Earlier paintings in Acrylics and Watercolors…
The include from left, Prairie Family, MAKA-Medicine Man, Chickasaw Mother and Child, Desert Women.
Ancestors have served in the military for more than 150 years, all served their respective states with pride. Even though the Civil War was for many reasons both good and bad, all were still soldiers with many giving their lives for their beliefs. Although the poem written at the bottom of this narrative are in fact my mother’s brothers; these boys served in WW I and the Korean War. The ancestors are Murphree, Roberts, White, and Vest; members of these families have served in American Revolutionary War, Cherokee–American Wars, Creek War, Civil War, World War I, World War II, Korean Conflict. I also want to honor my son and say thank you for your service in the United States Air Force.
The Cost of Freedom
Standing in what looked like a sea of white as a warm afternoon breeze touched their bronzed faces three young men rode home in an old wagon through fields of cotton unaware that their youth would soon be forgotten.
There was a time when they were three babies crawling at their mothers feet waiting patiently for warm sweet milk and tea cakes luxuries in their world, a poor mans’ treat.
Their mother insisted they go to school and discover their own dreams she vowed at their birth that her children would not break their backs or sell their souls working as poor farmers in the cotton fields planting, hoeing and picking the south’s white gold.
Eighteen, nineteen and twenty years old, they had never known anything but working the red southern soil day after day sacrificing their mothers’ dream for very little pay.
Threadbare overalls shirtless and shoeless they stopped at the dirt road leading to the farm they called home knowing that this way of life was quickly to end their decisions saddened their father broke their mothers’ heart leaving it so crushed that it would never mend.
They reached a nearby creek at setting sun sipped on moonshine laughed had one last day of fun then left for home. It was no more than a shack but supper always a feast for kings then they crawled into cornhusk beds it was a hard life but a life where they knew that they belonged.
Then one winter day it all changed as proud Americans that wore their pride like armor there was no question they would answer the call, not only for them but also for us all.
It was early morning when their father stood quietly drawing on his old pipe under the old oak tree thinking of the warmth of the coming spring while their mother sat in her rocking chair afraid of what the future would bring.
One by one they walk out the door childish faces broad smiles shinny shoes starched uniforms. Three young men proudly walked down the old dirt road that day no one knew when or if they would ever return but these young men knew it was to defend freedom an endowment blessed with the day they were born.
Mother and father held each other as they slowly walked into their home and closed the door while their three young sons walked away straight and tall ready to fight a war in a land they did not know on a faraway shore.
The window of their house proudly displayed three gold stars the days gradually turned into years their mothers’ heart had stopped beating death had finally stopped her tears. Their father grew old as he walked fallow land alone with his life consumed by his many fears.
Then one day as he stood beneath the oak tree drawing in the smoke from his old pipe while thoughts begin to drift back on his life. He wondered where it had gone but knowing that their mother at last is happy that her young sons were finally coming home.
He stared down the road as three shadowy figures grew closer would he recognize them he could not even remember how long it had been. Their youth was gone their smiles were drawn the war returned his sons now three broken and scarred old men.
Author’s Books on Amazon.com
Hello everyone, it has been quite a while since I have posted anything on the blog. Health and winter problems, health getting much better, winter in Wisconsin is up and down. No snow, but extreme cold. Wisconsin with ice, snow, rain, cold also comes the flu season, the common cold and a host of other viruses.
Even my four-legged son Mason came down with an ear infection. That may not sound serious; however, he will not let anyone touch his ears. Therefore, he has to be put to sleep to clean them out and put in medicine. Mason will be six years old on January 31. I know that is still young but this breed can have many problems. Time goes quickly and there are times I think about my life without him. He has been an Angel sent to me from “above”.
I have been laughing about the complex that I live in; it is filled to the brim with “old” people. My laughter is obliged as I am the same age of many, but… We have a central community room, which I never go too. The main lobby is another gathering place during “mail time”. I have discussed with some about the decorations; Thanksgiving décor was up the day after Halloween. Christmas décor was up before I had eaten all the Thanksgiving left over’s. Christmas night all of those decorations came down and Valentines went up! Trust me, Easter décor will appear before the Valentine chocolates are eaten.
How do I know all this…I go to the mailbox about midnight when everyone else is in bed, because of winter I walk Mason in the hallways.
I think the focus here or the main words are independent living. It is not a nursing home, but it is a facility that caters to the elderly. It makes my children happy that I am where there are many things that can make my daily life easier and they do not have to worry about me. I have a sign on my main door that reads, “Do not disturb”. I have a reputation I have been told that of a hermit. I do not want to listen to stories about age, aches and pains…I have my own.
They have “Happy Hour” on Fridays, 4 to 5 PM, you have to be there at four O’clock and you are ushered out the door at 5 O’clock. I went once, then took my bottle and went home. A one-hour Happy Hour just does not do it for me. Nevertheless, such is my life, I am happy.
I am currently working on my new book with no titles at this time; it is all printed out waiting for me to do proofing. This is not an easy job, as most of you know. Either, I hope to devote some of the winter months when I cannot get out to my painting. This book will be a work of fiction based on fact, which I have decided to do. There are a few family members living and I want to respect their privacy.
Therefore, the winter months are here. I will wane away the time on self-made projects. Sharing these moments with my readers, my followers is another great joy of mine.
Dedicated to my Grandmothers, Grandfathers and My Daddy…
In the Darkness of Night
I hear the cries of my grandmothers and grandfathers, I feel their fear; I walk with them in my dreams on the Trail of Tears. Their feet bloody as they walked the rutted trail, every scar on their backs another story to tell.
The Grandfathers and their families stood tall, their backs they refused to bend, and the pale strangers herded them like cattle to a far off land, to die in hot barren sand. My people believed the land belonged to no one, given to all by the “Great Mystery”; still they died with broken souls never knowing that their story in time would cover the blood-splattered pages of history.
My people watched as women gave birth and warriors carried the dead, the children went to sleep hungry with the ground as their bed. The day came when these great people were corralled, given musty water and bug-infested cornmeal to eat, in a place with no hope, to the pale man they were bound; a killing field where the blood of my family spilled upon the ground
I hear you my grandmothers and grandfathers, your cries, do not go unheard in the darkness of night; for in my dreams I walk with you, I feel your fear; I wake each morning with the taste of your tears.
The Chickasaw – Part 5
Hawk found a way to cross the Mississippi River into Northern Alabama. They made their home on the Eastern side of Alabama. They lived among a few Indians that were not forced to leave. Hawk knew that if they did not live like the “white man” they would be forced to leave or killed. Sipsee learned the language and would walk to the nearest settlement to work; they wanted to build a cabin. Sipsee knew that they must change with the times, Hawk kept to himself and his own dreams.
In 1848, Sipsee gave birth to a baby girl, the only child she and Hawk would ever have; she call her Jane and never gave her an Indian name. It was Sipsee’s way of trying to go with the coming change in their lives. This change did not mean that she would not teach her daughter to old customs just learn to survive. Both Sipsee and Hawk learn to survive in their own ways. He in the way of the land and playing the white man’s game to his advantage.
Once when Sipsee ventured into town and the general store’s proprietor ask her what was her name, she told him Sipsee. He asks for her last name, she said “Over-Town”; they had tribe names, but no last name. He misunderstood and called her Sipsee Overton. Sipsee decided when dealing with the white man she would use the name Overton; it stayed that and continues in the descendants today.
To be continued…
Resource – Storyteller – Jane Over-Town “Overton” 1848-1954 at the age of 106 her mind was Like a steel trap, she never forgot anything, It was her body that was ready for death; she lay down for an afternoon nap and woke only to say goodbye to the grandson she raised, my father.
Granddaughter – Vina Evans-Quinn
Resource and Post Writer – Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree Great – granddaughter
BOOKS AT AMAZON.COM BY ELIZABETH ANN JOHNSON-MURPHREE
Flying with Broken Wings…
Have a great week…
A great American Artist
“There are no words to describe how I feel, we have lost another great one!”
ELIZABETH ANN JOHNSON-MURPHREE BOOKS AT AMAZON.COM AND BARNES & NOBEL.COM
FLYING WITH BROKEN WINGS
REFLECTIONS OF POETRY
SACHET OF POETRY
MY JOURNEY INTO ART
Thanks for reading and in advance thank you for your comments. EAJM