My mother’s youngest brother, John Ray, was our family historian. For years, he worked as a meat cutter at local grocery stores, where he chatted with old timers who had known past generations of our family. From these folks, he learned much about our family history. And in the 1980s be began working in bereavement care at funeral homes, where he continued talking with community members, hearing stories about the past. Knowing I was interested in family history, he shared these recollections with me.
On Sunday afternoons during visits with my mother, he sat close and recounted to me decades of events. His tales of our ancestors were filled with colorful twists and turns.
One event involved the Flood of 1916. Like so many Western North Carolina folks, my mother’s kin were touched by this catastrophe, including her great-grandparents.
Bruce Grant, a Civil War veteran and farmer, and his wife, Harriett, lost their Rutherford County home in the flood. Most tragically, they lost their seven-year-old granddaughter, Ruth, who was visiting them at the time. She perished despite her grandfather’s efforts to save her when a staircase in the house caved in, trapping her.
Another 1916 story involved my maternal grandparents, Hosten and Hessie Davis, whose Rutherford County home also washed away.
After their home was destroyed they moved to McDowell County, where my grandfather was employed at Clinchfield Manufacturing Company as an overseer in the card room. There he worked until his death.
John Ray said, “when their farm washed away, they lost everything.”
He also noted that my grandmother and her 10-month-old daughter, Clarabel, nearly lost their lives in the rushing water, but were saved by a neighbor whose name was Logan.
John Ray said, however, that something was salvaged from his parents’ property: a tea kettle. It was unearthed and given to him years later.
“Do you still have the kettle?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m going to hand it down to you.”
“I’ll treasure it,” I said, flattered that he would want me to have it.
Time passed, and John Ray occasionally mentioned the kettle. I hoped he intended to pass it down to me, but I wasn’t sure he remembered his promise. Sometimes I would say to my mother, “Do you think I will get the kettle someday?”
“I hope you do,” she said.
In May 2022, two days short of his 86th birthday, John Ray passed away. I knew then the wonderful stories of our family were silenced, perhaps lost forever, unless I kept them alive.
A year or so later, John Ray’s wife, Joyce, passed away. At Joyce’s funeral, held at her Baptist church, their son told me he had the kettle for me. He said he would leave it at the funeral home where John Ray had worked.
A few days later, I picked up my small cast iron kettle gift at the funeral home office. I cradled it in my arms until I placed it safely in my car and then rushed it home. There I slid the lid open and found a folded note inside, penned by John Ray on yellow paper. The note read:
“Julie, this kettle was found by Roses Davis ... my dad[’s] cousin on Cedar Creek where my mother and dad[’s] house was washed away in the 1916 Flood. [Roses] was plowing when he found the kettle. Mom and dad bought it in 1914. It was in the ground for over 50 years.”
The note explained that Roses’ granddaughter gave the kettle to John Ray. He had signed the note and dated it 10-3-1998.
Getting the kettle meant the world to me, but seeing the note written by my uncle meant even more. It was personal and filled with details and drama. I keep the note in the kettle where John Ray had placed it 27 years ago. I’m grateful he entrusted me with this artifact from our family’s past.