We got caught in a huge traffic jam at Lake City, Tennessee. For three hours we moved forward only inches at a time. Grant had told his family we would be home in time for dinner. We arrived at 2:00 in the morning to find his parents still up, and they had kept food hot for us. We ate and stumbled into bed, almost too tired to talk.
The next morning they let us sleep late and fixed a hot breakfast when we got up. We sat around and talked, and I answered many questions about my background and life.
The second day I heard his mother on the phone with Grant’s Aunt Kate, saying, “You know I’ve always felt like I didn’t have a grandson. You know how little Mack’s always preferred his grandfather’s company?” She was talking about Grant’s brother Jack’s only son.
“Well, I’m here to tell you I have a grandson now!” and she proceeded to describe Bruce and some of the things they had done together that day.
Several days later Bruce announced, “I’m going to call her Gran.” It was a name he had chosen by himself, I thought. But now I believe that Grant’s mother may have influenced Bruce toward calling her by that name. She usually got her own way about things, I learned, especially where the family was concerned. I thought it was perfect for the two of them. Just before the wedding Bruce said, “I can’t call Grant Dad, because I already have a dad. I will call him Pa.”
The next day Grant took his mother Christmas shopping while Bruce and I stayed home. Grant’s father was a quiet, dignified man with whom it was easy to establish rapport. We talked; he told me about Grant and his brother, Jack. He said he had taught a Sunday school class for years at their Baptist church. He told me how sad he and his wife were when Grant broke away from the church and started going to the Unitarian Church in Asheville.
The third day we were there, Grant and I drove to Asheville and did our own Christmas shopping. We also looked at apartments. That night we went to a Christmas party at the home of his friends Dick and Wayne. I had a really good time.
Mama Farr cooked a special supper on Christmas Eve; then we opened presents. Bruce was very excited to get so many presents at one time. The next day, Christmas Day, thirty people came for dinner!
Some family members had teased me earlier, saying, “Wait until Jeanette cooks a big meal, and see how you get along with her then!” All of them talked about how she used every pot and pan in the house. That morning I got up when she did and soon decided that the best way to help her was to keep washing pots and pans as she used them.
When the other family members arrived, the women hurried to the kitchen. They looked around with disbelief at the uncluttered kitchen. Mama Farr smiled and said, “I had a good helper today.”
Dick and Wayne invited Grant and me to their New Year’s Eve party, so we went, leaving Bruce with Gran. Several years later Bruce told us what happened that night.
“Gran decided to make a red devil’s food cake and said I could help her. We got the ingredients together, and Gran started the mixer. Then she began telling me a story. Just when she got to the exciting part she forgot and lifted the beaters out of the dough. The red dough went everywhere!
“Gran was worried. She said the family always laughed at her when she accidentally did things like that.
“I helped her take down the white curtains and she washed and ironed them. After we got them back on the window, and all the splattered dough was cleaned up, Gran made another cake before you guys got back.”
Gran got her first promise from Bruce that night not to tell anyone. She said the incident would just be their secret. What could a grandmother do to more endear herself to a boy? This was just the thing to bond the two of them.
After New Year’s we returned to Berea and resumed our school activities as we planned our wedding. Just before our wedding day, the weather was bad for travel, and there were doubts that Grant’s family could make it to Berea for the wedding. Finally Mama Farr declared that she intended to be there even if she had to fly (she had never flown before). Fortunately, the weather moderated somewhat, and Mama and Dad Farr, Grant’s aunt and uncle, Kate and Haywood Farr, and his brother, Jack, arrived by car the day before. They stayed at a motel until our wedding, which began at 6:00 P.M. at Danforth Chapel on the Berea College campus.
I had bought a floor-length blue dress with silver trim for my wedding dress and a brown suit for Bruce. For years after that he called it his wedding suit. Grant and I had written our own wedding vows, which was unusual in 1970. In the following years it became much more common. A good friend, Barbara Shelton, who composed music and played guitar, provided special music for us. Grant gave her the poem I had written for him at Christmas the year before, and Barbara arranged the words and wrote music for it. She sang the song at our wedding; she also sang Judy Collins’s hit song that year, “Both Sides Now,” which Grant and I thought to be very appropriate for us.
After the reception and photographs, Bruce spent the night with Grant’s parents in their motel, and then they took him home with them to stay for a week.
Grant and I chose not to take a honeymoon trip; we decided instead to drive to Asheville and get settled in our apartment before Bruce came home. We moved into the English Arms Apartments on the ground floor near the swimming pool.
Perhaps all the stress of selling my house, finishing the semester, packing to move, and having the wedding lowered our immune systems; in any case, both Grant and I came down with the flu. In addition, Grant had an abscess on his cheek for which he had to seek medical attention.
Fortunately, by the time Bruce came home at the end of the week, we were feeling better. Grant planned several things for them to do together. He told Bruce this was their “honeymoon time.”
The three of us lived in Asheville, North Carolina, for a couple of years. Grant continued working at Duke University’s Highland Hospital in Asheville as their dance therapist.
In his job at the hospital, Grant was responsible not only for private work with mentally ill patients of both sexes, but also for Saturday night parties. He wanted me to go with him to those parties. He told me to dance willingly with any of the male patients who asked me. I felt nervous about this, but I did go.
One Saturday night a tall, thin man asked me to dance. I had not seen him there before and was not even sure if he was a patient or one of the staff. We danced for a few moments before he started talking. I listened closely, ready to reply. He kept up his monologue, and I realized he was talking gibberish; I could not understand a word he said. I looked around for Grant to come to my rescue. The man kept on dancing and talking. I tried to follow his steps and act as though I understood what he was talking about. After what seemed like hours, the dance ended. The man bowed to me and escorted me off the floor. Grant later told me that the man was a new patient, one of the R. J. Reynolds Tobacco heirs.
Grant shared anecdotes about his coworkers and patients, and I began to feel as though I knew them. But if he talked often about one of the female staff, I would feel jealous and threatened. Obviously this was an unresolved issue for me, but I ignored it. I tried not to let it show.
Bruce took to this new life better than I could ever have hoped for. Grant had been so thoughtful in preparing Bruce for his first night in the apartment. He knew that Bruce would be alone in his new room after we went to bed, so he bought a teddy bear half as big as Bruce and left it in the bed as a surprise. Bruce was delighted to find the bear and I am sure whispered many secrets into Teddy’s ear after he went to bed.
Grant drove Bruce to school on his way to work each morning. When school let out in the afternoon Bruce walked home with a group of students. He made friends. I was pleased for him.
For the first time in years I had time for myself. I wrote in my journal, tried out new recipes for dinner, and spent time relaxing.
Winter passed, and after the swimming pool opened Bruce was in the water every day. He quickly learned to swim and played with some of the other children at the complex. I tried to get in the pool each day for the exerci
se.
One young man in the complex came to the pool after work. He usually had two or three friends along. He loved to get on the diving board and jump or belly flop into the water, causing the waves to swamp the little kids who were at the shallow end and splashing anyone sitting poolside. This aggravated Grant, especially when it was repeated day after day. One time inside our apartment he called the man a “redneck.” Bruce thought this was funny; he’d never heard that expression. Another evening, when it was very hot and the pool was crowded, Bruce walked over to the young man and looked closely at the back of his neck. Then he called across to Grant, “Pa, his neck’s not red!” Some people laughed, but the young man flushed an angry red. Grant calmly but quickly left the pool.
While we lived at the English Arms, Wayne got out of the Navy and stayed with us for awhile. All the young girls at the complex flocked around him anytime he was outside. Wayne was a handsome young man, six feet tall, with dark hair and blue eyes. But he was restless and couldn’t seem to settle down. He decided to go visit his dad in Kentucky, and from there went to relatives in Indianapolis. Eventually he got married.
That summer I began to have anxiety attacks. At first I did my best to ignore them, but eventually I told Grant. He wanted me to see someone at the Blue Ridge Comprehensive Health Center. I resisted at first, then promised to call the center. When I placed the call I felt intimidated, sure they would make light of someone who was just anxious about things. To my surprise they took it seriously and made an appointment for me to see a psychiatrist in a few days.
I liked the doctor and soon felt enough at ease to talk about my life. He suggested that part of the reason for the attacks had to do with my new lifestyle. He said that our lives can go on the same way for a long time and we get into a rut. Then change happens, the old rut is gone, and we are forced to make a new way, which causes us to feel anxious. That made sense to me. Life with Grant was so different—so much richer and more rewarding than my earlier life. Every day I felt like pinching myself to believe this happy life was real.
Grant was the only real father Bruce had while he was growing up. Up through his teen years, Grant was the one who disciplined Bruce and helped rear him.
Long after Grant and I were married, I still had a lot of anger toward Leon. When I married Grant, it felt as though I was living the “teen years” I never had. Grant and I grew together, played together, and had fun together. He encouraged me to write, in contrast to Leon, who was never interested in anything I wrote and would just grunt when I said something about a poem or short story. Leon never once read anything that I’d written. Grant did.
With Grant I got the tenderness, the romance, and the sensitivity that I never had with Leon. Grant was the opposite of Leon in every way. I’d had a rough, tough marriage with Leon, so it was natural that I’d pick someone who was the opposite of him.
Grant’s parents were great; almost from the first I loved them as though they were my own. Mama Farr called me on the phone every day. So did her sister, Aunt Kate. Grant grumbled that one thing about having a big family was that they wanted to know everything that was going on, but I didn’t mind talking to his family every day.
The summer and fall passed, and it was Christmastime again. Grant’s job paid just enough for us to get by We realized there would be no extras for decorating the apartment and putting up a Christmas tree. We talked about possibilities. We would, it was taken for granted, go to his parents’ for Christmas dinner. They were coming to see us on Christmas Eve. Grant kept looking in the Christmas tree lots, hoping to find a tree on sale. Finally he bought a tall, skinny cedar that was on sale and brought it home. He helped set it up in one corner and turned to me.
“I won’t get off work until ten o’clock Christmas Eve. Since Mama and Dad are coming for supper, you’ll have to do the decorating and cooking on your own.”
“I’m sure I can come up with something,” I said. I bought some tissue paper in shades of lavender, purple, and pink. I started making paper flowers, dozens of them, attaching them to the cedar tree. When the tree was full of flowers, I strung icicles over the flowers and limbs of the tree. Grant had a blue floodlight, which we shone on the tree, and our first Christmas tree was beautiful!
When his parents arrived that evening they said the tree was lovely, though I did wonder if they really thought that using paper flowers and a blue floodlight was a strange way to decorate a tree. Grant came home from work, we had a late supper, and then we opened presents. Grant got Bruce his first football; I remember how Bruce almost jumped into his arms, he was so pleased. (He has been a football fan ever since.)
On Christmas Day we all got up early and drove to Black Mountain. This Christmas was a repeat of the previous year. Mama Farr cooked, and I washed pots and pans as fast as I could. This year there were only twenty-five relatives and friends as guests.
During the next summer, Mama Farr and Aunt Kate went with Grant and me to Old Fort, across the mountain from Black Mountain. We shopped in several stores for fabric. I bought enough material for several dresses. Grant found some gray wool and hinted how much he would like to have a cape sewn for him. Mama Farr and Aunt Kate frowned at each other, but said nothing. After finding patterns, and buying red lining material and enough wool for a cape for each of us, we returned home. Aunt Kate assured me she would help with the sewing if I ran into difficulties.
The next few weeks my days were filled with sewing. I saved the capes for the last to cut out and sew. Aunt Kate kept advising me on certain aspects of sewing and lining a garment. At last they were done. Grant was delighted with his cape and began wearing it as soon as cool weather came. I have to admit that I cringed a little every time he wore it because I thought it made him look effeminate.
The year 1971 began with a New Year’s dance at Highland Hospital. Grant planned all the activities, music, and refreshments. The night of the dance, the patients were excited. Grant danced with the patients, the women guests, and me. He had to make sure that all the patients got a chance to dance. This seemed to be no problem with the younger patients, but the older ones were shy. At Grant’s suggestion, I asked several of the male patients to dance with me.
I was always so proud of Grant’s charisma with people. Women and men alike were drawn to him. He was so gifted intellectually and musically and was also a certified ballroom dance instructor; I shouldn’t have been surprised when people flocked to him.
All of my life, it seems, I have had an inner voice that puts me down, criticizes my efforts, and lowers my self-esteem no matter how hard I work at eradicating it. More and more often in my happy marriage with Grant I would hear this voice speak harshly to me.
“What would make a young man like Grant even look at an older woman like you?” it asked. “What makes you think you can compete with the young, beautiful men and women in his life?” I had no answer except to take comfort in knowing that he loved me. But that was never enough to stop the critical voice.
For our first anniversary on January 24, we wanted to do something special. Grant made reservations for us at the Sky Club on Beaucatcher Mountain. We had a wonderful time together, and, as we drove back home, I remember feeling utterly content and happy. This was the kind of life I’d dreamed about back in Stoney Fork.
We began talking about the need for Grant to finish his college work. I planned to take more courses, too, at whatever college we chose. We made inquiries at North Carolina colleges and universities and came to the conclusion that, for us, Berea College offered the most. Grant applied for readmission, and we planned to return in September. Through people I knew at the college, I got a job in the Development Office, sight unseen. We also rented a small house near the campus.
And so we moved back to Berea.
Our plans were that I would work full-time for the college until Grant graduated, then I would enter full-time and get my degree. I learned that full-time staff workers could take one class each semester, without a cut in their pay. I
started taking one class at a time. Grant graduated and almost immediately enrolled in graduate study at EKU. I kept working and taking one class each semester.
Grant’s father was diagnosed with bone cancer the year we moved back to Berea. We made many trips back and forth to Black Mountain during his illness.
I learned an important lesson about prayer at this time. Toward the end, Daddy Farr was in a coma, and as I sat by his bedside, I said the Lord’s Prayer and read the Twenty-third Psalm. And I prayed. It would be so much better if you took him home while we were there, I reasoned with God. I prayed for him and Mama Farr, and for Grant and Jack, who were very close to their father.
Grant’s father did not die until the next week, after Grant and I had returned to Berea. When we came back to Black Mountain, Mama Farr told us of his last days.
“He always loved it when I wore red clothing,” she said. “He called me ‘Red Bird.’ The day before he died, I wore a red sweater to the hospital. When I got to his room he opened his eyes and smiled. ‘Good morning, Red Bird,’ he said. Those were the last words he ever spoke. I would not have missed that for the world,” she told us.
If God had answered my prayer and taken her husband when I had asked, she would not have had this experience.
Some years later, in 1979, Grant’s mother died from pancreatic cancer. I grieved with Grant over the loss of Mama Farr. I felt like I had lost my own mother.
The years passed. By doing independent studies, making special arrangements to take two classes at a time, and waiving as many classes as I could, I graduated from Berea College in 1980.
During the financially lean years, Grant and I were happy together. We acted in some of the plays produced at the college. Grant also organized and directed a singing and acting group he named “Encore.” I was part of the group, and I loved every moment we were performing.
At the same time, through my writing and speaking about Appalachia to diverse groups at colleges and universities in the region and my published books, I was developing a reputation of my own. (Later, during our separation, Grant told me he got tired of being “Mr. Sidney Farr.” I was shocked to hear this, as he had never mentioned this to me before, and I never once had an inkling that he felt this way.)
My Appalachia Page 19
