Today’s guest post was written by Ed Ammons.
Addie
My wife’s maternal grandmother Addie Ledford Cochran died 29 Dec 1978. It had been decided to bring her body back home for the wake. She lived right in the fork where Pigeon Creek and Alarka Roads meet, sidled right up to Alarka Creek in a little four room house.
We were living in Conover at the time and wanted to go to the funeral but were poor as carn so couldn’t afford a room for the night. We decided to go anyway and try to stay with some of Yvonne’s relatives. That was the plan. Turns out all of them that had room had planned to sit up with Grandma Addie. Here I was with my wife and daughter and no place to go. That was Saturday evening, and I had worked Friday night, come home and gathered up my family, and driven 156 miles (2 hours and 41 minutes not including pit stops). I was tired already so imagine almost 3 hours of incessant “When we gonna git there?” coming from the back seat.
We finally arrived and couldn’t find a place to get off the road. We ended up parking the car on Alarka Road and walking across a field to get to Addie’s little place. “Come on in” greeted us. “On in” was a tiny room with the furniture lining the walls and on an island in the middle lay Miss Addie. There was barely enough room to walk into the kitchen or either bedroom without bumping into the casket or tripping over somebody’s feet.
Four rooms, hot from body heat, packed with people and their sounds and steamy smells. Cigarettes and old shoes. Sickeningly sweet old lady perfume and snuff. Musty clothes and the house itself. More folks come and some go until no more come and few remain. We are among the few and we would be gone too if we had someplace to go to. There’s Grandma’s spare bed, a niece has joined so there now four of us. It’s a ¾ bed, there’s no way we all will fit, unless we sleep crossways.
It’s now passed midnight, and I haven’t slept since Friday. My feet are hanging way over the side of the bed. I’m dressed in the same clothes I came in, except for my shoes. The bed smells dank and feels damp. The sounds from the other room are muted and almost gone. A deathly silence is kept at bay by the creek so near that its sounds come in through the floor, but the smell of death still permeates the house.
Did I sleep? No, I just laid there! Not a nod, nary a wink! And I have to get home! It’s Sunday, it’s New Years Eve, and I have to be at work tonight at 11:00 PM. The funeral’s at 2:00. Can we skip the funeral? “Can we just go home Mommy?”
All are in agreement!
Goodbye Addie!
I hope you enjoyed Ed’s story as much as I do!
Last night’s video: YouTube Creator Questions.
Tipper
Subscribe for FREE and get a daily dose of Appalachia in your inbox
Ed’s story was entertaining and made me chuckle a little…not that a funeral ever is a funny thing. It was just how he described the situation of sleeping sideways in the bed…in your clothes…and the smells and the final decision to just say “goodbye” and go home so he could make it to work. It did make me think back to the early 80’s and my hubby’s brother-in-law’s funeral. He was killed in the coal mines during a very cold January. His funeral was one of the coldest and snowiest days I can remember. The roads were so icy and we only had an old Dodge Colt, which also served as my hubby’s work car. On this day, the weather turned even colder while the funeral was happening. When everyone got into their cars to drive to the cemetery, our car wouldn’t start. We were in the end of the line, so no one in the family knew we were stranded. And of course, there were no cell phones back then to call someone to come back. Luckily, an older gentleman that had worked with my hubby’s dad and brother-in-law noticed that we weren’t going anywhere. He rescued us and drove us to the cemetery. I don’t think I have ever been that cold before or since that day. Ed’s story reminded me how we struggled financially early on in our marriage…trying to buy a piece of land and a a very old trailer to live in..working hard to save for a home, and not having the luxury of a four-wheel drive. My hubby had to go back to the car and work on it in that cold weather to get it running so he could go back to work the next day. He also remembers lying under it on a very steep, icy hill, putting on chains, so he could make it to his job in the coal mines one other very cold day. I feel so blessed and really appreciate that he worked so hard for me and our children..and now he’s home enjoying his retirement and grandchildren after all those hard years. Thanks for the story,Ed. And thanks for sharing it with us, Tipper.
“In my mother’s culture of Indigenous First nations funeral there is first a ‘wake’ where the whole community, and often other communities, gathers with the family to honor the deceased who has been dressed in traditional clothing for that ‘tribe.’ There is much storytelling – sharing memories of the deceased, along with ‘smudging’ using sage or sweet grass, circle dancing of symbolized movements, and drumming and chanting to initiate the deceased on their journey to the ‘after life.’ All this is done around a large bonfire in the middle of what is called a ‘Long House’ – a building for special gatherings and celebrations. There often will be ‘gifts’ from the family of the deceased given to those attending as a way of honoring the deceased as well as to thank those attending for their support. These ceremonies used to last anywhere from a few days to weeks. Of course also much ‘feasting’ of traditional foods. Cultural practices can be and definitely are interesting events in how they are carried out.”
Not meaning disrespect, but Sitting Up with the Dead is one of Ray Stevens funniest,
When a church member or someone in the community died, the church would automatically bring JFG coffee, pound of Lays’s baloney and a big loaf of Merita bread to the home! At night the house would be filled with people sitting up with the dead! This was a way people showed their respect for the family.
I remember this happening when my papa died. I was 10 years old!
A bitter sweet and a bit humorous story. Even though it’s about a death. I really enjoyed it. I never heard of”sitting with the dead” until moving to southern Mississippi. A member of our church passed and my husband took a turn sitting with the gentleman who had passed. We hadn’t lived here too long then. I cannot remember this man’s name. I’m sure my husband does since he was one of the sitters. . Y’all, everyone, have a blessed day, today, tomorrow and always.
I remember folks sitting up with the dead. That’s been a long time ago, but it was a way to show respect for their loved one. Times surely have changed. Ed, thanks for the story. You were a real trooper.
In my mother’s culture of Indigenous First nations funeral’s there is first a ‘wake’ where the whole community, and often other communities, gathers with the family to honor the deceased who has been dressed in traditional clothing for that ‘tribe.’ There is much story telling – sharing memories of the deceased, along with ‘smudging’ using sage or sweet grass, circle dancing of symbolized movements, and drumming and chanting to initiate the deceased on their journey to the ‘after life.’ All this is done around a large bonfire in the middle of what is called a ‘Long House’ – a building for special gatherings and celebrations. There often will be ‘gifts’ from the family of deceased given to those attending as way of honoring the deceased as well as to thank those attending for their support. These ceremonies can last anywhere from a few days to weeks. Of course also much ‘feasting’ of traditional foods. Cultural practices can be and are interesting event’s in how they are carried out.
Ed’s short story was well told. In my mind I turned it into a short movie.
Mama said the deceased used to be laid out at home before the funeral.
Sitting up with the dead is not something I think I ever experienced and do not remember that ever been talked about in my family though I believe I have heard of that before. Ed is a strong and good man to his family to have done all of that after a long day of work. It sounds almost unbearable because I bet he was very tired and car driving/riding for such a long distance even more so. I have never heard the “phrase poor as carn”. However, when he mentioned the 3/4 bed, I know exactly what he is talking about because that is what I had from the time I was maybe 3 or 4 years old (in the early 70’s) until after college when I got married. The 3/4 bed & matching dresser came from my mother’s home place, a tobacco farm in the Piedmont region near the Virginia line. I remember the night they took with me with them to get it and the dresser with a mirror. I think it was made by someone in the family (maybe ?) but no idea who. They had both pieces re-finished and got a new mattress for it. It was a great set to have but growing up I never liked it because it was brown and many of my friends and a cousin had pretty white furniture in their bedrooms. As I grew taller and as a teenager & young adult I had to sleep with my head on one side and my feet across to the opposite corner of that bed so I would fit : ) I always slept well on that 3/4 bed. Then, my nieces and then my children slept on that bed when we would “go home”. As an adult I have kept my “antique” bed set but have no room for them to really be set up; I love them so much I wouldn’t part with them for anything. In moving them to the Charlotte area where we live part of the dresser was damaged and needs repair. I have considered trying to transform the 3/4 bed into a queen somehow or maybe turn it into a storage bench instead. But for now they are crammed into my daughter’s room for storage and she utilizes the dresser. Thank you for Ed’s story, I could picture that whole scene unfolding and it was interesting to read especially reading about the 3/4 bed with which I can completely identify.
This has nothing to do with todays post,although I did take care of many a dead body,I was a nurse for forty years. But I did want to comment on the video from last night. The statistics on the folks watching from overseas, I was wondering if they were servicemen and women and found your channel and were homesick for the mountains and family? I didnt know if youtube had a way to tell exactly. anyhow,just curious. Continued prayers for all the victims,their families and the responders.
Ed,
I noticed her middle name was Ledford. I knew a guy named Doug Ledford, he was a pilot with the US Customs in Jacksonville, Fl. I believe he’s still living and is probably about 80 now. Don’t know where he lived growing up, but if you asked him where he was from, the response was always ” North by God Carolina”. I enjoyed your post. There was a comedian named Louis Grizzard from Moreland,Ga. that died in about 1994. One of Louis’ funniest jigs was sitting up all night as a kid watching over his uncle when the lights went out in a thunder storm.
All the best
LeRoy Jennings
Middleburg, Fl
Ledford was her maiden name. Her father was William Isaac Ledford and her mother Juliett Wofford.
I had forgotten about sitting up with the dead. The last time I was at such an event was in 1972 in Avery county NC. Something very respectful about being in their home with family and friends remembering events of the deceased life. The memory of smelling flowers and coffee is quite vivid.
Last Friday, Oct 27, I spent time visiting and paying my respects in the home of a family whose mother had passed away reminiscing with her children about the past and some of my memories of their parents and granddaddy. No the body was not brought home. Until 10 years ago, their parents owned and ran the last of the old time general country/ hardware stores in my area. They were dearly loved by the community. It was said at her funeral that she along with her husband thought of their customers as family. They showed this, the lady Mrs, Earlene would give the children of the community a candy bar on both their birthday and Halloween. They were in their 80’s when they finally closed the Store as most of us called it.
I thought of Rose? and her memories she wrote about a few weeks ago. I would guess there was at least a 100 people at Mrs Earlene’s graveside service.
He is to be commended for going. The old ways concerning passed loved ones run deep and strong.
Through the 70s, my Lewis aunts and uncles were brought home for the visitation. Always people stayed and set up through the night. Around here, it’s not unusual for people to set up through the night at the funeral home if allowed. I think it is a great tradition that shows the love and respect for the deceased and the love and respect for the family.
We remember. On All Souls’ Day, Nov 2, I will take time to set a spell with those gone on. I think of my great grandfather Lyda who assisted in the installation of the original electrical wiring up on Chimney Rock. He and my tiny little great grandmother had eight children, four boys and four girls, my grandfather being the second son. The house on Allen Street in Hendersonville is long gone, but I remember its dark paneling, the big claw foot tub that many a child was bathed in, the grandmother clock by the staircase, the porch with the rocking chairs that made a great place to play with cousins, great grandma’s big old iron stove. She had a more modern one, but that old black monstrosity made the best biscuits.
In Kentucky when someone died people would sit up with them. My maternal grandmother died in September 1968, she was brought to her house, placed in the living room and some of her family sat up with her. Memories were shared about Mamaw by my mother, daddy, aunts, uncles, cousins and acquaintances. The next day was her funeral and hundreds of people came by to view her in her casket after three preachers “preached her funeral.” It was a sight to behold. Everybody seemed to be talking and not listening to the preachers who kept right on speaking. People were eating, smoking cigarettes, crying and praying. Mamaw was buried in a little family cemetery up the road. I have other family members who were buried in the back yard of their homes. This was normal for their loved ones to be buried close to the family. Nowadays few are brought home but end up either at the church or funeral homes for the services.
Tipper, I wanted to ask about the meaning of the word “carn” mentioned in Ed’s article. I think it’s the same word my family used, but it was pronounced “kyarn.” It meant an awful smell. “That smells like kyarn,” According to “Appalachian Language”, The origin of the word came from the English “carrion,” which refers to dead or rotting flesh. Kyarn (or Cyarn).
Tricia-Here’s a post about the word: https://blindpigandtheacorn.com/something-smells-bad/ 🙂 If you think about the meaning of the word it describes being poor for sure!
Thank you, Tipper. I wasn’t sure about the pronunciation. I heard it all my life and had looked the word up years ago but was unsure of the spelling. It sure would be a description of being poor.
Tricia, I always enjoy reading others comments here and you have brought another memory to my mind. The first burial on a home site that I have ever been to was for my cousin who just passed on in August and then his mother, my aunt, just a few weeks after him. My uncle and aunt had remained on the old home place that was farmed with tobacco and their children, my cousins, have homes on that land now too. One of my cousins and her husband made a place next to their home for her brother and her mother to be buried there. My uncle and aunt had always planned to be buried on their land but with the cousin passing on before them this was a different location than originally planned for burial. The funerals were both at the funeral home but these were the most special graveside services I have ever attended. I do envy that they have that land to live so close together like that and it is a special and unique thing these days to have that sacred family burial place right there close.
That certainly was an ordeal. No wonder the memory is so vivid. The only relative I remember being brought home was by step-grandpa. That would have been about 1958. I think those are the earliest memories I have that can be dated. I would have been about 4 1/2. I’d guess it was just the time when the custom was on its way out. Remembering houses from back then they were small, roughly half the size of new houses now. Sounds like Addie’s place was even smaller. The roads were smaller, more crooked and thus slower to. But even though an ordeal, Ed, I expect you were always glad afterward that you went. Might would have been a grief of mind ever after if you hadn’t.
My mom used to talk about sitting up with the dead. She said sometimes teenagers would do it just to have something to do. Can’t imagine kids today doing that. Definitely a different time.
What a tale indeed of one man’s day in his life. I have to agree it sounds like a rough and tiring adventure indeed. The older I get, the plainer I see what was done for us and what we did for those we love in this life-sacrifices, losses, tears, heartbreak and the good times are all that really matter after all. A big job, a big name, a big title, a big reputation-it’s meaningless!!! Let’s chase and embrace our loved ones and always bear in mind these sweetest moments are who and what we are. Grandma Addie must have been a fine fine lady and mother to all who were fortunate enough to have known her. God bless you all and especially the ones in TN and NC who have been devastated, destroyed, killed and left on Yo Yo ( you’re on your own!)
Well said, I agree with Sadie!
My Dad’s dad, my Pawpaw Orville P. “Hammer” Aust died back in the eighties at 93 years of age. Mawmaw had died many years before and was buried at the Tabernacle church in Montcalm, W Va. He had helped build that church and it had been struck by lightening and burned years before. The gravel road up the hill had long overgrown and the old place was forgotten. He was being buried text to her and they hired some guys to clear a path to the old church site. It was raining that day and the hearse took it as far as they could. The pall bearers started up the slick hillside. As they gave out, the younger men, including me, took over. I remember how slick and steep it was and we were all scared we would drop him and the casket would roll back down. We finally got him planted next to her. He was a tough, fine and wise old miner, still called Hammer in his old age.
Good story!
I remember when the bodies would be brought home. I wanted to sit up with the grownups in 1969 when my grandaddy died. Something I will remember to my dying day, when my grandmother died on February 12, 1968 she was brought home and my cousin came by to visit with the family. The next morning he shipped out to go to Vietnam and was killed about 6 weeks later on March 23, 1968. He was newly married and also one of the finest Christian young men I have ever known. The football stadium at our high school has been named after him.
Ed, I worked 7 nights on the graveyard shift every month but despite every trick I ever knew or heard of, could never sleep very much in the daytime. My daughter was born during one of those weeks. I was up several days without sleep when she was born in 1980 so I sorta know how you was feeling.
So familiar, so funny. As odd as it may sound, I am glad that I can say “I lived in a time where people sat up with the dead.” We do have some odd ways. Don’t we? I understand how the outside world may view us odd and not understand our customs. It was a different time, but a whole lot better one.
To me being from the south, sitting up with the family of the dead and the many neighbors, friends or whoever coming by the home to visit or pay their respects was serious. In a lighter tone, most everyone had to bring food with them when they came. For funny listen to Jerry Clower’s story of sitting up with the dead. I agree 100 % with you, I too am glad to have lived and experienced the time when sitting up with the dead, bodies were brought back home, neighbors coming to the home and spending time and talking with the family was common. Nowadays some visitations are only an hour. I just mean this as a statement, when my daughter died in September of 2012, the visitation lasted over 4 hours although it was only suppose to be 2 hours. More than 500 people came by the mortuary that night, at her funeral service the next day the church could not seat all of the people. She was only 32 years old. It was not a lot different when my wife passed away. I always said they would have to pay people to come and act sad when I pass away. I think this says more about about a person’s character than anything the preacher can say about a person being well thought of.
That word “carn”. Mama used to say that all the time.
My grandparents did too. My dog was always bringing in dead ground hogs and coons to the yard. Some were dead for over a week and stunk like Lazarus in the tomb. Granddaddy would always bury the “carn” in the garden. The word “carn” is the Appalachian dialectal pronunciation for “carrion” which is the decaying corpse of an animal.
Addie Ledford Cochran, back in the day was lots of Cochrans in Dawson county Georgia, Lumpkin county Georgia, lots of my relatives were Cochran’s, they are getting thin now, lots of them are over at the Nimblewill cemetery, God bless you friends have a great day
Addie was married to Abraham Kimsey Cochran. He was born in 1885 as Cockerham. Sometime between 1900 and 1910 his name changed to Cochran. Not just him but every Cochran in the area. I don’t know why, but I would like to. Do you know if the Cochrans you are kin to were originally Cockerhams?