I’m not sure how exactly I ran across your blog “Tales of the Rolling Fork”. I lived on Minors Branch for a little over a year; we must have missed each other in passing, as I moved back to Illinois in early 1986. Lewell and Jewell were my neighbors, I lived at the house at the top of Mule Hill. I still keep in contact with their daughter Shiela, we have remained close over the years. I last saw Jewel when she came up to Illinois to visit family. She is a lovely woman. I have such fond memories of the Mills home, too many to bore you with the details. All the people you wrote about, I remember… Red Nielson too! Your blog brought back so many memories; you described his house perfectly. And the picture of Lewell brought tears to my eyes. I can hear him laughing and I can see his twinkling blue eyes. Shiela and I used to sunbathe in the creek under the bridge by your store too!
Thank you for sharing-Minors Branch will always have a special place in my heart.
Hi Christine, So happy to hear from another person who lived on the Fork. Such great memories I have of Forkland and I wanted to keep them for my children. I think Jewell is in pretty bad shape as I am friends on Facebook with one of the girls and some of the family. I see where they say she is not doing well at all and is bedfast. I am friends with Bonnie Mills and Heather, Lavonne’s Daughter. My girls think the Fork was a magical place to spend some of their growing up time and I loved every minute I was there. Good to hear from you and happy you enjoyed my story of the years on the Fork.
In order for this blog to make sense to you, please read starting with the oldest post first. Go to the left sidebar and under Archives click on December 2007. When the page comes up, go to the bottom of the page and click on the title of that post which is dated December 11, 2007. You will have to do this each time to read the blog in the order in which it was posted.
A POEM ABOUT ME: WHERE I’M FROM
I am from tobacco fields and strawberry patches, fried chicken for Sunday dinner and sweet tea.
I am from frame farm houses, weeping willow trees, and juicy, red grapes on the vine.
I am from the lilac tree and peony bush whose early morning fragrances float through open windows along with the bright sunlight.
I am from picnics on the Fourth of July, family reunions, hardworking men and frugal women.
I am from ghost stories, games of red rover, hopscotch, marbles, and roller skates.
I am from ice cream and chicken noodle soup for colds and a doctor that came to the house.
I am from Methodists, Baptists, Pentecostalism, Catholics, and worshiping God by being spiritual within and loving life and being kind to others.
I am from the Bluegrass State of Kentucky with goldenrod and redbud lined back roads, coal mines and racehorses, biscuits and gravy and country ham.
I am from a grandfather I never knew with a handlebar mustache, a grandmother with long braided hair worn pinned into a bun on the back of her head, a homebody mother, and a father that gave me my love of nature.
I am from fragments of people, hardships, love and experience. I can not ask to be from more.