GEORGE W. COLEMAN 2/22/1844 - 10/29/1926 -GGreat maternal Grandfather

 

George W. Coleman

SUMMARY

2/22/1844 – 10/29/1926

GG Grandpa George Washington Coleman was born in February 22, 1844 in Pike County, Kentucky. He was the son of Daniel Coleman and Bethena Adkins Coleman, who are part of the line of Old Peter Coleman of Wolfpit, Pike County Kentucky.

His siblings (my Grandma Lee’s great Aunts and Uncles on her mother’s side) were Henderson, David, William, Julina, Louisa, Harrison, Susan.

GG Grandpa George W. Coleman married Frances Powell when he was only 17 years old. They married on 15 Jul 1861, Pike Co., KY.  The census in 1870 shows that Great Grandpa, George W. Coleman (26, b. KY, farmer) headed a Pike County, KY household with Frances A. Coleman (27, b. KY), and their children at the time: William J. Coleman (8, b. KY), James D. Coleman (5, b. KY), Ellen Coleman (3, b. KY), and Miles A. Coleman (9/12, b. KY).

However, ten years later, in the 1880 census, Frances A. Powell Coleman, 37, was listed as a female farmer “farmeress” (head of a working farm).  The census shows that she is married, that both her parents were born in KY) and GG Grandpa Frances Powell headed the Pike County, KY household with her son William Coleman (now 17), son James David Coleman (15), both of whom are listed as working on the family farm.  Also living with her is her daughter Ella Coleman (13), son Miles Coleman (9) and daughter Mary Coleman (7).  It may be that she had just given birth to our great grandmother, Louisa Ann Coleman, as great grandma Louisa was born in 1879/1880, but if so, why is GG Grandma Louisa not listed with Frances on the 1880 census as she would have been a young baby and surely would have been residing with her mother.  On the other hand, could Louisa have actually been the first child of GG Grandpa George W. Coleman’s liaison and later marriage to Mary Ball Coleman?  Might my grandmother Louisa be Mary Ball’s child and not the child of Frances Powell?  It seems plausible as I can think of no reason that the baby would not have been listed on the census in Frances Powell’s house in 1880 if she was, indeed, the child of Frances.     It is possible that the census takers just failed to list my great grandmother but that seems highly unlikely. It is, at present, still a conundrum.

 

As has been mentioned, GG Grandma Louisa Coleman is not listed on the 1880 census as living with Frances Powell, when she would have still been an infant and surely with her mother, making it is plausible that our great grandmother is in fact, the first child of GG Grandpa George W Coleman and Mary Ball Coleman who he later married after he and Frances Powell Coleman divorced. I have found Louisa Ann Coleman’s mother named as Frances Powell in some lists and as Mary Ball Coleman in other lists.  Honestly, with only what I have found so far either might be true.

 

Also noted in the 1880 census, the next two neighboring households of Frances Powell were headed by one William Coleman (23) and one Harvey Coleman (26) (which may or may not have been Francis and George’s children also). Her former/current Husband George Coleman is apparently living elsewhere in the community with a servant that he would later marry and with whom he would raise another large family.  

 

It is my belief based on my own research and that of fellow genealogist and blog commenter, Marsha Hylton Rice, that Mary Ball is Louisa's mother and my great, great grandmother.   Whichever is my true grandmother, we do know that Frances A. Powell was born in Pike County, KY in 1843. She died in 1926 in Pike County, KY. Francis is buried in the Mullins Family Cemetery with her daughter Mary Coleman and granddaughter Lily. Her grave is marked only by a square stone with her name scratched in it.

                                                                  ________________

 Records also show that GG Grandfather George Coleman did indeed marry another woman, that being, Mary Ball, on Mar 1, 1883 (at which time, GG Grandma, Louisa Ann Coleman would have been four years old).  They were married in Pike Co., KY. If gg grandmother Louisa Coleman is the child of Mary Ball Coleman and George Coleman, she would have been born three years before they were married but given how things went back then in that area, such is entirely possible and would not have been all that uncommon. 

Mary Ball Coleman was the daughter of Alfred Ball – see Ball line which I will post in a separate blog post, for more on her genealogy). 

At the time of his remarriage, GG Grandpa George Coleman was about 38 years old.    Between the two marriages, GG George had at least 14 living children, and apparently several more.

GG Grandpa Coleman’s second wife passed before he did, as Mary Ball Coleman is listed as his wife in both the 1900 and 1910 census, but records show that she passed away in 1912, which means some of her children were still quite young, being no more than 9, 6, and 3, at the time of her passing according to her death certificate which I have included at the end of this passage.

This would mean that my great grandmother, Louisa Coleman, was around 23 years old when Mary passed, and although Louisa may have already been married at that time (I will research to ascertain if this is true) she appears to have still been living in her father’s house just two years prior to Mary’s death and may have still been there at the time of and after Mary’s passing. This is another reason I feel that Mary Ball Coleman may have been her actual mother, because even at age 21, Louisa was living with her dad and Mary and not with Frances Powell.

Although, if it be true that Mary Ball and not Francis was Grandma Louisa’s mother, then according to the census records, Mary Ball may would have only been 17 when Grandma Louisa was born.  However, at the time, this would not have been all that unusual. However, the census of 1860 shows a Mary Ball, age 1, so I have listed Mary’s alternative birthdate as 1859.  This would have made her age 44 when she passed and made her 21 when GG Grandma Louisa Coleman was born.

The 1860 census that shows Mary Ball as a baby in Russell Virginia, post office being Rosedale, showed the following in the household #724:

Alford Ball 36 (born circa 1824)
Anna Ball 34
James Ball 11
Wilson Ball 8
Catharine Ball 6
Ansley Ball 4
Mary Ball 1

 

Some records only show Mary as having had six (6) children but whether that is accurate or due to omissions is unknown to me at present.

Additionally, if I find that GG Grandpa Coleman married a third time, perhaps to someone who helped raise his youngest children (which I suspect he may have done), I will include information on that marriage as a postscript to this document).

Grandpa Coleman was apparently a consistent worker with the census never showing him as out of work and his having first rented a farm in Pike County, KY, and then purchased a farm in Lincoln County, KY.   

Regardless of whether Mary or Frances is our grandmother, one thing is certain, Louisa Ann Coleman, who grew up teaching school and serve as a midwife and who married Solomon King Smith, was my great grandmother.  I have in my possession and will try to find and include in an edit of this post, at a later date, a Photograph of Great Grandma Louisa Coleman with her husband, Solomon King Smith of the Smiths from Dusemond, Germany and the O’Dochartaigh family of Donegal, Ireland. Louisa Ann’s and Solomon’s oldest child, a daughter named Mary Ethel Smith, who later married Charles Compton Lee, was my mother’s mother and the only grandmother I ever knew personally. 

  

Louisa’s father, Grandpa George died on October 29, also in the year 1926 (the same year that his first wife, Francis Powell passed), in Kings Mountain, Lincoln County, Kentucky, at the age of 82, and is buried in Kings Mountain, Kentucky.  Mom would never have met her great grandfather George Coleman, as died the same year she was born, about six months after her birth.   I have included with this blog, a copy of both George W. Coleman's and Mary Ball Coleman's death certificate. 

 

BEGIN AGAIN!

 

Dear Readers...

Should there be any readers still out there.  But how can you read, when I have not posted in such a long time.  I will not make any excuses, nor will I tell you that I allowed life to get in the way.  Instead, I will just attempt to begin again.   I wasn't even sure I could get back in to my blog!  But here I am.  Now to get this short blog posted and get on to more of my actual genealogy posts.   To everyone who has liked, shared, commented and/or helped me learn more about my ancestors, thank you so very much and please forgive me for having been gone so long.    I hope you will return to my blog as I give you reason to do so.  -Gen Coleman

LIFE ON THE RIVER

In My Backyard

I can't believe that it's been almost a year since I wrote in my blog here.  Sorry for the long sabbatical.  I work in the office full-time now and come home so tired most nights that I don't take time for the hobby that I love most...writing.  I have, however, been taking time for another hobby which I hope to share with you in this and subsequent posts here on Appalachia Ponderings.  And that hobby is photography.  Back in the day of film and development and long waits for pictures to be returned, I loved photography.  Now in the day of digital photography and instant gratification, I find I love the art from even more.  What you're looking at above is one of the many beautiful vistas that we have about five minutes from our home.  While we live in the valley on the river, five minutes takes me to this view.  For those of you who are homesick for your Appalachia Mountains, this should help.  No matter where you roam in this world, if a person is born and raised in the "hills" of Appalachia.... it is always where their heart calls home and it always draws them back -- if only in their mind.  So with that thought, I'm going to proceed to share some of my pictures that Mike and I have captured while right here in our own backyard.  I hope you enjoy this tour of our homeplace as much as we do living here.  And while we're at it... click on the link below to the song by Mr. Alan Cathead Johnston, one of Appalachia's true authentic treasures.  His song, "Let the music take you there"... goes right along with our "Welcome back to Appalachia Ponderings Tour" today.  So enjoy and I'll try not to stay away so long again.


Our Home is just beyond the top left trees that you see in the picture below.  We literally live right "on the river" as I often say.  In this area, almost everything centers around water.  We live beside the river and on Hurricane Creek, but within this area there is Cedar Creek, Island Creek, John's Creek, Joe's Creek, Mud Creek, Calf Creek, Bull Creek, Racoon Creek, Chloe Creek, Ratliff Creek, Robinson Creek, Knox Creek, Peter Creek, Camp Creek, ...just to name a very few.  Folks built their homes along these waters.  A yankee friend of mine from LaPorte Indiana once asked me why we didn't build up on the mountains (which some folks do) and I said to him, "You obviously haven't seen our mountains).  So folks for centuries built their homes along the creeks and rivers here and the mountains rose up behind them like a giant protector from the outside world.  Flash flooding is a real problems in this area, but there is no doubt as to Appalachia's beauty.  Just take a look for yourself...

You never know what you're going to see from my home office window.  Our backyard is teeming with plant and animal life and it is so beautiful if you take the time to stop and study it.  Below is one little common creature that I spied one day while it was taking a rest in the spring sunshine right outside my window:

The plantlife is full and lush right now in mid-May and so beautiful.  It would take a long time to show you all of it and in a subsequent post, I plan to concentrate on some of the beautiful flowering plants of the area, but for now...come take walk on the thick carpet of grass beneath avenues of tall trees whose canopy covers tower overhead like giant umbrellas...so beautiful:

If you're from this area, doesn't this make you homesick to come back for a visit?  And if you're not a native, you should come check out the beauty of both the countryside and the people here.  The vistas are breathtakingly beautiful, the backroads are winding and you'll find yourself relaxing and actually enjoying the ride without the worry of traffic and you can feel the stress leave you as you take in all that Appalachia has to offer. There is nothing like being here in person, as the pictures can't do justice to the magnificient views and simple beauty here.  But if you can't make it in person, or until you do... Use this link and sit back and let the music take you there... featuring the raw and beautiful music of Mr. Alan Cathead Johnson,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fkUKgmI3ML8

Nothing like Appalachia.... no place on earth quite like it and it's where I'm blessed to call home...

Home is where the heart is...

Phelps. Freeburn. Majestic. Pond Creek. Knox Creek. Peter Creek. Up until a few months ago, these were but names of little places in the far southeastern part of Kentucky in Pike County, Kentucky. Just names that I had heard all my life. Places that my Daddy had spoken of so very often and always with a soft, nostalgic, far away look on his face. No matter how many years he had been away from the area, there was no mistaking that this little corner of the world was always "home" to Daddy.

I never understood that nostalgia for "home" until recently. I grew up in Lawrence County, Kentucky and lived there all my life except for a six-year stint of living in Columbus, Ohio. Eighteen months ago, I came to live in Pike County, Kentucky. It was actually full circle for me, because I had been born in Pike County but having left so young I had no memory of the area.

At first the transition was difficult. I didn't know anyone except my new husband and his mother and I didn't know how to find my way around. I felt out of step and out of my element.

I stayed home a lot. I missed my elderly mother and my brother and his family who still lived in Lawrence County. And I missed seeing my sister and her family when they came in from Columbus to see our Mom.

Slowly, I begin to make friends and find my niche in my new/old hometown. I admit I still get lost occasionally but that's mostly that's because I have no geographic bearing. I have a new job here and my son is doing great in school and will graduate from a local high school in a few months.

All of this made me think about the concept of "home". This IS my home now. I'm happy here. I have a full, rich life here. But every now and again I do think back to something I once knew as "home" and I feel the lonely stab of nostalgia that Daddy must have felt. But I realize that it's not so much a certain longitude or latitude, but rather, the memories that live in that space and time that make a place home.

I grew up in Lawernce County and I raised my son there and so the memories of both our childhoods live there. Memories of times when my mom was younger and healthier and when my Daddy was alive and the family was intact live in that place. That is what I miss. Not the certain point on the map, but how that time felt. It was home.

Of course now, I'm making new memories. My son will graduate from here and this is the home he will return to when he visits from college. And my sister and her family are making new memories by visiting here.

Still I understand the longing in my Daddy's eyes. Those places here in Pike County were where he spent his youth and young adulthood. It was where he made a place for himself in the working world and where he married my mother. It was where he started his family. It was the place and time in his life where he felt alive and strong and all the world was out in front of him. By the time he moved to Lawrence County, he had become disabled from epilepsy and he felt defeated and broken. No wonder his eyes always grew misty whenever he thought of "home".

I never thought much about it before, but something inside me makes me want to visit those places that I heard Daddy speak of so often. Something within me makes me want to walk where he walked and see if anything is left of the things he knew so long ago. I realize not much will have remained in fifty years, but to just be in the places that he loved, somehow might make me feel connected to him again.

I know that nothing will feel familiar to me, but then again, perhaps it will. Perhaps I will meet someone with the Surname Francis, or Hurley, Coleman, Daugherty, Stiltner, May, Allen, or Smith and there will be a familiarity about them. Perhaps, when I stand in those places where he stood and look out over what he was remembering all those years ago, maybe I will once again be able to see the look in my Daddy's eyes and this time I can whisper to him, "Now, I understand Daddy." "I understand what you heart was looking for all those years ago. Maybe through me, Daddy's heart will somehow be "home again"...and maybe, in some small, way... I will be too.

___________________________________

Picture owned and copyright by Geneva Coleman

"Nuh wah doe he ya duh" (Peace) -Our Native Heritage

When the Europeans arrived in what was later called "the new world"...when the first "white man" pushed across the Appalachian mountains deep in the heart of the what would be the Carolinas, Viriginia, Kentucky, Tennesee--the land was not empty and void. Not only was it teeming with all manners of wildlife, but it was populated with a variety of people and families. The Cherokee, the Blackfoot, the Mingo, Ottawa, Shawnee, Delaware, Senaca, and many others were already here. Even the name "Appalachian" comes from the Appalachee Indians. Their way of life fully entrenched and an operating society of peoples were living and thriving in the land that was to be known as America.

These people warred with each other over territory and hunting rights. They may have worn breechcloths and mocassins but were far from the "uncivilized savages" that history has often portrayed them to be. They spoke complex languages far different from the "How" and "ugh" that Hollywood has stereotyped. They lived, they worked, they loved, and they prayed ...and in a lot of ways were the same as you and I are today. They just did it in a culture unlike anything the European had previously seen. But it was not because they spoke in strange languages, or wore strange clothes, or even because their skin was brown that the European disregarded their first claim to this land. It was not even for the lofty goals of Christianizing or civilizing these people that the Europeans overran their land. It was, in actuality, the age old motivation of greed -- pure and simple.

The native Americans had something that the Europeans wanted--the land and its bounty. And the Europeans used their advanced weaponry to come in and take what they wanted much like a bully on a schoolyard playground. But what devasted the population of Native Americans more than any gun was the diseases brought by Europeans. The germs that the Europeans carried with them across the Atlantic to an unsuspecting population of Native Americans who had never before been exposed to such and therefore had no resistance, were far deadlier than any gun ever used against them.

Diseases such as small pox wiped out entire villages and peoples. Having no immunity to such, the Native Americans were completely vulnerable to these germs. The diseases had been in Europe for centuries and some natural immunities had developed in the European populations. Not so in the unsuspecting, isolated, native populations living in the new world.

What were not devasted by disease, were rounded up and forced to march hundreds of miles to be "relocated" to reservations. One such march has become known as "the trail of tears". But not every Native American went west. Some stayed and have formed tribes such as the Eastern Band of Cherokees located in North Carolina. Others, such as most of our Appalachian ancestors, went far up in the mountains, innermarried with their Scots-Irish and German neighbors and whenever possible, passed for "white" on the census roles.

Most Appalachians who have definite native American blood in their DNA have no official tribe affiliation. We have long ago lost our culture to a way of life that became our new culture -- that of being Appalachian. Most all of us are aware of our ancestory to some degree and know of a long lost ancestor who was "indian". You have but to look at us to confirm it. But we were robbed of the official tribal designation because of circumstance and necessity to blend in and assimilate.

Still, there remains an affinity for the land and for the place that we call "home". It is said that once an Appalachian..always an Appalachian and it will always be where you call "home" no matter how many houses you own or how far you roam. The deep connection with nature and spirit that our native ancestors possessed still resonates within us today in Appalachia.

Sometimes when I am out walking and catch a breeze upon my face or look out over the mountaintops I can feel it. The spirit of my forefathers who were here long before any European stepped foot upon this soil. That spirit is alive and well within the people of Appalachia, and it comes to us in the quietness to sit upon our shoulder and to call to us from a far off distant place that our mind has forgotten but which is familiar to our soul. And suddenly, for just a moment, we can once again feel it--that deep body and soul connection to the land and our people. And our soul sings once again the ancient songs of our forefathers. Listen and see if you can hear it too:

Cherokee Morning Song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VqoxOcEqpk&feature=related

Above graphic copyright of: The World it's Cities and Peoples.

Ode to the Appalachian Coal Miner...

There are so many talented people here in Appalachia. For every person you have heard of from this neck of the woods who can play and sing, there are many more playing in small venues, who's names are known by few but who are every bit as talented as the biggest star who ever graced the stage. One might say that there is as much unmined talent in these parts as there is unmined coal. One such talent that I stumbled upon quite by accident while researching music and/or videos to share with you regarding the people of Appalachia is one Alan Johnston or "cathead 77" as he calls himself on the YouTube videos that he posts. If you have never heard Mr. Johnston, or his daughters Stacy Grubb or Jessi Shumate..you owe it to yourself to find one of their CDs. Cathead is a rare and wonderful talent with a Waylon Jennings like voice. Raw and natural. Truly. As real as it gets -and in every way Appalachian. It is his rendition of Sweet Appalachia (and that of his band, "South 52) that I chose to represent the spirit of my entire blog.

The link for the song "Sweet Appalachia", performed by Mr. Johnston, is posted above--directly under the cover picture. To hear this anthem for what it is to be Appalachian, just click on the words "Sweet Appalachia". I believe that this song was also recorded by the great bluegrass legend, Del McCoury as well, but quite honestly, for this particular song, I prefer the raw and unembellished voice of "Cathead" to that of Del. Maybe it's because I know Mr. Johnston is living the life he's singing about. He is a resident of West Virginia and has been most of his life, so far as I know.

I do not know Mr. Johnston's heritage but, judging strictly from his soulful, beautiful voice, and his remarkable ability to put feelings into words through the songs that he writes, I would venture to guess that he is of the Scotch-Irish desent like so many in Appalachia are. Mr. Johnston, if I am wrong, my humble apologies to you sir. But your music so touched a chord within me that I wanted to share it and give you your proper due here in this, my own humble forum.

The fact is, like so many talented Appalachians, Mr. Johnston has many songs, most of which you probably have never heard before. Many tell a story of an actual event that happened in Appalachia or speak to ongoing events that affect this region. All resonate with his deep and abiding faith. I chose one here for this purpose to share with you because it is a tribute to the Appalachian coal miner, a profession shared by so many here in Eastern Kentucky and all through Appalachia. The song is entitled "Sky of Stone" and the accompanying pictures that Mr. Johnston uses with his song are from a world that was exactly like that of my daddy's coal mining days. My daddy's work was before the big machines and the mountain top removal methods used today. Daddy and his fellow mine brothers worked with pic axe and shovel, often on their hands and knees for eight hour shifts, forcing the earth to give up her bounty. For this they received what, for the time, might have been an honest days wage, but also an old man's lungs by the time they were thirty.

Just as today, the coal companies back then got rich off the backs of these Appalachian men.--while Appalachian families struggled to make ends meet. I'm not anti-coal production by any means, but it has always been the case that the coal companies made the money while the people and the land of Appalachia were used so long as they had something to give and then left behind when they had "give out".

This song, so beautifully and hauntingly sung (and written) by Mr. Johnston, along with his video, tells the story of yesterday's Appalachian coal miner. It is the lives of our fathers, and grandfathers in pictures set to music. It is their story, and it deserves to be told and no one tells it better than cathead in this song. No words that I could write would give you a deeper understanding of the conditions in which these men lived and died. Enjoy-- and if it moves you as it does me...perhaps you could drop Cathead a note and tell him you enjoyed his music. Oh, and his lovely, and oh so talented daughter, Stacy, is the voice you hear singing backup on this.

Daddy, I know that no one loved or missed coal mining any more than you did and if God allows, I know you're listening tonight in heaven as Cathead sings this tribute song to you and your many fellow miners and their families of Appalachia.

Joe France, Jr.-- 1921-1995 --beloved husband, father, grandfather, and Appalachian miner, I dedicate this song to you.

--To hear Cathead's song "Sky of Stone" , click on this link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0F1yB_7Wprk&featured=related

Note: Photograph above is called: "Coal Miner Teach Slone" I do not own the rights to this photograph. It is part of the Earl Palmer Appalachian Photograph and Artifact Collection, Library of Virginia, Richmond Virginia and can be viewed at the Library of Virginia website. All rights and priviledges for this photograph belong to them.

A Beautiful Soul

The year was 1926. To the world, she was just one more child born in the heart of the poorest of Appalachia. So what, you may ask, was special about the third of eleven children born to a mountain family who could barely feed them? This child just happened to be my mother. And like the beautiful stone for which she is named, my mom, Opal Virginia Lee France, has proven to be stronger than the circumstances from which she came, with a fire and beauty that is unique to her.

From the time that she was a small child, all she wanted to do was attend school. When she was three years old, she "slipped off" from her grandfather, Hiram Martin, to follow her two older sisters across a mountain to the school. Grandpa Hiram or "Harm" as he was called, brought her back and told her she would have to wait for her turn to go to school, but her love of learning had already been ignited. Sadly, however, education was not easy to come by in the mountains and time in which she grew up. Even when it was finally "her turn" she was only allowed to go to the eighth grade before she was required to stay home and care for her younger siblings (who later themselves went on to high school and some to college). But the dream of an education would not die and years later she returned to the mountain "David" school to finish her high school education and to watch her children go on to college and lucrative careers. By example, she taught that education was the one thing people can not take from you. And because education was so prized by our mother and father, we children came to know and understand its value.

But even when she was going to school, things were not easy. She only had two dresses. One to wear, while the other was being washed. She also had very little food to take in her "dinner bucket". At recess and lunch she would stand and watch the other little girls eat their fried apple pies with the delicate crispy curst and sweetened apple filling. Once, she even ventured to ask them for a bite, only to be turned down and laughed at. Most days, her bucket held only cornbread and beans and that was only when her mother had enough to spare for lunch.

As a young woman, she desparately wanted to join the women's Air Corp but her father strictly forbid it, and so she had to content herself with watching after her older sister's children. It was while she was at her sister's house that she met a hard-working, self-made, handsome, dark-skinned man of the community and married him after three months of "courtship". She was 23 years old and 87 pounds of pure determination and spunk, tempered by sweetness of spirit.

Two children later, her husband, a hard-working Applachian coal miner, became disabled through no fault of his own and would never be able to work again. She would go on to be the strong woman that she is and for the next forty years, she cared for him and their four chidlren until the day he died. She lead by example in her quiet, dignified way. She was stubborn but she had to be. She was steadfast and resolved. Yet, the unjust situation to which she had been born and the unfortunate circumstances in which life had placed her and her family never touched her heart nor made her the least bit bitter. Her countenance remained as sweet and as beautiful as the flowers that still grow on the mountainsides of her childhood home.

Now, 84 years young, Opal Virginia Lee France has raised four children, each a success in their own right, loved one man for 45 years 'til the day he died and has went on loving him since. She remains true to her God and her community and still works a four-day week at the local community center.

Gone is the smooth skin that once housed her smile. Faded is the rich chestnut hair that once framed the face of a hopeful young girl. But replacing that superficial and fleeting beauty is a beauty of another kind...a lasting beauty with the hallmarks of a heart having been through the fire of life and having remained ever young. To my mother on this mother's day...May I be half the woman that you are. How very blessed all have been who have known you. All my love, your daughter-- Geneva. P.S. I think I know where we can get some homemade fried apple pies and coffee...and this time...you can have all you want. I love you, Mom. Thank you for your influence in making me the woman I am today.

Opal Virginia Lee France at 85 years young in 2011.

Note: Photograph above is copyright GenColeman2010 and may not be used without permission.

See With Your Heart

May, 2010

Dear Daddy,

The flowers are blooming again this year. I know how you love them so. Thank you for always taking the time to stop and admire them and for teaching me to do the same. I can still see your weathered, calloused, hands, slightly shaking, as they reached out to carefully cup the soft petals of a rose in bloom. I can still see the smile on your face as you bent your leather-brown cheek down to drink in the softness and fragrance. They were the tough, work-worn and weary hands of an Applachian coal miner, and yet still sensitive, patient, and wise enough to teach me to truly see the beauty that nature had to offer. Was it your Native American ancestry that made you so able to appreciate the earth an all its wonders or was it your strong Christian faith that made you realize that God is at work in everthing around us?

That first year after you left us was so very difficult, Daddy. I didn't want to see the flowers bloom. I didn't think it was fair that the world could go on without your being here. But it did go on. The blooms exploded with color that year and I was angry. They were here but you were not. I was so sad, Daddy. I couldn't sleep. Every song that I heard made me cry. I thought I would never smile again. But the flowers...they kept coming. Year after year. Right on time they would show up, bloom upon bloom. Gradually, I once more welcomed their coming. Gradually, I allowed God to show me that life, like our flowers, is supposed to go on. Gradually.,the flowers began to remind me of your life -- and not of my loss. Eventually I found myself thinking of every new bloom as a smile from you because I could remember how happy you always were to see them.

The flowers are blooming again, Daddy. The world is once again renewing itself. God's handiwork is painting our Applachian hillsides with brushstrokes only He could make. The pink azaleas, the purple rhododendrons, the round fluffy dahliahs, the delicate petals of the wild rose, the tall proud irises -- they're all here again. Life renewed. Straining toward the sun and heaven, they testify to our Creator with their quiet, colorful wisdom. And in doing so, they remind me of a lesson taught by you through the way you lived -- that our God will not forsake us and will always be there to take care of us. Now, each time I see a bright, radiant bloom, I feel your smile upon me. And each time the breeze rustles the stems in the wind, I hear you whisper to me. I'm so glad that I learned to smile again. And, I'm smiling today because the flowers are blooming again, Daddy -- and once more, you are right here with me.

Love, Sissy.

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Matthew 6:28-29 "And why take you thought for raiment. Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow, how they toil not, neither do they spin, and yet i say unto you, not even Solomon in all his glory was arrayed like one of these."

Note: Photograph above is copyright gencoleman2010; sketch above was done by Geneva Coleman and is copyright gencoleman2010. Neither may be used without permission.