishing. Baseball games in the pasture. basketball against the stable. Lining up in the front row at revivals. Layering leaves and apples in the wooden bin for winter. Bowls of oatmeal on the warming shelf. Watching the slow movement of King Karo syrup poured on the wedge of butter waiting to be sopped up with hot biscuits, Jack frost to crush and ice to skate on during long walks to meet the school bus. Gathering 'round the kitchen table with its aladdin lamp to do homework and wait for skillet fudge. Cod-liver oil to keep you healthy and castor oil when you weren't. Molded by the house and all that it held, bound together as a family. The children are gone now. The potter's job is finished and its wheel is still. And the years gone by have proved the meddle of its product. Pittsylvania
Janice Doss Count's greatest resource. Her children, Her destiny. -janice doss (Originally in Vol. 2 of the Pittsylvania County Heritage book.

Janice Reynolds, Facebook

I wonder if you knew
I said a prayer for you.
You sat alone among a crowd,
I could almost hear your thoughts out loud.
I feel the pain you're going through,
My friend, I've traveled that road, too.
And so I ask the Lord above
To touch you with His healing love,
To hold you close, and give you peace,
In Him, you'll find a sweet release. Amen.

There were few hugs and so
It took me years to know,
My Daddy loved me so.
T'was in the work he did,
Seven mouths to feed,
No time for fun and games,
The work was never done.
School starting in the fall,
New shoes for one and all,
Christmas just ahead,
Did he face those months with dread?
I hope someday that then
I'll see my Dad again,
I'll say "Dear Dad, I know
That you loved us so."
In loving memory of Robert Edwin Reynolds, who holds a special place in my heart. Happy Father's Day, Dad.

24 JAN 2020 By Janice
Janice Doss
18 hrs ·

June, 2004: CLCC Church Western States Trip:
Lasting Impressions: That Nature, undisturbed, achieves a perfection not found in anything else.
The strange beauty in the dignity and starkness of the pines destroyed by fire as they stand sheltering the small seedlings who have come to take their place. Seedlings now, that someday will stand tall and proud for those who come after us.
The serenity of the lakes as they lay, like a Master painter's palette with their soft shades of turquoise and blue and green.
The sixth sense of the buffalo as they wandered safely through the boiling, bubbling springs and geysers.
The loneliness of the eagles in the tree tops of the burned out forests waiting for eaglets that will not return. Imagining the furious strength of the fire that wrought such destruction.
Rivers and branches that fold back upon themselves as they wind through the valleys.
God has not deserted our world. We have only to look for him and His presence is evident. The Master Gardener's creations are everywhere. The mountain tops, the fertile valleys, the tiny creatures that live in His garden, the quiet cleanliness of the forests, and dotted here and there, the ingenuity of man. All of these come from Him and the Gardener does not desert what He has created.
Americans do not have to travel abroad to see the wonders of the world. There are no other mountains more majestic, no other deserts more arid and, no other cities where the ingenuity of man is more evident than those in America..
Away from the cares and stress of everyday living, we recapture again that wondrous state of childhood and feel the excitement of yesteryear at the sight of a buffalo, the anticipation in the search for the sight of an elk, standing in the rain waiting for Old Faithful, the laughter and easy give and take among friends, the obvious love and concern of fellow Christians - all these are perhaps the closest we get to that childhood innocence of long ago. We need to occasionally recapture the simple dreams and joy of discovery that we all had as children. (To be continued, click my Comment below)

November 6, 1999: E-Mail between a mother and her son: Subject: What we hold in our hands. Statement of what you get out of life. Mother: "It's mostly what you put into it." Answer: "I can give you one for that. Fill one hand with wishes and one hand with "crap" and see which hand is the fullest."
Mother: "Well, I have one for that, I've been holding both for most of my life. And let me tell you something else, sometimes it takes years to figure out which is which. But, once you do, it's up to you to not let them get unbalanced. You'll never completely get rid of the "crap." Tears won't wash it away. A little always sticks. Little by little, you add to your garden of dreams. Weed it every now and then. Remember, no matter how beautiful, some things simply won't grow in your garden - there's no use wasting time on them Work on the ones that do, use the "crap" for fertilizer, you''ll never run out. Look at your hands often - be sure of what you hold."

Thank you Lord for another Spring:
I shall go out while the dew that has caressed and protected through the dark night, still glistens, awaiting the warmth of the rising sun. I shall watch as the tulips and butter cups and the tiny buds on the dogwood tree awaken as they were meant to do. The grass is slowly turning green as it was meant to do. The primroses given to me more than 60 years ago still thrive as they were meant to do. Mama's shamrocks and Aunt Nannie's tiger lily and Ma Emma's painfully plain tiny little plant still in its original black iron pot that has withstood decades of winter, awaits summer when it will put on its delicate pink prom dress and bring delight, as it was meant to do. The tiny petals fall like snowflakes from the pear trees and skitter across the lawn, as they were meant to do. In my Lord's Garden of Eden everything performed as it was meant to do - except man. Only man chose not to obey his Creator. Springtime, when all creation rises to the tasks for which it was created, except man. I look around me and I feel the amazing love of my Creator who still loves all He has created, even man. Thank you, Lord, for loving me and help me to walk in your Garden someday and be as I was meant to be.

Janice on Facebook:
On the Lighter Side:
Most of us reading this have already stood on top of the hill - a few are still on the way up but they sort of need to know what it's like on the other side, huh? Most of us stand there a pretty good while just looking back. All of our lives we've been climbing and now there's no more "up." So, we stand there looking back, maybe wistfully, but sooner or later we have to start - or get pushed down the other side.

I wake up every morning at 4:00, no matter what. Before retirement I'd lay there and dream of the time to come when I could sleep late. Now my eyes just pop open and they're always right on the clock. First thing I do is try to remember to roll-l-l off the bed. And this isn't always easy on grandma's tall bed. If you roll too fast, it's quite a ways down, not to mention the three steps you'll hit on the way .

Well, when I finally make it up, I move on to the kitchen to get that first cup of coffee (I put the water in the pot last night to hurry things along). It's also the one I'm not supposed to have. But that's okay. Live dangerously, be defiant, drink it anyway. (Oh, the things you get to do on the down side of the hill that nobody has to know about!) Really!

Well, that done, it's vitamin time. Ah, choices. We now live for choices, don't we? There's the one-a-day, don't know what's in it, the print's so small and I lost my magnifying glass. But it says one-a-day, so down it goes. Then there's the E - E-diaphoral - not E-diaphairall, there's a difference, you know. And they tell me you need a little C along with the E. It just rebels without a partner.
Good idea to add a little COQ10 for the old ticker that worked too hard on the way up.. And then there's Kyolic, folic acid and the B vitamins. These are the anti-socials. Refuse to cooperate if they're combined with anything else. Sort of like a lot of people, you know! Then, there's that big old calcium waiting. A maverick for sure, maybe it will help, maybe it won't. Might be better to just drink a quart of whole milk with a big slice of cheese and some of that yogurt with the little critters in it.

Ah, now it's time for breakfast. I'm so full of vitamins, I'd forgotten about breakfast. On the way up the hill, breakfast was my favorite meal. Bacon , eggs, grits with sugar and butter, toast with jelly, hot chocolate. My doctor put a stop to that, called it a cholesterol nightmare! Now, it's oatmeal with a little applesauce, not forgetting the cinnamon that gives a kick in the butt to wake up the insulin. Grapefruit - oh, how I loved grapefruit. Now, I have to count the hours on my fingers of when I last took those medicines it lies in wait for and try to sneak one in every now and then. And speaking of the other half, he's sitting right across in front of you and says that's the best sausage he believes he's ever eaten and asks you to hand him those pear preserves for his buttered biscuit! (be sure to tune in tomorrow for more exciting news from the down side of the hill!)

Mankind:
Some men are born hard with an insensate core, undisturbed, indeed, unaware of other men;s existence except in relation to themselves. Even as a suckling at their mother's breast, they bite and tug with rapacious and greedy gulps, beginning a life of drawing sustenance from others. Their faith is only in themselves and their ability to outwit their fellow man. They laugh at love and compassion and think it is only for fools.

There are others made hard by life's circumstances, of inordinate strength and supreme intelligence, their eyes open to the world as it really is. The evil in man, no matter how disguised, is always apparent to them. They lead lonely lives because they accept life as it really is and choose to forge their own destiny, confident in their ability to do so. Their faith has been hard won, but it is enduring.

And then there's the simple man, always accepting things at face value, living on an unrippled surface, unaware of the sharks circling beneath. Perhaps they are the lucky ones because they never delve beneath the surface, live quiet and oft times joyful lives, accepting the seasons of life as they do the changing seasons of the weather.. Their faith comes easily, unquestioned,, a quiet, strong foundation that has always been there, cushioning the hard times and bringing joy in the good times. Surely, such is a gift from God who knows our strengths and our weaknesses and does not test us beyond what we can endure. . -janice

15 Jun 2020
Janice Doss
14 hrs ·

To Our 2020 Graduates:
In the sea of your life, since the day you were born, a ship has been headed your way. You have never had, nor will you ever have, the power to stop or delay her, for she moves on the relentless waves of Time. Her name is Destiny. Many harbors with many names await her. Good Times Harbor where flashing lights and sounds of gaiety beckon, but the ship never leaves the harbor and the fun and games always end. Easy Life Harbor that promises no hard work, no risks and no accomplishments. Drifter's Harbor where the ship stays close to shore, always moving, yet never going anywhere. And somewhere along that shore line in a small and obscure cove where few ships dock, there is one called Opportunity.
Look to the horizon, for Destiny is headed your way. She anchors for only a short time and she may not come again. Those who board at Opportunity must be prepared for years of hard work, think for themselves, and stand alone when conscience so dictates. They know that success bought by the sacrifice of the inner self is hollow and meaningless.
May the storms of your life be conquered with courage and your dreams reflected in calm seas. And may love always be the wind in your sails. -janice

And, If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. (James1;5)

Chapter 3: The Last Goodbye
The boy's room held the memories of brothers that had filled the home with their boisterousness. Their teasing, their rough play, their clashes with their father. All different, all loved. Oh, how their mother had loved them. She heard again the uncontrollable giggles that sometimes came at bedtime and the more Daddy warned them to stop the more they giggled.. What would the house have been like without them. For one last time she bent to look from the low window to the mailbox as she had done so many times before. She noticed the scars on the window sill where her sister had beat with an old case knife while preaching to her make believe congregation. Slowly, she laid her fingers on the wall and whispered a silent goodbye.
Her mother's bedroom was the hardest to leave. The essence of all that she had been still lingered there. It was where she had slept for most of the years of her life, where the new babies had lay in their cribs under their mother's watchful eye., where children had gathered before additions were made to the house. It was where her mother had sewn, and quilted, ironed and lay on the cool linoleum after lunch for short naps during hard days. It had sheltered youth and old age, sickness and health. It was the one room in the house that was truly hers. Her mind's eye saw again the cool criss-cross curtains and the cluttered night table and her mother curled in sleep in the early dawn of her last days. This room had held the dreams of a young woman, the special joy that a new baby brings and the agony of the loss of not one son, but two. What had been her mother's thoughts as she lay on her bed in the corner in the long and awful nights following their deaths.
Summer heat, winter storms, winter storms, people storms - the old house and its occupants had endured them all. And when the sun shone again, they had gone forth in their world in the daily business of living. Catching the bus in the morning, coming home at night to bring up the wash-water and fill the wood box and help with the little ones, going after the cows for Mama to milk, sauntering slowly amid the quiet of the fields away from the commotion of her brothers and sisters, stopping to daydream at the foot of the huge old pine tree along the way. It was here that she had come to know the beauty of solitude and its healing balm to the spirit.
The kitchen had been the gathering place for the family in winter. It had held the wood cook stove and later a big tall heater and she could still see her father in his long-john underwear putting wood in to keep the room warm. The space between the floor and the chimney had been big enough for children to peep through watching for Santa. The water table by the window was now gone. (to be continued) -janice



Janice Doss
Intro

Danville City Employees Federal Credit Union
Studied at Weaver Airline School, Kansas City, Mo.
Went to Callands High School
Lives in Dry Fork, Virginia

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Janice Doss
6h ·
Chapter 5: The Last Goodbye
She paused at the door and looked again out over the fields. The old walnut tree had been there since the beginning of time and had once sheltered a separate unused kitchen with an upstairs room where Mama stored and shelled its walnuts and where children loved to play. Its limbs had reached out strong and steady, bearing all of the chin-ups her brother performed on the bar beneath its branches. It now stood black and barren waiting for the Spri? See More
21 Comments
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Deidre Reynolds Stone
Janice I absolutely love this story. I could see all the things you wrote about. It brought tears to my eyes and brought back wonderful memories I have of being there with Granny and Grandpa. You are such a talented writer and your stories and poems sh? See More

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Janice Doss
9h ·
Chapter 4: The Last Goodbye
The dining room, which had later doubled as her father's bedroom, was empty now. It suddenly dawned on her how few personal things her father possessed. They had all been held in the top drawer of his chest of drawers and on the three shelves on the wall above it. And yet, she still remembered how he had treasured the ring the children had given him and that he later lost it in the garden when he lost weight. How much he had loved his wristwatches. His arms had been spotted and old but he still wore his watches proudly and although his fingers were bent with age, he had always kept his nails spotlessly clean and shaped. Blue was his favorite color and for many years the room had been blue. The clock that had hung above the door was now gone. He had always had a need to know the time - even in the hospital in the middle of the night. Gone was his bed that everybody had sat on, threw their coats and other belongings on, laid their babies on to change their diapers, and piled their Christmas presents on. Had this bothered him, she wondered. It would have bothered her. Had he wanted more space, more privacy? If he had, he had never said so. Maybe he liked it here in the center of the house. Here he could lie and hear what was going on in the kitchen or in the living room or on the porch. Through here, Nannie came in the mornings on her way to fix their breakfast. Upon really thinking about it, she decided that it had been exactly where he would have chosen to be.
The wrap around porch with its louvered windows had been the heart of the house in the summer time. She could still remember the excitement of watching it being built. The framing had been laid with many little sections and Daddy and Pa John had poured the cement. How did it ever dry without a hand or foot print?
Prior to the addition, they had entered the house from the back, going up the "tree trunk" steps Daddy had made. In early days it had been used as an ordinary porch. Children sat on the ledge with their feet hanging off wondering if they dare jump when Mama wasn't looking, or if they should take the chance of pushing another one off. The shelf between the posts had held the wash pan and soap and it was here that the sticky tobacco gum was removed after a day in the fields. The wringer washer and the tubs that had to be filled with water from the spring sat on the end. Later it had been enclosed. The porch had always been adorned with flower pots on the shelves and in hanging pots. It had held the deep freeze, which gave forth so much good food for Sunday's table. The shelf was still there in the corner where "Mitzi" the cat sat, watching the bumblebees and hummingbirds on lazy summer days. The dearest memory she had of her youngest brother was here, and she could see him again as he sat on the porch on a Sunday afternoon, teasing his brothers and merrily laughing as he moved the feet that were never still. And she wished she had had the answer to her Mother's words at his death. "Why? Why?" Will there ever be an answer to all of our "Whys"? (just one more chapter, promise!) -janice

Janice Doss
12h ·
Chapter 2 of The Last Goodbye
She entered alone and moved from room to room saying goodbye. She did not see what was there, but only what had once been. Her father still sat in the rocker on the porch. She heard again the quick answer, the dry humor, the laugh so like his mothers that came from deep in his throat, caught for just a second then burst forth. Once again he waited in anxious anticipation for his Christmas gift boxes, his knife ready to open them in the privacy his corner afforded. He never knew later who gave him what, but, somehow it didn't seem to matter. Mama would know. His voice still rang out in the sounds of his youth and in the outbursts of his anger. He still rode the bright red tractor like a young god perched upon his mount. Cussing, swearing, working, providing for his family, hard on the outside but oh, so vulnerable on the inside. Forever etched in her mind, the picture of him on his knees beside his bed crying out in agony, "I can't see your eyes. I can't see your eyes." as he saw again the beautiful blue eyes of his son closing in death. Forever etched on her heart, his pleas for answers to questions that she could not give. There was an inner peace of the soul he had longed for and never found. Why had she not talked to him more, listened to him more, hugged him and said the simple words. "I love you." She touched her fingers to her lips and laid them against the wall where his chair had set and silently whispered, "I love you, Daddy. Wherever you are, I love you."
Her mother was everywhere, cooking, tidying, sewing, cleaning. She stood at the kitchen sink and watered the window plants or leaned to take the corn bread from the oven. She held a tiny baby in her arms and rolled the little wisps of hair around her finger to form a tiny curl. She knew that her babies were the prettiest of them all. She sat at a table, now long gone, and worked by an Aladdin lamp, helping children to read, patching the clothes they
would need for tomorrow.. She poured tomatoes in the mason jars lined up on the table and turned the tops until they broke through the rubber lining. And when she laughed, it was quick and sudden as if it were an after thought and the expression on her face was like it must have been as a girl. Carefree, unguarded, uninhibited. And then it was gone, as if she suddenly remembered more serious things.
Beginning in the upstairs bedroom that she had shared with her sister, she stood silently and saw again the bed in the corner, the dresser that held the precious personal items that were so hard to come by, the clothes on the rod in the corner protected by her mother's old Dutch-girl quilt. It hadn't held the pinks, the blues, the yellows and the reds she longed for, but the navys, the grays, and the browns that were more serviceable and could be ordered from the Sears catalog. She suddenly thought of the pink angora sweater one of her friends had once worn. Oh, how she had loved that sweater. She had begged a little of the fuzz and years later found a little round ball of it in an old school book. She paused to listen for the whip-poor- wills and chickadees that had serenaded the night and felt again the sweltering heat that hadn't seem to matter so much then. She moved for the last time across the bright linoleum and touched her fingers to her lips and then laid them against the wall in her silent goodbye. (to be continued)
janice

The Last Goodbye
The day was overcast and cold. The car moved slowly down the rough and rutted driveway that had once been kept raked and smooth. The pine tree that her father had so proudly planted as the first to line the driveway, and the only one that had survived her mother's unyielding determination that they be cut, was now gone. Abandoned, lonely, and no longer needed, it had stretched its aging limbs into the swirling wind of the summer storm, let go of its roots, and simply flown away.
To one unattached emotionally to the house, it was a forlorn sight. Grass grown tall and heavy lay thickly over the uneven ground riddled by moles. The garage, vacated long ago by the richly colored car that the lady of the house had once been so proud of and the big banged up Chevy that had been her Dad's "real" car, was now bare and empty. The house which had once held so much life and energy stood still and silent now, empty and abandoned, its pride broken. No rockers or gliders beckoned from its porches. No hanging planters, colorful and fragrant, tended by loving hands swayed in the breeze. No children played in its shadows. And no one came to sweep the cobwebs from its walls.
Most conspicuous in their absence was the panorama of plants and shrubs that had framed the house. Coached and trained and trimmed and fed, they had put on a command performance during the summer months. They thrived in old pots and kettles among rocks and supporting anchors and rewarded their owner with the best that they could give. A few jugs were still strewn here and there, like tombstones in the graveyard of all that had once meant so much.
The car stopped and the woman got out and stood for a moment, slowly surveying the house she had grown up in, the house that her mother and father had worked so hard for, and had lived in for nearly fifty-five years. Strong and young and vibrant they had been, looking to the future with such hope, caring for the children that came at intervals and brought such happiness. The house was always happy when it held a new baby. She closed her eyes and felt again that wonderful feeling when Daddy hugged Mama and Mama stood on tiptoe to hug him back. Daddy teasing Mama in the rare moments when nothing else demanded their attention. When he grew old, she had prayed that he not be left in this world alone without Mama, for his sake and for theirs. Always she had known the depth of his love for her and yet it had seemed to be something apart from him, just there, demanding nothing.
Memory moved on and she saw them later, middle aged, struggling to manage it all, perhaps disillusioned as most people are at some point in life, but still doing the best that they could. Children, children, everywhere. Crying, laughing, playing, fighting, working, wanting. The old house witnessed it all, the good and the bad. Love, anger, sorrow, joy, grief, pain patience, goodness, meanness, the list could go on and on And they endured. And the old house endured, binding them together as a family for all time. And finally, they began to go. One by one, they left, molded by the house and all that it held, the potter's wheel was stilled and only the years ahead would prove the mettle of the clay. (to be continued) -janice

Janice married William Garfield Doss. William (son of William E. Doss and Lona Green Walker) was born 28 Jun 1933, Franklin County, Virginia; died 27 Nov 2009, Dry Fork, Virginia; was buried , County Line Church Cemetery, Henry County, Virginia. [Group Sheet]

Living married B.J. Gregory (daughter of Wesley Thomas Gregory, Sr. and Louise Fuller Aaron) [Group Sheet]

Living married Living [Group Sheet]

Danny married Living [Group Sheet]