Ronda Rich

Syndicated Columnist

She loved me so much. Often, she’d tell stories of my childhood and always begin with, “You were the cutest little thing I ever seen.”

Her favorite story to tell happened when I was 3. “Your Mama always dressed you like a little doll. I ain’t never saw nothin’ like it.”

Then, she’d mention my mountain grandmother. “On Sundays, when we’d go visit Miz Miller, you’d parade in, dressed in layers of petticoats and a pretty little dress. Soon as you got there, you’d want to go out and play. Your Mama would let you, in that pretty dress.”

In the mountains, people didn’t normally have grass in their front yards. They were dirt. Instead of cutting grass, they swept the yard.

There, more often than not, a few chickens were pecking around.

They liked to scratch out holes to lay eggs.

“We was sittin’ there, a-talkin’, and I looked out just in time to see you plop down in a mud hole filled with rainwater. In that pretty dress, you were splashin’ in the muddy water. I called your Mama.

‘Bonelle! Ronda’s in the mud hole.

She’s gonna ruin that pretty dress!’” She shook her head, still not believing it all these years later. “Your Mama looked out the screen door and said, ‘Aw, leave her alone. She don’t ever do nothin’ like that. Let her have fun.’” My Mama was rarely flustered by anything I did. She allowed me to be independent. Just out of college, I announced I was moving to Washington, D.C., to work at USA Today. “That’ll be good,” she replied. “Have you ate supper yet?”

Talk about giving a child wings, my Mama gave me a 747 plane. She never discouraged my dreams. She encouraged them. I built a wonderful life because she and Daddy believed in my spunk, talent and resourcefulness.

But others, like my beautiful Aunt Kathleen, the teller of the story above, loved me and bragged on everything I did. Aunt Kathleen had no children. Not by choice.

She wanted babies desperately. It wasn’t a subject she liked to discuss, but, on a rare occasion, she’d say, “It just wasn’t the Lord’s will.

But He has been so good to me in many other ways.”

Kathleen Miller Acrey was joyous. She never said a bad word against anyone, she sang like a bird, played the piano perfectly by ear, not by lessons, went to church three or four times a week, and was the best cook in our family. She was remarkable.

She was a staunch believer in the signs of the moon. Though I don’t know this to be true, it would make sense that the Appalachian folks learned the significance of the moon’s fullness from the native tribes that lived among them until General Winfield Scott and his troops moved them out on the Trail of Tears in 1828.

If a doctor told her she needed surgery, she’d say, “I can’t schedule nothin’ ‘til I see the signs of the moon and know when’s the best time.”

I’d call and ask, “Aunt Kath, have y’all planted your garden yet?”

“Oh, honey, yes. We plowed it and planted it two weeks ago when the signs were right. I think it’s gonna be the prettiest garden ever.”

Though the Lord never blessed Aunt Kath with children, she had a few nieces – like me – who loved her like we loved our Mamas. She entered the gates of glory several months ago, to the sadness of those who loved her mightily. Like her husband, Richard.

Aunt Kath and my Mama applauded my homemade buttermilk biscuits. They both said I was the best biscuit maker in the family.

One of the last things she ate was a tiny piece of one of my biscuits.

I miss them both terribly. And I’m gonna miss having someone to brag on my biscuits on a regular basis.

Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of the Stella Bankwell mystery series. Coming soon: A Merry Chatty Christmas. Visit www.rondarich. com to sign up for her free weekly newsletter.