Loves Ya Mom

This is the oldest photo, of which I know, of my Mother... from around 1946, possibly a year or two earlier.  She was attending Duke Divinity School, where she met my Dad.  In the lower right, you might (if you click to embiggen) be able to make out the words, "Loves Ya, Mary" that she signed on the picture for my Dad.  Mom was the first woman to graduate from Duke Divinity, and in fact had to push the dean of the school to create a "Women's Program", because back then there just weren't any women ministers.

There is a matching photo of my Dad, and the two were framed and hanging on the wall of their bedroom when I was a kid.

The photo to the right was taken about ten years later, still before I was born, when my family lived in Alaska.  There still weren't any women preachers in the Methodist Church, so Mom was a Preacher's Wife, and mother of four young kids.  Well, in Alaska she was an Administrator's Wife, because the family moved up there for Dad to be Administrator of the Jesse Lee Children's Home, which was then in Seward.

We skip about forty years, to the mid 1990s.  In this photo we see Mom dressed as Mrs. Claus, with my Dad as Ole St. Nick himself.  It was taken the first or second Christmas that my folks spent at the Arbor Acres United Methodist Retirement Community.  (That is Dad's real beard, by the way, and hence the Mr. and Mrs. Claus bit)

In this last photo we have Mom, taken this past Christmas when Jen's parents stopped by for a visit with my folks.  Mom was already in the Special Care Hospice of Arbor Acres, suffering from congestive heart failure.

Mom lived a life pledged to service: to the family as mom, to the church as minister's wife and lay leader, to the community as teacher and volunteer. She was a wonderful woman (not that I'm biased) and lived a long, full, happy life, and she told me several years ago that she was looking forward to what came next... and now she knows.


My Mother, Mary Luke Rutledge, passed away this evening.
10 February 1921 - 3 September 2010


Years and years ago, I asked Mom what her favorite tune was.  She didn't hesitate a bit before telling me it was Finlandia, by Jean Sibelius -- also known as "This is My Song" or "Be Still, My Soul".  I hoped to post either audio or video of the hymn being sung in memory of my dear mother.  But since this is the internet (and because I couldn't find such), I have a video of a group Chinese university students in Hong Kong singing the original words, which can be seen over at Wikipedia -- in, apparently, Finnish (I don't speak either Mandarin or Finnish, but based on the comments at YouTube... well, you get the point).




Here are the words, as written in the Methodist Hymnal, that I know for the tune, and that Mom knew and loved:

This is my song, oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine;
But other hearts in other lands are beating
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine

My country's skies are bluer than the ocean,
And sunlight beams on clover leaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
This is my song, oh God of all the nations;
A song of peace for their land and for mine.

This is my prayer, oh Lord of all earth's kingdoms
Thy kingdom come on earth thy will be done.
Let Christ be lifted up till all shall serve him.
And hearts united learn to live as one.
Oh hear my prayer, oh God of all the nations.
Myself I give thee; let thy will be done.

Loves Ya Mom,
Your Baby Boy

Nothing To Do With Laurelledge, But Thought Everyone Might Like To See

My apologies for the poor quality of the video - I recorded it off the television.

From the pre-show entertainment at Horn In The West, recorded August 17, 1996, a night when I went on as Preacher Sims. As may remember, I was the understudy for that role all five years I was in the show.

If I ever figure out how to connect my VCR to my computer, I'll create some more clips from that performance....

Holiday Hunting

Christmas at Laurelledge was always a treat. One of the special memories I have is when we would get the .22 rifle and a box of cartridges out of the gun cabinet and head out into the woods to track down the elusive mistletoe. Most of the likely oaks and other hardwoods around Laurelledge were too large to try to climb up and get any of the holiday plant. When we would find a likely clump, we would approach cautiously, knowing that if we were not successful here, we may not find as prime a crop elsewhere.

Our .22 was a single shot, bolt action, so it was lucky for us that the prey was not startled by our approach, basically ignoring us from their lofty perch. We would scout about for the best location to draw aim, and then settle in. Slowly, we would select a bullet, smoothly work the action, and carefully draw a bead. Then, the calm of the woods would be shattered by the sharp crack as we pulled the trigger. Most times, that first shot would be successful and we would march triumphantly home with a perfect selection of mistletoe. Other times, we may have to take 2 or 3 shots before the prize was ours. I also remember once when we ended up shooting a limb off to get our prey, because it was such a wondrous specimen.

I am not the only one who has enjoyed hunting mistletoe. Here is a link to a National Geographic article on hunting mistletoe.

Life at Laurelledge with Chris

When Chris was quite young--two or three years old--he stayed with us for a while. He made life at Laurelledge quite interesting and sometimes--exciting.
We were planting onions on one occasion and Chris was patiently playing at the end of the rows. We had laid off straight rows and opened furrows into which we placed the onion sets. We covered the bublets and left nature to take its course in sprouting new plants.
Several days later I went to that plot of gadening to see how the new plants were progressing. There were several straight rows of healthy onions. At one end of those rows, where Chris had been so patiently playing while we planted, was a circle of onion plants. Chris had done some planting of his own--he had created "a circle of onions"!
We were adding a new living room to our domicile. The floor joists were in place and a "walk-way" was needed in order to get to the entrance door. I had put down a temporary path of plywood and purposely left the anchoring nails sticking up enought so I could pull them out when ready to lay the more permanent sub-floor. With his little hammer, Christ had very carefully and thoroughly hammered each of those nails solidly into the wood. I had a "dickens" of a time getting those nails out!
On another occasion, I was watching Chris and working on that new room, I had to be on the roof for awhile so I left young Chris on the ground where I could "watch" him while I worked on the roof. Turning away briefly, I looked back just in time to see that little tyke coming toward me over the edge of the roof. To my horror, he had climbed the ladder to "see what Grandee was doing". I was scared for his safety but he perfectly at ease.

Gardens versus Wildlife

We enjoyed gardening at Laurelledge--both vegetable and floral. Soon after viewing our first garden in production, we were given a sign which read, "Life began in a garden."
Most of the time our gardens flourished. Sometimes we had to irrigate during dryer seasons. We learned to mulch the soil around the plants and conserve moisture. We grew with our gardening and enjoyed the produce and the blossoms.
On several occasions we discovered that the deer also enjoyed the fruits of our labors. Apparently the gladiola blossoms were quite tasty because there were times when those blossoms were nibbled down to a nubbin by the deer. They also ate the buds of broccoli which we had hoped to enjoy at our table
One summer we had a particularly fine patch of beans. They were ready to be harvested and the day we went into the garden to pick those beans the deer had "picked" them. Not only were the pods gone; the deer had eaten all of the plants down to the bare ground.
There was nothing we could do except be philosophical about it all. After all, the deer were there long before we arrived to start our gardening and they are no doubt still there long after we have moved from Laurelledge.
We did enjoy seeing the deer from time to time but we wished they had been less consuming of the fruits of our labors.

A Sight Almost Unseen!

I had climbed half-way up the slight incline behind our storage cabin in the woods when I noticed something unusual on the ground in front of me. It appeared to be two eyes staring at me from the dried sticks and leaves that covered the open plot in the woods.

Not knowing what wild beast might be hiding in the brush, ready to pounce upon me, I cautiously approached the spot to investigate further. Upon closer examination I discovered that I was indeed seeing two eyes, the outline of a head, and a bird's bill—a quail was nesting in that spot on the ground.

She had such perfect protective coloration that her feathers and even her bill blended in with her environment. I had to look very carefully to see the outline of a bird sitting there in the brush.

Over the next number of days I visited the spot several times a day in order to see the young quail after they had hatched. The neighbors came to see the "invisible" bird. A friend from as far away as East Tennessee was thrilled and blest to have had the opportunity to view that scene.

On one of my visits, those eyes were no longer there. Instead, all I could see were the remains of the egg shells. The young quail had apparently hit the ground a-running. Neither they nor their mother were ever seen again—unless, of course, they were the covey I saw "dancing" in the soybean patch when the snow was on the ground.

The Dance of the Quails

One mid-morning winter day at Laurelledge I just happened to glance out across our garden plot—now barren except for a few soybean stalks still standing against the elements. A light snow had fallen. Into that scene fluttered a covey of quail, quite visible against the background of new fallen snowflakes..

As I watched those little birds I witnessed a strange sight. A quail would hop up into the air and then fall back to earth, followed by another bird going through the same dance step. I continued to view, spellbound, wondering what was going on.

Could this be some sort of weird ritual of the quail family? Was it a mating dance in mid-winter? Had this covey found a batch of sour-mash from some moonshiner’s cove? What could it be?

Finally I realized what was happening. Earlier in the summer when we harvested the soybeans we had left some of the not-fully-developed pods on the stalks. The hungry birds were jumping up into the air, plucking those pods from the plants and then falling back to the ground to eat the precious morsels.

This was no weird ritual or dance. It was no inebriated birds. Just a covey of God’s creatures enjoying a winter feast!

Sit Down, John!

The above is the opening scene from the movie, 1776, the watching of which is a 4th of July tradition for the Rutledge Clan. It includes one of my favorite quotes of all time:

I have come to the conclusion that one useless man is a disgrace, that two are called a law firm, and that three or more become a Congress!

Happy 4th to all of you! And now I'm off to watch the movie!

Daddy Ed and the Fourth of July

Daddy Ed and Swoots

The Fourth of July! A day of national celebration! A day when the whole country celebrates, not only the birth of our nation, but the birthday of my father as well. Yep! Daddy Ed was born on the Fourth of July, 1886, a son of an itinerant Methodist Preacher.

In his early manhood, among other things, he was a cowboy. Daddy Ed loved to regale us with tales from those days, the most memorable being one about the cook for the cowhands.

It seems that nobody wanted the job of cooking so whenever anyone complained, that guy became the cook. One fellow saddled with that job decided on a way to be replaced; he threw a handful of salt into the beans. The first to taste those beans blurted out, “These beans are awfully salty! But that is just the way I like them.”

That story brings me to a situation in which my siblings and I apparently played a large part. Mother had been “sick abed” and Daddy Ed had to fix breakfast. When he arrived at work considerably late, some of his employees and the crowd of cronies who hung around the shop began to tease him about being late.

Daddy Ed explained, “I had to fix breakfast for the kids.”

Someone countered, “Ed, it doesn’t take that long to make biscuits.”

To which Daddy Ed exclaimed, “No. But it took me that long to make the kids eat them.”

Daddy Ed may not have been able to make good biscuits but he surely did know how to barbeque a side of beef. He was well-known for his delicious barbequed beef!

On one occasion, the manager of the local Coca Cola plant asked Daddy Ed to prepare barbeque beef to feed a gathering of company officials and employees from the area. I remember watching the procedure. Daddy Ed dug a pit and late on the evening prior to the next day’s feast, he started the fire in the pit. He kept adding to that fire until he had a deep bed of glowing red coals. Then he put the rack in place and spread the sides of beef out to bask in the heat of those coals as he continuously painted the beef with his special sauce.

From time to time he would add live, glowing coals from another fire which he had kept nearby. Sometime past midnight he told me that, after properly covering the entire operation, we could go on home and get some sleep.

Unbeknown to Daddy Ed, next morning someone had arrived at the scene before us. That person, seeing that the “fire” under the meat was about out, proceeded “to be helpful” by adding some chunks of wood to the pit. Of course, when the dried wood hit the live coals it soon burst into flames. When Daddy Ed got there to check his “perfect” barbequed beef it had been burned to a crisp.

I don’t remember what happened after that. I do know that there was no barbequed beef served to that gathering.

Perhaps more about Daddy Ed and the Fourth of July will be forthcoming at a later date. For now, I need to submit this so it shall have been entered while it is still July Fourth, 2007.

More Blue-Eyes

As an adjunct to “Blue-Eyed Progeny”, I want to share an item about my sister Polly. Apparently it was not enough for her to be named after our mother (Virdia); she wanted to be named after our father as well (probably because I was so named). Consequently, when she started to school she gave her name as “Edgar Tom”. Obviously that name did not stick (could it be because her eyes were not blue?).

BLUE-EYED PROGENY

The legend of Blue-Eyed Boys has stood the test of time. It has been rumored that when the first child, a son, was born to Daddy Ed and Swoots, he had blue eyes, as do many babies at birth.

As the first-born son he was named for his father. But, when his eyes changed from blue his name was changed to William Clyde. Then when the next son was born the same thing happened and his name became Wilmer Ray.

Finally, the blue pigment stayed and I became Thomas Edgar Rutledge, Jr. I can neither affirm nor deny this story. The fact remains, my eyes are still blue.

As an interesting adjunct to this legend, my first born son's eyes have remained blue and he is TER, III. Furthermore his son, TER, IV, has blue eyes.

Believe it or not!

Plight of the Monarch Butterfly

Currently in the news is the plight of the Monarch Butterfly. It is fast becoming an endangered creature as a result of destruction of the rainforests in Mexico where the Monarch spends its winter after the long flight to avoid freezing temperatures of the northern climes.

Fortunately there are people working to stop the deforestation; hopefully, this can be accomplished in order that one of God's lovely creatures can be saved from extinction.

I had a most inspiring experience with Monarch Butterflies at Laurelledge. One early autumn day I was on my way down the driveway to check the mail box. All of a sudden I noticed that I was surrounded by Monarchs. The air was full of their beauty and graceful flight.

My presence did not seem to disturb them. As I continued my trip to the mail box, I was entranced by the awe-inspiring sight. I realized that the butterflies were on their way to Mexico. I had witnessed one way in which God provides His creatures with the means to preserve their existence on this earth and procreate future generations to continue that flight.

I am indeed grateful for the beauty and perseverance of the Monarch Butterfly.

Father's Day

IT'S SO NICE TO HAVE A DAD AROUND THE HOUSE
By Helen Steiner Rice

DADS are special people
No home should be without,
For every family will agree
They're 'SO NICE TO HAVE ABOUT' -
They are a happy mixture
Of a 'SMALL BOY' and a 'MAN'
And they're very necessary
In every 'FAMILY PLAN' -
Sometimes they're most demanding
And stern, and firm and tough
But underneath they're 'soft as silk'
For this is just a 'BLUFF' -
But in any kind of trouble
Dad reaches out his hand.
And you can always count on him
To help and understand -
And while we do not praise Dad
as often as we should,
We love him and admire him,
And while that's understood,
It's only fair to emphasize
His importance and his worth -
For if there were no loving Dads
This would be a 'LOVELESS EARTH'.


- Thomas Ed

Tribute to Cowboy Boots

We all remember Dad's affinity for wearing cowboy boots. So, when I stumbled across this article on
cowboy boots, I just had to share with the rest of you.

- Thomas Ed

SPELLING BEE ALASKA STYLE

Excitement reigned on the date, May 31st, as the National Spelling Bee, 2007, reached its climax
Our family once had a stake in the National Spelling Bee. Julie (nee Juliamae) entered the Spelling Bee in Seward, Alaska, and advanced to the state-wide event in Anchorage.

We took the whole family to Anchorage to watch our beloved entry sweep the whole event! We were all excited, rooting for Julie, sure of her victory. Her mother and I were on the edge of our seats as she advanced from one level to the next.

Eventually there were only two contestants left standing to face the final challenge. I have long since forgotten what that word was.

As we held our collective breaths, the word was announced, defined and discussed. Julie stood at the mike. She pondered what to say . . . but only for a brief moment. Her decision was made! She slowly spelled the designated word. Alas, she misspelled it by one letter.

We were proud of our daughter/sister. She had done well. First prize was a trip to Washington, D. C. to represent the State of Alaska in the National Spelling Bee. Second prize was an Encyclopedia Britannica and some other items.

Her mother remembers that Julie had deliberately misspelled the word in order to win the Encyclopedia!

Tales From the Camp

On one of our outings to Julian Price Campgrounds, William Robert literally "fell through the crack".

At bedtime, Susan slept on the small bed which was improvized from the table, etc. Alan Monroe and William Robert went to bed in the upper bunk, over the "daily" table area. "Ma" and I slept in the "master bedroom", opened up from the couch. Thomas Ed and a visitor were sleeping in a pup tent.

All went well apparently, until next morning when William Robert found himself in the lower bunk with Susan. "I wanted to sleep in the upper bunk", he wailed. During the night he had slipped through the "crack" between the wall and the upper bunk and Susan had covered him where he slept till his rude awakening next morning.

We finally convinced him that we had not moved him and the camping trip continued without further mishap.

Storytelling

Price Lake, Blue Ridge Parkway

When I was growing up, I looked forward to summers mainly because it meant "camping season". It also meant "work in the garden season", but as a kid I wasn't so much in to that! Once school was out, Dad would get out the camping checklist and we would begin stocking the camper.

We would usually head up to either Doughton or Julian Price Parks on the Blue Ridge Parkway, and, of the two, Julian Price was my favorite - I guess because of the Lake, which had canoe rentals. Not to mention Tweetsie Railroad was mere minutes away!

At each of the two campgrounds was located a gathering place where nature talks, ecumenical Sunday services, and other 'events' were held. At Doughton Park there was the hilltop Campfire Circle and at Price Lake the lakeside Amphitheater.

One summer, when we were at Price Lake, there was a storyteller's night at the Amphitheater, featuring (most likely, although I don't remember for sure) Ray Hicks and/or his son Orville. After telling a few stories, including a couple of "Jack Tales", the audience was invited to share some "tall tales".

At which point Dad, the "Ole Man of the Mountain", stood up and spun this tale:

When I was growing up in Dust Bowl Texas, we lived for a time on a ranch. One day Daddy Ed sent my older brother Wilmer and me out to dig postholes for a new fence on the "back forty". We labored long and hard in the Texas sun and dug a long line of perfectly formed postholes. As we worked, the sky began turning that particular shade that always preceded a sandstorm.

We gathered our tools and 'high tailed' it back to the house, barely reaching safety before the full fury of the storm hit. For a whole day the sandstorm raged as we all sat in the house, trying to block all the cracks below the doors and around the windows to keep as much sand out of the house as possible.

Finally the storm blew itself out and we ventured outside. Once we finished the cleanup around the house, Daddy Ed sent Wilmer and me back out to continue our work on the fence line. When we reached the back forty, we were amazed to find that the sandstorm had blown with such fury that it had eroded all the dirt away from around all the holes and left them sticking up out of the ground.

Not being ones to miss an opportunity to generate some income for the family, we loaded all the postholes into the back of the Model T and drove into town, selling them to townfolk who were in need of some new ones for their mailboxes and clotheslines and etc.

I still have a couple of good Texas postholes that I carry with me in the truck in case I ever find myself in need.

The best part of the story came when our fellow campers came by our campsite over the next few days to see the Texas postholes - and some of them were quite confused when all they saw was an empty truck bed!

NOTE: To the Ole Man of the Mountain, if I missed any of the fine details of the story, please fill me in!

Four Score and Seven Years Ago

Today, our father was brought forth on this continent.... Happy Birthday Dad! In honor of your birthday, here are some pictures of you!


With his sisters Lou and Polly and a goat, circa 1925 in Childress, Texas.


Circa 1958(?) on the steps of the homestead in Alaska.


St. Patrick's Day 2007, at Arbor Acres.

I hope you're having a wonderful day!

Welcome to Laurelledge

Welcome to Laurelledge! Welcome to LAURELLEDGE LORE.

We moved to our new mountain-side home in Wilkes County, North Carolina, in 1972. Some of you lived there with us. Many of you visited us there.

We got the name for our new home from the ledge of laurel that enhanced a spot just north of us. Wish you could have seen it in those days! That ledge was almost breathtaking when in bloom.
On the west side of our house we had a purple rhododendron which was almost as tall as the house. It, too, was breathtaking when in bloom. Hope that someone is living there and enjoying those blossoms this spring.

We spent twenty-two wonderful years at Laurelledge.

Just recently our son Robert established this website for us. I hope you will visit it often. From time to time I will be adding reminiscences to this site. I trust that you will add your words of wisdom to this "Lore".

In case you need guidance for sharing on "Laurelledge Lore" (as I certainly do), check with Robert here. I trust that he will not mind my offering you his assistance.

Submitted by Ole Man of the Mountain.

The Old Family Toothbrush

Remember when Dad wanted to sanitize some toothbrushes? It reminds me of the old song...

(Sung to the Tune of The Old Oaken Bucket)

The old family toothbrush
The moss covered toothbrush
The wire bound toothbrush
That hung by the well.

First it was father's,
Next it was mother's,
Then it was sister's,
And now it is mine!

Father abused it,
Mother misused it,
Sister refused it,
And now it is mine!

The old family toothbrush
The moss covered toothbrush
The boiled clean toothbrush
That hung by the well.

- Thomas Ed