Today I’m sharing a photo of my latest treasure. It’s a piece of an old plate.
When Pap was a boy his family lived in a house down the road until it burnt down. I can’t remember the house of course, but I do remember two outbuildings. One on each side of the road.
I also remember a garden area near the old house. My grandparents, Pap, and his brother continued to use it when I was a girl. They would go in together in the spring of the year and plant a big patch of potatoes or corn.
One of my earliest memories of the area is being in my great grand grandmother’s flower garden she continued to keep up even though she lived with my grandparents in the new house farther up the holler where we all live today.
When I was in high school my uncle Frank put a trailer in the field where the old house used to be. He was sort of an outlaw and entertained other outlaws, most harmless.
Frank owned that side of the creek and once he died his children sold it. No one in our family could afford to buy the 80 acres, but thank goodness E.J. Whitmire bought it and added it to his 2,000+ acre cattle farm.
After that the old homeplace was fenced in and cattle have been on it ever since.
In the last 10-15 years the creek that runs through Wilson holler decided to change it’s path in the pasture. The change was caused by the culvert under the road failing to take all the water out of the area after a heavy rain.
There’s a small branch that comes into the creek right before the culvert that added to the issues.
The fence has been almost washed away in a couple of places for years. Cows sometimes find the holes and get out to feast on my uncle Henry’s nice yard.
About a week or so ago the farm finally tackled the problem. A dozer was brought in to straighten out the mess the creek had made and try to get it all back to draining through the culvert like it should.
They dug up a mountain of dirt! Every trip in or out of the holler became a sight seeing trip to be surprised by the new hight of the dirt.
I never thought about digging in the mountain of soil, but you know my two girls did.
They found a few old metal pieces and a lot of broken glass.
Corie went back to dig a little more over the weekend and she found the piece of plate. I’m positive it was either my Mamaw’s, (Pap’s mother) or her mother’s, Big Grandma, or uncle Frank’s.
I’m sure there is a lot of detritus from the house fire and in later years Frank’s trailer also burned down.
In the days when Pap’s family lived in the pasture there were no trash dumps like today. People often had their own dump on their land somewhere away from the house. With all the water issues in the area the piece could have washed down from a dump site.
One other possibility is that it washed down from way up the creek. My family also lived in a house that burned down up there. It was before Pap was born. There were other families who lived up the creek too.
But in my mind I’ve already decided it was Mamaw’s or Big Grandma’s. I’ve already dreamed about what they might have cooked up to serve their family on the plate and wondered if Pap ate off of it. I’ve dreamed about where they might have gotten the plate and wondered if there was a whole set or only one.
You might say I’m easy to please. Corie’s gift of the small piece of plate has pleased me beyond measure.
Last night’s video: Matt’s Deer Stew.
Tipper
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Cut around one of the flowers and make a necklace out of it.
I loved this story and your little ‘piece of plate’ treasure. I don’t have any old home place to go digging around in, or I probably would. Some of my most treasured items are worth nothing much in dollars and cents—they are worth gold to me. I have a candy dish that belonged to my maternal grandmother. It’s all I have left of her and I treasure it. I have two ceramic bowls that my hubby’s grandma bought me for gifts at the dollar store long ago. I love those bowls and wouldn’t take anything for them. I have an iron skillet my parents got for a wedding gift from one of my dad’s siblings. It was old then, and was given with love from their kitchen. It means the world to me. There are several more treasures—too numerous to mention—that occupy a spot on a shelf or in a drawer—but more importantly, a place in my heart. Thank you for sharing your memories with all of us. .
I love this story Tipper!!
Love your new precious treasure & hearing your precious memories!!! Thank you , as always , for sharing! You indeed make the world a better place !
Miss Tipper, what a sweet memory for you. What pattern it shows was really pretty. I’d love to see the whole plate. It’s too bad it didn’t show the maker of this design on the back. What a beautiful story you could write. You’ve already done a sweet work on just a small piece. Have a blessed and wonderful Memorial Day weekend. Enjoy the food, but remember those we honor. For everyone I’m sending this same sentiment. Thank you Miss Tipper and all the family. Best to your mother also.
I can totally relate to your joy about this piece of an old plate!!! I am fortunate to live at my ancestral home place—it’s not the original house, but it is the house my grandparents built in 1946 that I was fortunate to inherit from my grandparents. This house is built on the foundation of the original house that was built on this land in the mid 1800’s by my great grandfather. I totally renovated this house in 1986, and added a small wing in 1994. We have made many changes to the yard—some that I regret, and some that I am happy about. My great grandfather’s parents lived across and up the road from where I live—my cousin inherited this land from his mother, who, inherited it from my grandparents. Thank goodness he still owns this land. My mother had several old bottles and other items that were excavated from the site where my great grandparents’ house once stood. I think that house burned down in the mid 1900’s. I don’t know whatever happened to those items that my daddy excavated from that old home place; but, I sure wish I had been able to get them before my mother sold her house and moved to town in the late 80’s. I also wish I had been able to afford to buy my mother’s place when she sold it; but, thank goodness, good people did purchase it so that we have good neighbors. As I said before , my cousin now owns the land across the road which was once a part of the parcel of land where I live. He won’t sell it to me or to anyone else—I shudder when I think about what may happen to his land once he passes away—hopefully his children will have the desire keep this land in the family.
Tipper, I love how you can take something so small like that lovely piece of a plate and start imagining who might of used it, and what they served on it. It makes me start to look at old things and wonder about the history behind them like that.
Morning everyone. Most of my life I used to scratch in the dirt to find lost treasures. I found old medicine bottles and cigar tins in a part of the California desert where no one could live. One time I found a solid gold ring just laying on the grass, gave it to my mom. On the property we have now, my son dug a hole for a tree. Not like we need more trees. I found an ancient rusty nail. That end of the property never had a house on it. But I remembered that when I bought the house it was listed as 3/4 of an acre. The surveyor said it was 1 1/4 acres. The railroad doesn’t run thru here anymore so the extra 1/2 acre was just added to the sale. The original owner didn’t plant anything. His daughters never lived here. We have maybe 7 rail road ties. But these ties still have the plates and spikes attached. These would have to be from the old railroad. I think when you buy railroad ties for vegetable beds there aren’t any plates on them. Now when I’m outside and I hear the train far off, I think about what it was like before the house was built. And no, my veggies are in raised beds. Railroad ties are unhealthy to use. I hope Granny is feeling better. Anna from Arkansas.
It surely looks like it was a pretty plate. Love the yellow flowers. It’s a treasure no doubt.
I like what Sadie said, she is said it so well and I agree!
That was a lovely story.
Tipper, nothing is by chance. It was meant for you to have that piece of family history. A treasure it surely is .
How exciting to find a family treasure. My best friend’s grandparents lived here, where two houses burned before mine was built. Stories within the family explain why I find broken pottery behind my barn after some plowing or heavy rain. The house that burned in that location supposedly had a cellar that allowed the contents of the house to fall into it and be stored for a century or longer. Someday, I will hire someone with a backhoe to dig me a big mountain of dirt behind the old cistern that also served as the front porch.
Missy took me to see my sister in law Geneva yesterday. She has cancer and the prognosis is grim. She’s 82 years old and pretty much confined to her recliner. She has quite a collection of dolls in another room. While I was perusing her dolls and things my eye stopped on an object sitting tucked away in a corner. “I want this” I said. “What is it?” someone else replied. “You can have it!” said Geneva, not even knowing what it was that I held in my hand. I took it back into the room and showed everybody what it was. “What is it” they all replied in a chorus. “Aw, it’s just some rusty old something Max brought home from the flee market.” Geneva answered, “You can have it!” “Maybe you ought to keep it, Geneva!” I responded. “No, I want you to have it!” she countered. I took it. I had come with nothing in my hands and was leaving with one of her treasures. I felt good and bad at the same time.
Make that flea market!
I love this so much, Tipper.
We’ve been on our land for what feels like a long time now (first came in ‘75), but back when we had just been here a while (about ‘93) we were working in an area we fenced off for our dogs and dug up really old cattle troughs formed out of rocks and cement or concrete. This whole area used to be a dairy farm, I don’t know how long ago- way before our time. Anyway, along with just regular rough stones, there were some smooth, white ones that looked almost like marshmallows, though with almost squared off sides- no sharp angles, everything was worn completely smooth. We chiseled every one of them out that we could find and they remained a mystery until I was in the museum at Red Clay State Park which was the last council grounds of the Cherokee in this area and where the Treaty of New Echota was voted on before The Removal. In one of their displays, there were a couple of stones that looked remarkably like the ones we found. They were used to play a ball game in the old days. I donated a couple to the Interpretive Center there and treasure the ones I still have. And they’re not even from my family. So I can well imagine what your treasure means to you.
Today’s post is an enjoyable read. I’m sure there are more treasure’s unseen beneath the earth to be found.
Our property used to be part of a settlement from the 1880’s.
We find all kinds of broken pottery and arrowheads in the dirt.
I always walk around after a heavy rain to see what gets uncovered!
Hard to tell but looks like it might be the perfect size for a pendant. It would make a lovely necklace!
What a wonderful idea!!
Some people may pile up money and objects and have a mansion and fine car with millions in the bank. But I dare say NONE have the wealth of you, Tipper! The stories you share, the vivid memories you have and all the scampering up and down and through those hollers of kinfolk for generations is the most beautiful life story I’ve ever bore witness to! It ain’t all peaches and cream (like fires past) but it’s ALL who you are and it’s beautiful! I wish i had the connection to this land that you have. THANKYOU for sharing your piece of a plate treasure with us. It’s quite humbling and uplifting at the same time… have a beautiful day!
Sadie, I have been blessed to do the things you wrote about all of my life. I wouldn’t trade the time of doing this and the good memories I made for any amount of money. This is what I am trying to say and also tried to say in my comment yesterday to Dee when I write about nothing in life except my salvation is more important or valuable than my time spent with family and friends.
Well it looks like it might have been a pretty plate. If it could talk the stories it could tell.
Really like that story I to am a sentimental person about my family s things even though it might be considered trash to others.
My dad’s family home place in oakvale Wva burned down in 1976 I had just got out of the army in 1977 I was in the 82nd airborne and had just got out .
I was getting ready to build a blacksmith shop and was looking for something from grandpa s house to ad to the forge .
I ended up taking the old chimney apart the one from the living room the old house only had 3 small rooms.
So my forge chimney was part of gramps home .
Thanks for the memories
Mike
Mike, my brother in law was in the 82nd airborne stationed at Fort Bragg at about the same time, he got out about 1975. His name was Allan Campbell and he was working in an office ordering supplies during his last year.
My first cousin Curtis Breedlove was first in the 82nd airborne in Vietnam. He came back and joined the Army Reserve and was sent back as 2nd Lt. Advisory Team-16, Headquarters Company, MAC Advisors Group, MACV. He came home in a box. He is now “just a number on a wall”!
I’m sorry, the insignia on Curtis’s cap had a lightening bolt on it. Further research revealed that’s not the 82nd’s logo. Sorry
My cousin Broadus Alfred Whitt is also a name on the wall-panel 46E, line 25. He was only in Vietnam 6 weeks and was killed on March 23, 1968. That date may not be exact but very close. He and his wife were two of the best Christian young people you would have ever been blessed to meet. I can’t help but think what a waste of life along with the others. I think @58,000 , not including all of the ones wounded or mentally destroyed.
I live on land that belonged to my maternal grandparents and I often find “things” on it that has been buried for years, much of it has to do when the land was farmed with mules. There are also several trash dumps on the property. When I was able to bird or rabbit hunt, I knew where the trash dumps were on several of my neighbor’s land that I hunted on. When I find these things, I wonder how old they are and who may have used or lost it. One thing I always enjoy finding is large nails that my Granddaddy called bridge nails. They were used by the county when the bridges on the rural roads were wood. The county men would give these nails to him to use as a clevis pin in his mule plow stocks.
Randy, I remember using those huge bridge nails for pins in equipment as well as three of the bridges I crossed to and from school. Many times I looked around when repairs were made to see if the crew might have lost one or two as they worked. I may even have a couple of them in my boxes and cans of assortments in the shop.