Sunday, June 21, 2009

Death in Family

My husband's nephew died this morning. He was a sweet "kid." Yeah, I still looked on him as a kid. He was just a young child when Richard and I first started dating. I guess that's one way we keep ourselves from realizing we've grown old. We never let the kids grow up in our minds.

He was named after his father, so, he grew up known as 'Little' John. His father being known as 'Big' John.

He was quick with a smile, and that smile lit up a room. I don't know of anyone who didn't like him. Little John worked at the largest casino on the Mississippi Gulf coast. He went to work this morning, as usual. He had a massive heart attack and died.

Little John was 45.

My hubby and I are heart broken.

Friday, June 12, 2009

Just a Bite

I mentioned that we had taken a week or so to go to Tennessee, and about our side trip to Cades Cove in the Smoky Mountians.
Off Cades Cove Loop Road is the Primitive Baptist Church with a cemetery. One of the tombstones belongs to Russell Gregory. After reading his tombstone I became curious about him and did some research.


This is an excerpt from The Cades Cove Story by A. Randolph Shields:

"Near the end of the war when the Union army was cleaning up the area with units in Knoxville and Maryville, the Confederates used the route through Cades Cove for escape. they usually followed the road through the "Flats of the mountians," locally called the Joe Road, camped overnight in the cove, proceeded by way of the Trough Branch Road (Parson's Branch Road) to the toll road (U.S. 129), and from there into North Carolina and on to South Carolina. One such unit, said to consist of about 300 men, some on horseback, entered the cove by way of the old Joe Road on a December afternoon in 1864. The unit broke up into smaller groups and scattered out over the west end of the cove to encamp for the night. One group made camp near the spring and down the hollow a bit from the house of Russell Gregory, who was away from the home when they arrived. Gregory returned home at dusk to find the army unit encamped just below his house and making supper of one of his calves. He fortified his courage a bit with the usual liquid, picked his rifle from over the door, and walked down the hill to demand payment for his yearling. The camp guard hardly hesitated when he saw the approach of a rifle-bearing native and proceeded to shoot Mr. Gregory, age 69."

I think the tombstone says it pretty well. Don't you?