Blog
Love Letters… Hannah
Over the years, there have been many people who have shown me kindness, compassion, and acceptance. I’ve kept these people and the memories of them close. For each of them, I have a kind of love letter inscribed on my heart.
Hannah was a legend in my town of Winslow. She looked like a cross between a character from Sondheim’s Into the Woods and Granny Clampett from The Beverly Hillbillies. There were a lot of tales about Hannah: that she was witch, that she was a Cherokee Indian, and that her hair – which she wore wrapped in a tight bun and covered in an ever-present sun-bonnet – flowed down to the ground when unwrapped. She always wore work boots and long skirts. The skirts hung longer in the front due to her stooped and terribly humped-over back. But despite her bent posture, she would endlessly walk the town, picking up cigarette butts to pull out the tobacco. My brother, sister and I once trekked out into the fields to find her cabin, which people said was haunted. Even from a safe distance, I could see how overgrown and twisted the weeds were around her cabin and walkway. The whole place was dense with growth, like an Indiana jungle. Standing there, I remembered that people claimed she only bathed when the moon was full. All of this seemed in keeping with her image as a witchy, mysterious, and slightly alarming figure in my town.
Once, when I was riding in the truck with my father, he stopped and offered Hannah a ride. Being alone with my father was in itself a daunting task. Sitting erect, silent, staring straight ahead, I would pray I wouldn’t say the wrong thing. Or make the wrong move. Anything that would upset and remind him of the disappointment he had in his eldest son. We came upon Hannah – walking as always – and my father slowly rolled down his window. He leaned out his head, and I heard him speak in a softer tone than I was used to. This was a different side of my father – one I’d never witnessed. The brim of Hannah’s bonnet was now level with my father’s open truck window. And as she said an adamant ‘no’ the bonnet raised and I could see her face, unfiltered in the bright sun. She never made any eye contact—now I realize she probably had cataracts and her milky gaze was medical rather than witchcraft — as she repeated ‘no, no, walking keeps me alive’. My father affectionately reminded her he’d been watching her walk since he’d been a boy. As we pulled away that day, she looked directly at me. Right at me. It frightened and fascinated me. Why was she looking at me like that? Hannah never looked directly at anyone.
I wondered about it and then put it out of my mind. But then, on my birthday, I happened to glance out my bedroom window and coming up the drive was Hannah. Gasping, I blinked hard and then looked again. There she was, hunched but determined, her long skirt dragging up the dusty rock driveway. She walked right up into the back yard and then stopped. I waited a moment, and then worried, I ran to find Mom. “Mom! Hannah is in the back yard!” Even my mother was surprised, and we stepped out together. Warm and friendly, Mom called out “Hello, Hannah!”’ Hannah looked at us for a minute and then stepped forward.
She pulled out an old coin purse – which looked like it was from the Year One – and handed me a dollar. I was so startled and didn’t know what to do, but mom just looked on gently smiling. Hannah leaned in close to me and said in a hushed tone, “Happy Birthday.” I was completely dumbfounded. “Say thank you to Hannah, Eddie” Mom prompted. “Thank you,” I stammered. “Thank you so much.” Leaning in very close again, Hannah looked at me right in the eyes and said, “You’re special.” She nodded with satisfaction and without another word, turned and walked back down the rock driveway leading to Pike Forest road.
No one could figure out how Hannah knew it was my birthday. But from then on, every year, she made that walk up our rock driveway. Waiting in our back yard. An apparition with her coin purse and a dollar. Hannah became a kind of birthday legend for me. That legend became a timeless childhood memory. Mysterious words said by a mysterious woman, but like a fairy tale, those words were as powerful as a magic wand. “Happy Birthday. You’re special.”
Previous Article
Tossing Glitter...Next Article
Tossing Glitter...44 Comments
Eddie – amazing how you take seemingly mundane life events to cherished memories. True talent – you are special! :o) xoxo
Linda- Thank you so much for such a beautiful compliment. I appreciate your support and voice for Farm Stories so much!!! xoxo
Oh my goodness, this is superb!! My grandma Beadles could be described a lot like her. Small, dark skinned, she was 1/4 Indian everyone said. Humped over and arthritic from years of hard work on a small farm and giving birth and caring for 9 children. Eddie, Hannah saw something we all see! xoxo
Carla- I love how Hannah had the insight knowing walking kept he going. She was ahead of her time. Thank you always for your support and voice. xoxo
A great story! What happened to Hannah? Did she pass in Winslow? Did she have family? What did they find in her home that could help explain this wonderful, mysterious woman?
Can’t wait for the next story!
Janet- Thank you so much for your support and voice. Hannah passed in Winslow and the only family I know of is her brother. I’ve been so happy that so many back home have remembered and responded. xoxo
Awesome story!
Thanks for reading and supporting Farm Stories Brad!!!
Wonderful story as always! Was she by chance, the lady that lived in the cabin across from us on the State Forest road? I remember being at my Grandparents home up the road, when her cabin caught fire. My Grandpa went to try to help. I don’t remember what ever happened to her, but I do remember her exactly as you described. xoxo 🙂
Tricia- I would believe that cabin would have been across the street from you. I remember it being deep in the woods but that could just be my childhood mind. Back then everything was more overgrown than today. Thanks you so much for reading and supporting Farm Stories!!!! xoxo
Wonderful story Eddie, brought tears to my eyes!!
Kelly- Thank you so much!!!! Your voice and support mean so much to me!
God sent her to you for a reason! 🙂
Kathy- I believe you are right. Thank you for support Farm Stories!!! xo
I loved that story!
Peggy- Thank you so much!!! Your support means so much too me!!!
<3
XOXOXO!
Sheli- As always your support and voice mean so much to me. I’m truly grateful. xo
as I read this story, I could see her walking along side the road. I could remember also stopping and mom asking her if she needed a ride and feeling badly when she said no. I just wonder if it’s my memory…or if you have once again, painted something so strongly in my mind, that I feel it must have happened to me as well!!! genius.
LJB- I’m overwhelmed how many remember Hannah. Thank you for your voice, support and love!!!
xoxo
A wonderful story. We had a George in Wabash Count. She reminds me of him.
Mary- Thank you for reading and supporting. I happy Hannah triggered your memory of George!!!
xoxo
Eddie, thank you so much for this story—-I had forgotten all about Hannah—thank you for reminding me of a time past–one that I should not so easily forgotten!
Frieda – Your words make me smile so BIG!!! There is no bigger compliment than something I’ve written has caused another to remember, feel, and reflect. Thank you so very much for reading and adding your voice to Farm Stories….
How beautiful, Eddie: another thoughtful glimpse into the complex intricacies of the human connections and reminder of how nuanced are we and our connections….this softer view of your father, the compelling portrait of this interesting woman and its evocation of memories many of us have of an old or eccentric person, gently warped by the view through our childhoods. I wonder how many of us have been touched and perhaps shifted on our paths by someone who saw a glimpse of something and expressed, “I see you, and you are special” in unique ways. And I am reminded of something I read once about dogs, my memory perhaps being pulled forward by envisioning Hannah’s cataract-clouded vision and the likelihood that she was guided by some sense other than visual.
The piece I read was along these lines (and I wish I could cite the source, but -tricky memory! – it eludes me. We often think our dogs can hear so well that they recognize the sounds of our cars or footsteps coming up the drive or the steps, and that this is why they meet us at the door or the gate when we come home. Experiments have been done, however, in which the possibility of hearing has been eliminated and the time between departure from one location and arrival at home is such that it would not be possible for a dog to hear you coming. There is a theory that they can’t hear it or see it, or smell you, or in any other physical way perceive your arrival in advance. It may be that there is a physical perception, but one humans don’t have. But very often, dogs DO know. You leave your office, and your dog may go and sit by the door, waiting out the 45 minutes of your commute. It’s documented. You finish shopping, pick up the dry cleaning and visit with an acquaintance on your walk home. But from the time of your intention to head home (after I pick up a loaf of bread, after I stop to get that sweater I meant to pick up last week, after I visit with Mrs. Harrison as she passes on the sidewalk), your dog has sensed that intention, and goes happily to sit by the window or watch by the gate. Whatever it is and however it happens, there is knowledge we can’t explain.
Of course I am not equating Hannah with dogs except in the most wonderful context. I believe she had the gift of a sort of insight common to many animals but only rarely gifted to adult humans…as children we may sense these gifts of insight and, lacking any ability to articulate, use words like “witch”. But I believe Hannah could see “special” in you as easily as those of us looking at your picture might see a tall man dressed in black. I believe it must have been self-evident to Hannah. How brave she was to do more than simply see it, but to call it out in public, and to honor it every year.
Apologies for the verbose commentary. Think of it as my way of saying, Keep writing. Oh, DO keeping writing. xo
Angie – This is so incredibly beautiful. Sometimes it seems in children, someone like Hannah and in animals. There is a simplicity and purity that allows them to see what others sometimes can’t. I’ve thought, talked and told stories about Hannah my entire life. She was special.
Thank you for adding your beautiful voice to Farm Stories. It truly means so much to me….. xoxoxo
I had forgotten Hannah, I never saw her much, but her brother(he might have been her husband), Harry use to come to Thompson’s grocery. I was young, and thought he was at least 100 years old.
Thank you so much for this story, and bringing back memories of the good times.
Jo Ann – Thank you so much for reading Farm Stories and adding your voice. There is nothing better you could say than having read something I wrote made you remember, reflect and smile. Your support means so much to me!!!!
I don’t remember Hannah but I loved the story! There are so many that have passed and on and it is wonderful to read about them!!!!
Terenda – Thank you for reading, support and sharing your voice!!! xo
Really enjoyed reading your story. Also brought back memories that (my family, the Cooks) also saw her on the way to Winslow. And her tobacco habit. And she was correct, YOU are so special. Keep the memories coming….
Evelyn- I’m so happy that so many remember Hannah. Thank you for reading and your wonderful comment!!!
Thank you for story on Hannah. She would walk by our home every now and then. Dad said she came to Pike county in a covered Wagon, and don’t dough it. As she walked by some times I would go walk with her for a bit. She never said to much, but what she did say you could take to the bank. A great memory form my childhood as well, thank you Eddie.
Jim- I’m so happy that you and so many remember Hannah so fondly. I’ve thought and talked about her for so many years. She always said walking kept her alive. She was ahead of her time. Thank you for reading and sharing your voice and memories on Farm Stories.
So poignant. Evokes memories of many old folks from my past in Otwell. Can’t wait to read all you have in store for Farm Stories.
Donna- I’ve talked about Hannah for all my adult life. When I moved to DC and a client in my chair would ask me to tell them a Farm Story Hannah was always a story they loved. I didn’t have any idea so many from home would not only remember her but also be reminded of similar wonderful, colorful folks we grew up with. Thank you for reading and sharing your voice on Farm Stories…
Eddie, I must say I enjoyed your writing about the softer side of your father. My words for my dad are generally filled with angst as we disagree on many things. We have just different views of the world yet there is a side of him that makes me smile. He fills me with joy many times and I must remember to celebrate that side of him.
This recall of Hannah is fantastic. So detailed that I was walking with Hannah. Who know what she was thinking or of why she sought you out. It’s amazing that she did. We the student is ready the teacher appears, you the student needed her at that moment in time. Her words have carried you through to today!
Bravo on this piece Eddie.
Bruce- It’s sometimes very difficult to look at and acknowledge different sides of people. Especially those who have been unkind or who our views differ so greatly. For me personally I wish I could remember more of the other sides of my father… I know it existed but I was witness to very little of it… His effort to ‘Toughen Me Up’ wouldn’t allow… Sad…
I was so happy that so many responded to Hannah. I believe we all have special, colorful folk that have great impact on us in our youth. Making them unforgettable….. Thank you for reading and giving your voice to Farm Stories!!!!
My goodness it’s been awhile since I’ve heard anyone talk of Hannah. Thanks for bringing back a childhood memory. I’ve not thought of her in awhile but don’t think I will ever forget her. I remember her walking past our house on the pike state road. I always thought she looked so little. Probably because she was always stupped so far over with both arms crossed behind her back. Once in awhile you would see her bend over to pick up something. I remember asking what she was picking up? And the story from Dad that it was cigarettes. I can’t remember her face because of the bonnets she always wore. She always reminded me of my Great-Aunt Tobb who always wore a bonnet and smoked an old metal pipe which I still have with the last of her tobbaco she kept in an old Denny Moore stew can. I love the picture that you used, the over size bonnet and safety pins instead of buttons. Thanks so much Eddie for the picture and story. (Now I’ve got to have Dad show me where her house use to be).
Daun- For years I talked about Hannah to clients in my chair while I cut or colored their hair. They would ask for a Farm Story and she was a great one. They loved hearing about her. I’m so glad I helped nudge your memory of her. She was so tiny and I thought her arms looked so long the way she crossed them behind her back. She would pick up cigarettes and take the left over tobacco from them. Love the you still have your Great Aunts tobacco!!! Amazing!!!
Thank you so much for reading Farm Stories. Means so much to me….
Beautiful story: an interesting woman with an incredible gift. Making someone feel special
Thank you for writing!
Kerry- I have always loved telling the story of Hannah. She was such a colorful character from my childhood. I thought so interesting that she claimed walking kept her alive and well. She was ahead of her time in that respect.
Thank you so much for reading and lending your voice to Farm Stories. Means so much to me!!!!
I have to echo Brad – AWESOME!!! Eddie – I am deeply affected by your writing – it really reaches right in and grabs me. You are amazingly gifted.
Debbie- Can’t tell you how much your words mean to me. Coming from someone who was my friend from back in the day. Thank you for reading and sharing your voice with Farm Stories!!!