Telling My Story

Today, in the twenty-first century, in a world of technology changing so quickly even the youngsters can't keep up, a ten-year-old can't imagine the lifestyle of people, urban or rural, born in the twentieth century.

By telling life stories we fill in those gaps in history left out of the textbooks. Write or record on video or audio the memories you can't forget and the reason you remember them.

Your story is unique. No one else owns your life experiences or what you learned from those experiences. You can sign up for my next memoir writing classes at https://www.iclyhc.org/Events

This is the beginning of one of my stories. It needs work and will be edited and revised, but want to show you how you can write about a time in your life that only you can tell.

The Way We Began

By Glenda Council Beall

I met Barry, tall, blond with eyes that turned from hazel to blue, depending on the color shirt he wore, on July 4, 1963. He was a blind date. A mutual friend had given him my number. My number was also my sister’s number, and he said that he called for either of us since he knew neither of us. I lucked out. Gay, my sister, was out of town.

Our day together at the lake house where Barry lived with two other men eventually became enjoyable, but at first, he paid little attention to me at all. I quickly became aware that he was popular with his friends, especially the women. As soon as we arrived, they insisted he play his guitar and sing.

He parked me alone on a stool and took his place on the hearth of the large stone fireplace. The women sat around him on the floor. At this time folk music had taken the country and Barry, who had just come from California where the Kingston Trio was the rage, engaged the entire crowd with Tom Dooley, House of the Rising Sun, and his excellent rendition of Freight Train, showing off his guitar skills. His Goya classical guitar still sits on a stand in my living room with his note to have the crack fixed.

 At the lake house in Dougherty County, Georgia that July 4th, I decided to leave my date with his adoring audience and walk down to the water. I regretted coming to this party where I didn’t know a soul. My self-esteem was not at its best in those days. A year after graduating from the University of Georgia with an elementary education degree, I lived at home on the farm with my folks. I spent most of my spare time riding horseback and writing in my journal. Men had disappointed me. I thought I would be better off if I just avoided them for now. 

Although my family was musical, none of us played an instrument, except Mother who played piano by ear. I had taken piano with Mrs. Bland, but never made much progress. Sometimes now, I wish I had continued with those lessons, as Mother wanted me to do. I wish she had taken the piano lessons herself because she loved playing and had never had the chance to study music.

At the lake house in Dougherty County, Georgia that July 4th, I decided to leave my date with his adoring audience and walk down to the water. I regretted coming to this party where I didn’t know a soul. My self-esteem was not at its best in those days. A year after graduating from the University of Georgia with an elementary education degree, I lived at home on the farm with my folks. I spent most of my spare time riding horseback and writing in my journal. Men had disappointed me. I thought I would be better off if I just avoided them for now.

          There is more to the story, and I can share it another day if you want.

Looking Back

Today I am reposting from 2019

https://profilesandpedigrees.blogspot.com/2019/12/grief-mourning-and-going-on-with-life.html

It was December 2019.

Thankful for the life I had growing up on the farm.

https://leemartinauthor.com/2025/11/24/berryville-illinois-i-was-listening-to-your-lessons-on-love/#comment-12799       

Author Lee Martin offers a thought for Thanksgiving.

Author Lee Martin's post today sparked memories of my life when neighbors and family helped each other just because they cared.

My father who had worked in a cotton mill since he was a child, was finally able to buy 125 acres at the age of 41. 

My brother Max said, "We moved during school holidays at Christmas when we boys were there to load everything on a pickup truck; tools, animals and all. Ray drove and we made lots of trips across town and out to the new place."

My father was always a farmer at heart. He was born on the family farm in Wakulla County, Florida. The land was given to his daddy, Tom, by John Cecil Council, who was among the early residents of that county in the 1800s.

Because of a government loan available during Franklin Roosevelt's administration, my father and his future neighbors could buy land that had once been a large plantation but was divided into small farms.  Mr. womble bought 125 acres adjoining ours. He was living in the house on my family's land when my brothers and my father arrived to move in.

The land Mr. Womble had purchased had no house on it, so he moved into the one that he thought was available. Daddy evicted him quickly, but gave him, his wife, and his little girl permission to live in the tenant house on our farm until he could build a house on his property. Mr. Debary, a neighbor who bought land behind our farm was also a good carpenter. He built Womble's house.

Our old farm house was rustic, almost unlivable, but Mother made it home. She was surely disappointed to find herself with no bathroom, no running water and no electricity. I was a toddler, and she was seven months pregnant. 

A fireplace located in the front room was the only heat. In the kitchen was a wood burning stove and it warmed things up when it was in use.

My baby sister was born in February. Neighbor women were there for the birth on that day. Mrs. Womble had kept me during the labor and birth. My brothers were in school.

I still remember my joy when I rode into the backyard astride Max's shoulders. 

"You have a baby sister," called out a neighbor lady from the back porch. My mother was so happy to have a girl so she and I could grow up together.

Neighbors were important to the families that lived in the rural area of Fleming Road and County Line Road, Dougherty County, Georgia. Mother was close friends with all the women.

I remember people, black and white, working on the farm during peanut picking time, bringing in hay to store in the barn daddy had built near the house. Two of our neighbor farmers were black people and my family had only praise for their work ethics, and their cooperation with their neighbors. I think my father bought the first peanut picker in the area and it was used on several farms each fall. Peanuts and cotton were grown on all the farms at that time.

None of these people were perfect. Mr. Womble had a drinking problem. They had flaws and so did my father. Daddy had a quick temper. They had disagreements at times, but always got along together. They respected each other and were empathetic when hard times came. 

Our relatives in town had all the modern conveniences available in the forties, and I was impressed as a child when we visited Aunt Mildred and Uncle Lawson who lived near the mill but had a nice house. He was not a lowly mill worker, but a supervisor. 

Mr. Debary, who also bought his farm when my father did, built our "new house" that was erected in the front yard of the old house. I was still a small child. It was a three bedroom house with one bedroom for the three girls and one for the four boys. At first there was no running water so the space for a bathroom became a storage room. The men in the family took cold showers outside. Mother heated water on the stove for us little ones.

My brothers used battery power for radio to listen to music.

They had been given a record player and it, too, was battery operated. All of them loved to sing as did Mother who eventually had a piano. 

Electricity reached our area in 1947. Poles were erected across fields and down the roadside. Single light bulbs hung from farm house ceilings. Mother no longer used a wood stove. I grew up in that house and talked on a party line telephone, took baths in a bathtub with hot running water and used a sink and mirror with overhead lights. We became a pretty modern household.

 In 1960, the brothers, married and with their own nice homes, felt it was time for Mother to have one, too. Although it was difficult to persuade my father, a pretty brick house with a new electric stove, big refrigerator, and even a dishwasher in the kitchen was built where our home had been. That made the third house built on the same spot. The house where I grew up was sold and moved away.

We lived in a tenant house on the farm during construction.  We roughed it, but I was away at college during most of the building. 

The new house had an attached garage, and it eventually became home to Mother's big car.  Daddy had his own private bathroom and he liked that.

The new house became the home he enjoyed for the rest of his 88 years.

As Thanksgiving is approaching, those days growing up on a farm in southwest Georgia linger in my memory. 

The seven children and their families gathered at my parents' home every year until, in 1975, Mother suffered an aneurysm that left her unable to cook. She was seventy years old. We were devastated.

My life changed drastically after that.

2023 has begun and I think it will be good!

Looking back on my blog and reading what I said some years ago is interesting and surprising sometimes.

This is what I wrote at the beginning of 2023.

Recently I read my words written back in 1990 and 1991. Those were fairly traumatic years for my family and for me. I kept my diaries filled with all the angst I felt as our family had to take back the family business we had sold because the buyer couldn't pay for it. It reminded me how troubled I was at the time and how worried I was about my brother, Ray, the oldest, who had begun to have health issues. 

No one wanted to take back a failing business but we had to. In my diary, I said there was a recession going on and no one was making any money. In one place I wrote, "Ray said the company must make four million dollars in the next four years." 

Looking back now I realized again, how grateful I should be, and I am, for having brothers and Barry turn that business around and sell it again. I don't know if they made the four million goal, but they did sell the plant a second time and all seven of us Council kids were saved from bankruptcy. One thing my father did well - raised his offspring to work hard and never give up.

However, that stress took a toll and in a couple of years, Ray was diagnosed with cancer. 

But, we are going into a new year now -War is raging, politics is rotten and mean, the government is a place where infighting seems to be the new way to govern, and our society is divided while wanting the same things. We all want freedom, we want peace, we want our families to be safe and secure, and we want to be united. But someone or some people keep stirring the pot doing all they can to scare us into believing our way of life is disappearing and we must blame our neighbors and friends. 

I don't believe that because I see kindness and caring every day. If I didn't see the news or read the headlines, I would be as happy as a lark because I seem to only see good and kind people. Cynicism and nasty comments on social media seem to have disappeared from the pages I see on Facebook. I see hope and faith and joy on the pages I read. Even some of the news programs are showing more kindness and love than they used to. 

I want to believe that others see this, too. I plan to have a good year -- right after I recover from a complete knee replacement. 

How about you? Do you look forward with hope or fear? Let me know what you think.

Dancing won't make you old. You get old when you stop dancing

Happiness !! Gay dancing with Chris Stone

When Gay and I were teens, we loved to dance and took every opportunity to do so.

Today, while Gay dances several times each week, I write. That brings me happiness. 

I am delighted that Brooke, at NARRATIVE BOOKS, in Murphy NC is carrying my books now. I hope you will drop by and meet Brooke, the nice young woman who owns this unique store.

NARRATIVE BOOKS -104 Tennessee St. Suite C, Murphy NC - find my books on the shelf with local writers.

Paws, Claws, Hooves, Feathers and Fins

City Lights Bookstore, Sylva, NC - order my books from City Lights

Now Might as Well be Then - poetry, published in 2009.

July 6, 2008 in my first full-week writing class at John C. Casmpbell Folk School there were four older women, two younger women and two men. Guess what group Pat was in.

 

YOU NEVER LIVE ALONE

BY Pat Katterhenry

 

 

            I have come to the conclusion that my personal space has been invaded by a family of invisible, miniscule gremlins whose sole purpose for being is to aggravate my life.

 

            For instance, I place an article in a specific place but when I return to retrieve it – blank, empty; not there.  I just shrug; I know the gremlin, let’s call him Dick for lack of imagination,  has moved my book, my phone, my remote control, whatever, and when the proper time arrives, it will re-appear.

 

            Dick’s brother Tom has the remarkable ability to enter my mind and short circuit my thinking processes.  How he gets there is up for conjecture.  Maybe thru a hair follicle?  Or an ear canal?  A tear duct?  If the powers that be ever decide this problem is worthy of a government study, I’ll be the first to volunteer.

 

            No matter how Tom gets to where he’s going, he knows what to do when he gets there.  On the way to the bedroom to fetch my book, Tom re-routes my thoughts from “book” to “what will I have for supper tonight?”  I find myself standing beside the bed wondering, why am I here?   So I play my thoughts backwards to the place where I began and finally come to “book”.  

 

            Tom also makes driving my car from garage to intended destination somewhat of a challenge.  I’ll have gone several blocks, or miles as the case may be, when suddenly I realize he’s tampered with my GPS.  Not the kind stuck to the dashboard, but the one I have programmed into my brain.   I’ve driven to my friend’s house dozens of times; now I’m headed out of town, way off track. “How the heck did I get here?” Having gotten used to turning around, I just sigh and make the necessary changes in my route.

 

            Harry, the last of the trio, is a complete mystery to me.  He’s my “mess with the laundry and dishwasher” gremlin.  I can only think of two ways he can survive those watery conditions.  He has gills, like Aquaman (it’s been 50 plus years since I read the comics, but I think Aquaman had gills); or he has microscopic scuba gear.

 

            In my clothes washer, Harry delights in turning my unmentionables inside out.  I’ve deliberately tested him; my panties go in right side out; they come out wrong side out.  He even managed to turn a sleeveless t-shirt inside out.  Now it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to solve this problem.  Put the items in the washer wrong side out in the first place and they come out the way you want.  Not always, I have to admit; sometimes the scanties are still wrong side out.  I guess you can’t win ‘em all.

 

            I have definitely surrendered to the battle of the dishwasher where cloudy glasses and spotty dishes are concerned.  Harry seems to thrive on the anti-spotting ingredient in whatever detergent I use, gobbling it up en masse.  Of course, using the “air dry” option might have something to do with my less-than-pristine appearing glassware, plates and stainless steel cutlery.  I just pat myself on the back for conserving energy, give everything coming out of the dishwasher a cursory swipe with a towel; and stack them away, spots and all.

 

            Having personal gremlins is a definite challenge to one’s sanity.  You either learn to live with them or you surrender to a life of complete chaos.  A sense of humor really helps.  Laugh when you find garbage in the refrigerator or a failed-to-mail birthday card under a pile of magazines.  From what I’ve heard, a lot of people are co-habiting with gremlins.  There’s some comfort in knowing you’re not the only one living with these disruptive creatures.  One thing I’ve noticed, however.  My gremlins didn’t come to live with me until my so-called “senior years”.  Now, I wonder why that is.  Maybe Tom, Dick and Harry will tell me some day.

 

I am a Libra, but is this me?

Libra's Keep the Peace While Blending Beauty & Balance   Libra, the seventh sign of the zodiac, is known for its captivating charm and strong sense of justice. Ruled by Venus, Libras are often associated with beauty, balance, and harmony. Their diplomatic nature makes them excellent peacemakers, as they strive to create equilibrium in their relationships and environments. Libras are social beings who thrive in partnerships, valuing companionship and collaboration. They possess a keen sense of fairness, often advocating for equality and justice in their interactions. This desire for harmony can sometimes lead them to avoid conflict, preferring to keep the peace. Creativity is another hallmark of Libra traits, with many drawn to the arts or design. Their appreciation for aesthetics extends to their surroundings, as they often curate beautiful spaces. However, Libras can struggle with indecisiveness, as they weigh options meticulously. Overall, their blend of charm, intellect, and social skills makes them beloved companions and collaborators.

Blogging - why I love it

A photo from Australia by my friend Sue

Today I learned that a dear friend I never met in person, has passed away. Her name is Sue and she lived in Canberra Australia. Her celebration of life service was online and I am glad she was so well remembered. She impacted many lives on the telephone and on her blog.  https://myjustsostory.blogspot.com/

Sue had MS, and was medically retired, but it didn't stop her from volunteering to work with a Suicide Prevention service. She was extremely dependable and was known to stay on the phone with a desperate caller all day. Her blog was one of my favorite places to visit because she made photos of her garden and interesting places in her town. I learned so much about Australia from Sue. She enjoyed visiting the Roos and making photos of them. She brightened my day as she took me with her on her walks and among her colorful flowers. I will miss her. We exchanged email addresses, and once she sent me something from way over there. I am honored to have known such a caring and compassionate person.

Kangaroo, or Roo in Australia photo by Sue 

When I opened my first blog, this one, in May 2007, I had never heard of a blog, but at a NCWN Writing Conference in Winston-Salem, I stayed until the last program because I wanted to know what it was all about. When I came home I created my blog, and then set up one for NCWN-WEST, 

https://netwestwriters.blogspot.com/

That blog is used now 18 years later to tell the news about our members in western NC and bordering counties of Georgia, South Carolina, and Tennessee.

I taught a class on blogging at the Moss Library for our writers who wanted their own sites. Nancy Simpson and other members blogged for years. It was and is a good way to promote your writing.

Novelist and poet, David Plunkett, manages the blog and website for NCWN-West now.

With so many new social media places to get online, I am not tempted to join anything other than Facebook and I am not on there often. I don't have the time to scroll all day reading about 100s of others, many of them angry or simply posted news for their families.

But I try to visit my dear friends in the blogosphere often.They have been online for two or more decades. These friends leave kind and uplifting comments. We care about each other . We only allow  comments from those we approve. I like that so much better than the often hostile comments on other social media.

Well, I need to get busy preparing for my class I teach on Tuesdays. We have some unique stories from my students, one from California, and I enjoy them very much. 

Enjoy life, every day be grateful and see what you can do to lighten the load of another.

ALASKA - everyone should visit

When Barry and I joined Stu and Gay for a cruise to Alaska in the 1980s, few people were  going there, I did not expect to have the time of my life. We sailed on The Love Boat. Princess Cruises was one of the first to sail up the coast from California, past Canada, to reach the forty-ninth state. 

Every day on the ship was perfect, although a bit cold sometimes. We traveled in the fall. I had never been on a cruise ship and had some trepidation about going, but the flight to San Francisco was more frightening than the ship. We were young and I had never been far from home, had never flown in a large airplane. It was a 747 with seats on each side and another row of seats down the middle. Barry put earphones on me and helped me find music that I could turn up loud and lose myself, forget where I was. We were served champagne although we were not in first class. It was the eighties, and flying was more of a luxuary then. 

Life on the ship was a ball. The shows each evening were lots of fun and Barry and Stu often sang with the big bands. They became well known by the other passengers.

But the scenery of Alaska really impressed me. One of our outings was sailing on a raft on the Mendenhall River at the foot of the Mendenhall Glacier. Our guide was fun and knowledgeable. He pointed out Eagles, and their nests. We wore warm jackets and never got hot or cold. We stopped at an island and were served smoked salmon on crackers with wine or beer. All of us on the raft had a chance to talk together. The mountains and the sea, the rivers and the glaciers, made me feel I was in another world. We drank water from a glacier after hiking on the frozen ice for a bit.

The Mendenhall Glacier

I wish I could go back now and travel the interior of the state. We only stopped in towns close to the water, but it was fun to go into shops and to talk to people who lived there year round.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The following was in a newsletter sent to me today by a company from which I order Alaskan Salmon. It reminded me of our trip so many years ago.

Because I need to eat more fish, and because it is easy to take one piece of frozen fish out of my freezer and cook it for myself, I am delighted to order a box every couple of months and it is sent to me quickly packed in dry ice so it never thaws until the day I want to cook it. 

This Wild Place

By Mandy Dixon

 

Fall in Alaska is a quiet magic. The summer rush starts to ease off. Light comes in lower across our bay, the water turns a deep indigo, and leaves swirl in the wind. You can smell the last cranberries — sharp and tart in the air. After all those endless summer days, the season finally exhales. Everything gets hushed. This is my favorite time of year.

 

The air has that first bite of cold — enough to wake you up in the morning, but not too sharp yet. The sky opens up wider somehow. Evenings stretch out in rose and gold, and suddenly the wood stove becomes your best friend. Guests who come now feel it too. They’re stepping into a different Alaska, something quieter and more intimate.

 

Cooking in autumn has its own pace. Summer’s all about speed and abundance — fall is about depth and taking your time. The catch is still incredible — halibut, salmon, scallops, crab — but now I can lean into it, slow things down, and bring some real warmth to every dish. Root vegetables and squash start showing up, along with hearty greens, apples, and mushrooms, taking the place of those tender summer shoots. The kitchen fills with the smell of things roasting, stocks simmering all day, chowders that warm your hands while you eat.

 

Here at Tutka Bay Lodge, autumn draws us back to the water. The fjord is still generous with us — crab pots come up heavy, late-season salmon still flash silver in the bay, and kelp hangs slick and gleaming on the rocks. Our guests figure out pretty quickly that autumn here isn’t about rushing around. It’s about honoring the ocean’s steady rhythm.

 

This is the preserving season, too. Salmon smokes over alder, roe gets cured into jeweled pearls, seafood goes into jars for winter. It’s what people have done here for generations — carrying the essence of the sea forward into the dark months.

 

Fall at Tutka Bay shows you something true: wildness and comfort aren’t opposites. They’re companions. The tide sets our tempo, the catch shapes what’s on the table, and seafood becomes more than just dinner as everything slows down. It turns into a story about this place, about resilience and gratitude — a reminder that in this brief, beautiful season, we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be. Nourished by the sea, anchored by the wild.