I was born and raised on Ben Hill, though the old house isn’t standing anymore. Back then, we lived on a big farm—with cows, chickens (nearly a thousand of them!), and more chores than I could count. I was the only girl with four brothers—David, Gerald, Jimmy, and Richard. Gerald and Jimmy have passed on, but Richard still lives in Hodgdon, and David’s turning 80 this June. David didn’t like the barn work, so I often ended up doing dishes, but I still found myself out with the animals more than not.
Life was busy but simple. We didn’t have neighbors close by,
and most of our time was spent working on the farm. Sundays were special. After
church, we’d go visit relatives—sometimes even stay for supper. It was a rhythm
that taught me hard work, family, and faith.
This interview was done on my 84th birthday—what a meaningful
way to celebrate and look back over a full and blessed life.
Church has always been a big part of my journey. I was
baptized, taught Sunday School, and spent more than 80 years connected to the
Hodgdon United Methodist Church. I remember when we didn’t have a church
hall—just an old army barracks out back. We had Halloween parties with apples
hanging from the ceiling and donuts on strings. We didn’t buy costumes—we used
whatever we had at home. We didn’t have bathrooms, either, but none of that
mattered. The church was a hub for love, community, and laughter.
I got married in Hodgdon and moved to Haynesville with my
husband. We had four children together. Tragically, when I was just 34, he
passed away suddenly—hugged a tree on the side of the road and never came home.
They suspected heart disease, but no autopsy was done. His family had a history
of it, and sadly, his brother died just a few years later, too. It was a
devastating time. I had just left my job to be home more, and nine months
later, I found myself a widow with four little ones.
It was my faith and the church that carried me through. My
husband’s mother was a kind woman who helped wherever she could. The church
community supported me, not just with prayers, but with presence. They showed
up. They walked beside me.
I went back to work for insurance. We couldn’t get government
help because I had an old car and truck. I burned wood for heat, and I needed that
truck. Eventually, my brother bought it, and I stopped trying for help.
Instead, I worked. I provided.
My proudest moments came from my work and my family. I was a
nurse for 37 years at Community Living Association (CLA), serving adults with
intellectual and developmental disabilities. Those people were like family to
me. I knew each of them. I cared for them deeply. It wasn’t always easy, but it
was good, honest work. We laughed together, faced hard days together, and built
relationships that still live in my heart.
I started my nursing career at Madigan Hospital—on maternity
and surgical floors. I remember when we had 20 babies in the nursery at once,
and mothers would go back home while the babies stayed in our care for a while.
I bathed them all, made the formula, and did whatever was needed. It was a
different time—more personal, in some ways.
One time at CLA, a resident ran down Court Street completely
naked—and there I was, chasing after him! My friends still laugh about it. We
didn’t have the locked doors they have now. Still, it was a place of laughter,
love, and purpose.
When I think of my favorite things, my hymn is “Amazing
Grace.” I used to sing it to my grandson when he was little, and now, at 19,
it’s still his favorite. Psalms is my favorite book in the Bible. There’s
something so honest and comforting in the words. I’ve read the Bible many times
through, following our church’s reading plan. I usually read 20 chapters a
day—sometimes more. It sinks in differently now. Deeper. More personal.
Outside of the Bible, I love Amish fiction and books from
Guideposts. Their simple, faith-filled stories speak to me. They remind me of
what matters.
I’ve had close friends over the years. One in
particular—Evelyn, though we always called her Chudi—has been through so much.
She lives in Florida now, but we keep in touch. She’s been a true friend,
through thick and thin. I also try to be there for others—cooking meals, doing
laundry, giving rides, whatever they need. I don’t do it for praise. I do it
because I love people. I’ve always loved babies. If a child came into my house
without clothes, I’d go get them some. I’d go without so they could have what
they needed.
My hope for my children and grandchildren is simple: that they behave themselves, live within
their means, and stay out of trouble. Some have had hard times—bad crowds,
broken relationships, mistakes—but I keep praying. I believe in them. I hope
they learn to pay their bills, live honestly, and stay grounded.
If I could give them one message, it would be this: live simply, give generously, and always
stay close to God. We didn’t have much growing up, but we paid our bills
and lived within our means. That’s something worth passing down.
The most important life lesson I’ve learned? Give more than you take. Even if you
don’t have much, you always have something to share. Whether it’s time,
kindness, or an extra shirt in the closet—give it. You won’t regret it.
And when I’m gone, I hope I’m remembered as someone who cared. Someone who gave. Someone
who saw people and loved them well. I didn’t do it for recognition. I did
it because it’s who I am.
As for the church—I hope it stays open. There was a time it
closed because we couldn’t get a minister. But Reverend Frame came back and put
us back together. Without the conference, we wouldn’t have the pastor we do
now. I want to see this church grow again, filled with children, laughter, and
strong faith. It breaks my heart to see fewer kids coming now. But I still
believe. I still hope.
There’s work to do on the building, sure. But more than that,
there’s work to do in hearts. I hope this church remains a place where people
are loved, welcomed, and nourished—just like it was for me.
This is my story. 84 years of grace, grit, and giving. Thanks
be to God!
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