Journey Back to Jefferson

R.W. and Verna Sharp,
my maternal grandparent

The drive into the decaying Oklahoma town brings back a flood of memories. Most of them are good. The early ones are beautiful. The ones from the middle years are wonderful. The memories from the later years are more melancholy.

The once bustling community is an abandoned jungle of rusty cars and empty houses. They compete with young outlaw trees for attention and air. It is beyond sad. I recently returned for a family reunion in the church where my grandfather preached. This community was their home for many years and at several different times. My mother graduated from high school in Jefferson. Her former school only a derelict shamble of bricks and beams. Only a few walls remain,

My grandparents were so proud of their little house. Grandma Sharp tended her roses, iris, and lilies. Grandpa grew gardens of corn, peas, beans, and potatoes. He raised chickens and enjoyed watching them chase grasshoppers throughout the yard. It was a simple life. It was an honest life. It was a beautiful life. And it gave me a foundation for living that I continue to build upon today.

My grandparents cozy home years ago. They took great pride
in caring for the little house and gardens.




The same view of their house.....2019. It saddens me to
see it in this condition.  

The central hub of my grandmother's kitchen was the wooden pedestal table. The middle of the tabletop was home to all the necessities for doctoring a meal; shakers of salt and pepper, jelly, honey, napkins, and the current copy of a devotional book. Usually, it was the Upper Room. The stash of paraphernalia was draped with a worn cotton tea towel between meals; protecting the yummy contents. I ate many meals at that table; fried bologna, fresh green beans, orange salad with shreds of carrots, pie, and biscuits. Oh my word! Grandma's biscuits would melt in your mouth! You had your choice of toppings. You could add butter, sticky honey, or homemade jelly. Or...you could layer the flavors for a combination beyond description. That is still my favorite way to eat biscuits!

The RW and Verna Sharp home had a solid tradition of resting after lunch. Everyone rested. As a young girl, I didn't appreciate the forced pause in the middle of the day. However, I treasured it as I got older. Thirty minutes of reading, resting, or napping. Mandatory rest! What a beautiful notion.



The garage framed by the
garden.

I spent a week at their house almost every summer. As a young child, the days were filled with cousins, drive-in movies, Bible school, mud pies, and dress up. Everyone fought over the clear plastic heels because they reminded us of Cinderella. As I moved into my teens, I helped Grandma bake, prepare meals, and clean the kitchen. We snapped beans and shelled peas. When I was 16, she taught me how to tat following several failed attempts at crochet and knitting.

My time with Grandpa was just as enjoyable. We fed and watered the chickens and worked in his garden. One of my favorite memories is helping him rob the bee hives. I remember him cutting the thick comb out of the frames, dropping the chunks into layers of cheesecloth draped tightly over a large bucket. He broke the honeycomb up with his hands, the thick golden liquid oozing out between his fingers. After the bucket was full, the golden reward was carefully poured into pristine jars.



Grandma Sharp with her great-granddaughters, Karolyn
and Kathryn.

On my visits, I often slept in the attic. There was a bed in one end of the room, nestled among the purchases from dozens of auctions. The early morning breeze of summer cooled the space and skimmed the cotton sheets carrying the aroma of the dirt road and the pending heat. The roosters would announce the start of the day and soon after you would hear Grandma bustling about the kitchen. 

In one corner of the living room stood a bookshelf with volumes of Grandmothers books. The top shelf held a menagerie of turtles and roadrunners. They were presents to my Grandpa from his grandchildren. Every summer, a massive water cooler hummed in the living room window. It cooled the living room with heavy, humid air. It was enough to take the edge off the Oklahoma heat. It was wonderful.

My grandmother and me enjoying
her garden with my daughters.

A McCoy cookie jar sets on the shelf in my kitchen. It is a Dalmatian dog and her puppies snuggled in a rocking chair. The cookie jar was a gift from my grandparents. They bought it at an auction in a box of random items. I love that token of their love.

Their home was small, but it was filled with love. They saw the good in others. They saw the good in me. They set an example of helping others and giving of their talents. They gave when they didn't have much to give by typical standards. They made love a verb.... an action....They lived love.



The remaining structure of the Jefferson
schools.