Mary Frances Gets Her Picture Taken #MARYFRANCESSTORIES

 One of Mom's favorite stories from her childhood was about taking the train to Portsmouth, Virginia to visit her mother's cousin "Tempe." What fascinates me about this brief story is the ease with which they could take the train from the station in Seaboard, NC to so many desitnations. I also remember her taking the train to Virginia Beach and also nearby Weldon, which was a train hub for years. 

You will find the actual photo below as well as the "picture in the window" that her cousin bought. Mom looks so much like my sister in these photos! 

ENJOY! 

You can listen in Soundcloud 

or 

You can listen in my Google Drive. 

Photo Mom's mom purchased, notice her black shoes

            

Portrait purchased by her mom's cousin. Shoes are retouched to white. 

Recollections of Mary Frances Stephenson Draper of Seaboard, NC (1925-2024) Recorded 10.17.2018

Mary Frances Goes to the Liquor Store #MaryFrancesStories

 Those of you who knew Mary Frances knew that she did not drink. Ever. Not even a glass of champagne at a wedding. Though with a dad she adored who drank whiskey every day at breakfast (medicinal, of course!) I'm not sure how she avoided it! 

This little clip, just in time for Thanksgiving, is less than a minute long and ends with her precious Mary Frances giggle. Enjoy!

Click here for SoundCloud Player. 

or 

Click here for Google Drive Link. 

Hoppy Daze

 It's been over 24 hours and I'm still smiling. 

How could I not?  

I've always loved flying. As a kid, my dad got me a ride with the county crop duster. I read Flying magazine for years thereafter. When I graduated from high school, my sister's gift to me was a flight on a Cessna over the Outer Banks.  When I took my first commercial flight at 22 I was so excited at take-off that I'm sure my toes curled. With my kids, I got to explore the grandeur of the Grand Canyon via a helicopter ride. And at 64, I still get a buzz when a plane takes flight! 

So when my friend, Angelia told me she had hot air balloon flight on her bucket list, it got me thinking. At first I wanted to help her see her way to ticking off the box on her list. But as I learned more, and as we visited the Statesville Balloon Festival, I could see this was a dream I definitely wanted to share.

So I reached out to my friend from my working days at UNC because I knew she and her partner were hot air balloon pilots.  (And also because Jen is one of the most joy-filled people I know!) And Jen and Mary, came through for us big time. Yesterday, Angelia and I took to the air!

Mary and Ian piloted our flight. We rode in Ian's balloon, Hoppy Daze, and had the priviledge of learning more about how pilots determine if conditions are safe for a flight. In addition to researching current and predicted weather and wind conditions, they launched several "pibals" (essentially small helium balloons) so they could observe the direction and speed of the wind. Everyone's eyes stayed on the pibals as they lifted out of sight. (Well, one popped and I tried not to take it as a bad omen.)  Once the pilots conferred and confirmed, and Angelia and I had been fully briefed on safety, it was go time! 

Jen, Mary, Ian and their fellow pilots and crew got their balloons up in a flash. Each knew the choreography necessary to get things in place and worked together seamlessly explaining the process to Angelia and me as they went. Though I had been up close and personal at the Balloon Fest, nothing really prepared me for the sheer size of the envelope! Using the adjective tremendous undersells it. It was astonishing to think that this giant, lightweight, beautiful balloon would lift us to the heavens. We clambered aboard, (I did much more clambering than they did) and it was only a heartbeat until we were airborne.    

                                                

                                                                

Our flight exceeded every expectation. Once we lifted off the ground it was so serene, so beautiful and so peaceful. It was wonderfully quiet, except for me blurting  "This is amazing!" repeatedly or the communication between the pilots, or the occasional sound of the burner, or Angelia saying wistfully "I want a balloon!" And surprisingly, one of the extreme joys of flying was feeling so close to nature. And I say this figuratively as well as literally; Ian reached out and picked a gumball off the top of a  sweetgum tree as we swung through the treetops! 

Mary did a maneuver called a "splash and dash" as she practically set us down on the surface of a nearby body of water and seemed to hover for a few minutes, gently disturbing the surface of the water. And then we had the thrill of once again, going up, up, and away! 

As an extra bonus, two additional balloons launched after us and we could see them on the horizon as they too, took to the sky. Our ballon went further and further, and though we were up for about an hour, it seemed to me as brief as a minute. With our senses fully engaged we observed, hills, valleys, roads, homes, woodlands, and livestock, Angelia even spotted a beaver damn. The whole flight filled me with such a sense of wonder. Before I knew it, the sun was getting low in the sky and Mary and Ian worked on finding an optimal place to land. 

Which turned out to be next to a field of cows. But not, thankfully, in the field of cows, as they were pretty vocal about their displeasure until the balloon came down. I can't say enough about how amazing Mary and Ian were. They were so in tune, so hypervigilant about safety, and so skilled, I never once was afraid or worried. And though I know some landings can be bumpy due to unforeseen conditions, this one seemed smooth as silk. 

We scrambled out and after Ian repositioned the basket, we began folding up the envelope as Jen rounded the corner in Ian's pickup - for pick up. Once everything was secured we headed back to our original location as the pink sky turned to dusk and then darkness. One final surprise awaited us. Before leaving, our new friends broke out a champagne bottle and passed around plastic cups. Ian told the clearly off-told story of the first balloon flights and the tradtional champagne toast. Everyone was gathered round and there was lots of warm banter and ribbing. Ian did an excellent job of storytelling and we laughed and saluted one another with our plastic cups. Pilot Mark shared some OJ for those of us partial to mimosas (me!) and Angelia and I warmed up in the shared fellowship and friendship. 

                                              

I'm so grateful to Jen and Mary for being the kind of people who find joy in sharing their world. Their kindness and good humor was catching and we are the better for it.  As my mom would say "It was a Mountaintop Day!" Cheers to you both! 

 PS - Angelia and I are officialy hooked and eager to be part of their ground crew in the future! 

The Balloonist Prayer

                  May the winds welcome you with softness.

                    May the sun bless you with its warm hands.

                    May you fly so high and so well that God

                      joins you in laughter and sets you gently

                    back into the loving arms of Mother Earth.

A Christmas Surprise #MaryFrancesStories

 

Edward Henry Stephenson and Mary Frances Stephenson Draper

 Mama was a Daddy's Girl through and through. She had many favorite memories of her dad and I have recordings of several stories about him, which I will share as I sort through them.  

What is key is that Edward Henry Stephenson was a gentleman farmer. He courted and married my grandmother and as fate would have it, each of their familes owned a plot of land across the road from the other, which combined became our family's farm. They were yin and yang. She liked to play bridge, socialize, and gad-about-town. She needed frequent new hats. Granddaddy was more of an old salt and an old soul. To hear Mama tell it, he was an avid reader, including the News and Observer, liked a little tipple, and appreciated a new car now and then. 

On the right, Maggie Vassar Stephenson

My grandfather suffered from rhuematoid arthritis and there wasn't much than could be done for the pain except maybe the egg dram which was mostly whiskey and egg yolk. He inevitably became quite infirm. Locals would stop by to visit "Mr. Ed" or "Capt. Stepheenson" and shake his hand heartily. Granddaddy never complained about the pain of the handshake while they were there, but Mama said he cussed a blue streak when they left. 

Things got so bad with his RA, that he eventually developed gangrene in his legs and they had to be amputated from the knees down. Before surgery, he teased his pretty young nurse that after the procedure he was gonna take her for a night out on the town. As he recovered in the hospital, Mama smuggled  in the ingredients for his egg dram. (Can you imagine Mary Frances in a liquor store?)  As she was pouring the whiskey, the surgeon walked in and caught her redhanded, snatching the bottle from her hand. She was embarrassed and horrified. But then the surgeon said, "What is wrong with you? This man has just had both his legs removed. Give him more whiskey!" He proceeded to add a lavish portion to the drink Mom had been preparing. 

As my Grandfather recooperated in his home, children from the nearby school were brought by to pay him a visit. They sang some songs, and shared handmade cards before their teacher got them moving towards the door. One little boy hung back and stepped closer to Granddaddy. In a shy, quiet voice he leaned over and whispered "What'd ya cut ya feets off for?" His innocence and curiosity became one of the families cherished memories of that time. 

This recording is one Mom made in 2018 about her one of her Christmas Days around 1935. It features one of her favorite memories of her father. And for reference, $5 then is about $115 now. 

 (Just click on the blue sentence to hear the audio and let me know if you can't access. It's about a minute and a half.)

Enjoy! 

Strange Things Happen #maryfrancesstories

There are things in this world you just can't explain. 

My sister used to tell me about my grandmother's ghost. When Elaine first got married, she lived in my grandmother's house next to our house in Seaboard. Years before, when she was a little girl, she and our parents lived there for a time with my mom's parents while my Dad saved money and built our house. My grandfather passed away in 1960, and my grandmother in 1969.  A few years later, shortly after Elaine graduated nursing school and got married, she and her husband, Jesse, lived in "Grandma's house" for a few years before they moved out to our farm. It was a old, old house. My great aunts had lived there prior, and others before them. I can recall vividly the white, one story, clapboard house with it's odd hallways, shady interior, and welcoming porch. It's  skeleton is still standing. 

Elaine said that at night, from time to time, she could feel my grandmother's cool hand on her cheek or forehead, exactly as Grandma had placed it on her when she was a child. Elaine said she clearly saw her, but was never frightened, because she knew Grandma meant no harm. Grandma never made a sound. It's not hard to imagine this being true. My Grandma never got over the loss of her only son in WWII and developed "hardening of the arteries" (Dementia/Alztheimer's) by the time I came along. I can barely even remember her speaking when she was alive. She was an unsettled soul. 

Mary Frances Stephenson Draper, Maggie Vassar Stephenson, Elaine Draper Fisher and me 

My own experience with the unexplained happened in the mountains  with my parents in the late 80s. An "accident" had occured a few months prior at the Chestoa View Overlook. A man, Jim Gibbs, was accused of pushing his wife and her friend off an overlook to their deaths. He described it as an accident, despite many facts not adding up. Mom, Dad and I ventured out to enjoy the view but a morning mist was enveloping the nearby mountaintops and the contrast between dark shadows and filtered beams of morning sun was distinct.The nearby trees seemed to hem us in until we emerged on to the stone outcrop. The rock footing was slick with dew. And it was silent. As silent as a grave. 

I looked at Mom and she looked at me and, there's no other way to put it, we skeedaddled. There was just a sense of evil about the place. I know this sounds overly dramatic, but the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. We both agreed that something felt terribly and in explicably off. My dad, in his own pragmatic way, didn't feel anything at all, but Mom and I talked about it for years. 

Jim Gibbs was exonerated. 

Chestoa View Overlook 

Find here a little audio clip I made of my Mom about two strange things she rememberd in her life. This was recorded in January of 2020.  

   

Mary Frances Stephenson Draper in front of her childhood home. 

Always leave a little room in your beliefs for things you can't explain.