Lora's Stories Appalachian Child

By Oakley Dean Baldwin

This book is a work of non-fiction, based on my Mother’s writings and my personal experiences. Mom passed away in 2009. Mom’s dream was to publish her stories and her poems; unfortunately, none of these stories were ever published. These stories were just kept in a box with her Bible that I received after she died.

I hope you enjoy them as much as I have, as these are memoirs of her life growing up as an Appalachian child. I am publishing these stories in honor of her memory and love for the gift of being her son.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oakley Dean Baldwin
• Release date: May 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387375783

Oakley Dean Baldwin

ABOUT ME Oakley Dean Baldwin born to Howard and Lora Baldwin, married to Doris Barber Baldwin. I am a non-fiction and fiction story teller / writer telling the stories of my life and those that came before me in my family tree. I have 15 books published with the 16th book on the way. I am a career law enforcement officer, professionally trained crime scene investigator and retired Military Intel Officer. I have a Degree from Marshall University in Applied Science. As always, thank you so much for your support. Please don't forget to fill out the online review. Oakley Dean Baldwin

Book preview

This book is a work of non-fiction, based on my Mother’s writings and my personal experiences.

Mom had quit school in ninth grade to marry my father. Later in life after having nine children, seven of whom survived to adulthood, she took classes and earned her GED in her mid-forties. She was so proud to have completed her GED and we were proud of her too.

Mom belonged to the Presbyterian Writers Guild in Lexington North Carolina. They encouraged her to write her personal experiences.

Mom passed away in 2009. Mom’s dream was to publish her stories and her poems; unfortunately, none of these stories were ever published.

These stories were just kept in a box with her Bible that I received after she died.

All of these stories are true to the best of my knowledge; the smallest things would make her happy so I am typing up her stories for you all to read.

I hope you enjoy them as much as I have, as these are memoirs of her life growing up as an Appalachian child. I am publishing these stories in honor of her memory and love for the gift of being her son.

CONTENTS

PART ONE

The Bees and I

PART TWO

The Fire

PART THREE

The Snake Handlers

PART FOUR

The Devil and Mr. Johnson

PART FIVE

Gypsy Fortune Teller

PART SIX

Cupid Shot His Arrow

PART SEVEN

Same as Mom’s Diagnosis

PART EIGHT

The Blessing

PART NINE

A Personal Experience

PART TEN

The Good Samaritan

PART ELEVEN

The Nightmare

PART TWELVE

The Auction

PART THIRTEEN

Most Embarrassing

PART FOURTEEN

Childhood Reflections

PART FIFTEEN

Memories

PART SIXTEEN

Heavenly Thoughts

PART SEVENTEEN

The Blanket

PART EIGHTEEN

Lora’s Stories II

PART NINETEEN

Missing in Action

PART TWENTY

Shell Shocked

PART TWENTY ONE

The Miracle

PART TWENTY TWO

The Follow up trip

PART TWENTY THREE

The Hippie Hippie Shake

PART TWENTY FOUR

Storm of Grenada

PART TWENTY FIVE

The Questionnaire

PART TWENTY SIX

Max the Alligator

PART TWENTY SEVEN

Tribute to Obie

PART TWENTY EIGHT

My Legacy

Acknowledgments

PART ONE

The Bees and I

As a little girl, growing up in the hills of Kentucky and West Virginia, one of my favorite things to do was to go visit my grandparents, Sarah and Henry Boggs, who lived on a farm in Wise County Virginia.

Henry Boggs was actually my step Grandpa; he married my Grandma after my Grandpa James David Beverly died. Grandpa Beverly had become ill on a cold and rainy hunting trip and unfortunately died at the age of twenty eight.

My Grandparents had around twenty five acres of farmland in Wise County Virginia and they raised all of their food.

They had a large family with many mouths and little tummies to feed. There were no modern luxuries.

They didn’t have electricity, indoor plumbing or a phone. They used kerosene lamps for light, and the house was heated by a wood fireplace.

They had built a house over a spring of water and it was there that Grandma kept her milk, butter, and eggs, cold. Grandpa had several beehives that he worked.

One Saturday, my father Oakley and mother Beulah Mae, decided to take us five children to visit the farm. With no telephone, there was no way to let them know we were coming.

It was a three hour drive by car. Once we arrived, Dad had to park the car down on the road, and we would have to hike up the long, winding path. We would make a game of it and sing to make the journey quicker. We also looked for any flowers along the way to present to Grandma. Flowers always made her happy. She gave us extra hugs for being sweet.

Some of my brothers would find beautiful stones and clovers to mix in with the flowers. We always saved a glass bottle to put her flowers in and mother would bring a ribbon to tie around the makeshift vase for the bouquet. We always looked out for sassafras as Grandma could brew up some sassafras tea. I loved tea even as a little girl.

This time, I was the first one out of the car; I was tired of riding.

I remember I was around five years old at the time. As soon as my feet hit the dirt I ran up the path looking for flowers and then to find my Grandma. I couldn’t wait to find her.

I was yelling and waving my arms at her, but Grandma was in the spring house and couldn’t hear me. I didn’t realize that Grandpa was robbing the bees of their honey. He was wearing his protective outfit so he didn’t hear me