Mary Ann Ellis
Storytelling at the Caroline Miller House
Sometimes at night I lie in my bed reading and hear Larry laughing in the living room. Immediately I know that he’s talking on the phone to his nephew Bill and they’re telling old family stories. Bill’s old enough now that he relishes the stories. Younger people usually don’t care to know them, or at least that’s been my experience. Larry is passing on stories of the Ellis family, things that happened in the tobacco fields of South Georgia or on the farms of Bacon County.
Some nights he’s telling the adventures he lived during his stint in the military in Thailand during the Vietnam Era.
“Why don’t you write all these stories down?” Bill asks him on a regular basis.
Mayhap Bill doesn’t know what he’s asking. Imagine the amount of time necessary to write down one’s life, even the best stories, but how many of us regret not having our family stories collected and readily available when we get the urge to hear them?
I heard most of the Hayes family stories from my mama as we shelled peas on the porch. That activity put her in the mood for storytelling and Sarah Nell and I heard them all— stories of ghosts, travel, childbirth, and hard times. We heard the good ones, too, though and relished them. They still linger in our heads and some of them I’ve put on paper—usually in these columns.
Daddy told me stories of the Nicholses as well. When his family moved to Jeff Davis County, his father bought a sizeable farm for a low, low price—an unheard of bargain. A murder had been committed in the farm house and blood still covered the walls and ceiling when Grandpa bought it. The owner couldn’t sell the property because no one wanted to live in what promised to be a haunted house. Grandpa cleaned the place and repainted before he moved his family in. Daddy said his father never told him the story and had forbidden the family’s talking about it—those that knew it, that is. One of the older siblings told him and swore him to secrecy. Fact or fiction? Who knows? But a good story for the dead of night, nonetheless. Daddy believed it.
For the complete column pick up your copy of The Baxley News-Banner on newsstands today or CLICK HERE TO SUBSCRIBE.
“Why don’t you write all these stories down?” Bill asks him on a regular basis.
Mayhap Bill doesn’t know what he’s asking. Imagine the amount of time necessary to write down one’s life, even the best stories, but how many of us regret not having our family stories collected and readily available when we get the urge to hear them?
I heard most of the Hayes family stories from my mama as we shelled peas on the porch. That activity put her in the mood for storytelling and Sarah Nell and I heard them all— stories of ghosts, travel, childbirth, and hard times. We heard the good ones, too, though and relished them. They still linger in our heads and some of them I’ve put on paper—usually in these columns.
Daddy told me stories of the Nicholses as well. When his family moved to Jeff Davis County, his father bought a sizeable farm for a low, low price—an unheard of bargain. A murder had been committed in the farm house and blood still covered the walls and ceiling when Grandpa bought it. The owner couldn’t sell the property because no one wanted to live in what promised to be a haunted house. Grandpa cleaned the place and repainted before he moved his family in. Daddy said his father never told him the story and had forbidden the family’s talking about it—those that knew it, that is. One of the older siblings told him and swore him to secrecy. Fact or fiction? Who knows? But a good story for the dead of night, nonetheless. Daddy believed it.
For the complete column pick up your copy of The Baxley News-Banner on newsstands today or CLICK HERE TO SUBSCRIBE.
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