Tears and Laughter: Marengo memories, and mothers…

I was born in the Thomasville Hospital in 1972. Once they wrapped me up and finished the paperwork, we went home to Clayhill in Marengo County. It wasn’t until I was older that we moved just south of Thomasville to the community of Sandflat.

While we were in Clayhill, we lived snuggled between my grandmother’s house and the garden. Just down the road, past Mrs. Ezell’s house and around the curve a ways was where Fannie lived. I have written about Fannie many times. She was my caretaker during the day while my mother worked until I was old enough to go to school. I asked Mama one time how long we had known Fannie. She looked thoughtful, like I had asked her where God came from. She finally shrugged her shoulders and said, “Forever.”

Fannie still drew water three times a day from a well with a bucket tied to a pulley. I liked to get to her house early enough go with her early in the morning. I was fascinated by the way the bucket would disappear, only to emerge again full of clean, clear water. It was like a baptism.

She was afraid of the well though. I was only tall enough to see over into it if I stood on a milk crate. She told me never to go near it without her, and I obeyed. Horror stories of past well accidents in the area still haunted her, and she passed that along to me.

My time with Fannie did not prepare me in any meaningful way for the world I would enter into at Thomasville Elementary, but it did give me an appreciation for the spirit of Marengo County. Those years hold more meaning as time ticks along. She lived in a way people of that area had lived for generations, relying heavily on the land, and often on one another.

Since the new Dave’s Market opened in Thomaston, I have enjoyed shopping there. I like the memories the drive alone rehashes.

Last week, I pulled into a parking place at the same time a young woman pulled into the space opposite of me. It wasn’t until I opened my car door that I even noticed her, and it wasn’t so much her I noticed as it was the wailing baby secured safely in an infant carrier I noticed. She was gently placing him in a grocery cart.

“Big Brother,” according to his shirt, had been placed in the toddler seat portion of the grocery cart and their determined mother made her way from the parking lot into the store.

She apologized to everyone on every aisle. She had different cans, boxes, and a bag of potatoes tucked around the carrier. Big Brother was hugging a package of cookies, and the baby was still wailing. Several of us offered to help her. She explained that it was her first trip to the grocery store by herself with them. The baby was only a month old. Big Brother was weighing in at 15 months. “I’ve just got to figure it out,” she said.

She reminded me of myself years ago when Miranda and Melissa were little and I had no choice but to figure out.

I assured her she would, that she would soon be a pro at it. I thought about telling her how in what will seem like no time they will have children of their own, and how prepared she will feel to be a grandmother. But I didn’t tell her that part. I didn’t tell her the best is yet to come…she had enough she was dealing with, and besides, time will too quickly tell her on its own.

Amanda Walker is a columnist with The West Alabama Watchman, Al.com, The Thomasville Times, and The Wilcox Progressive Era. For more information, visit her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/AmandaWalker.Columnist.