GRANDMA'S STORIES

The Whetsels of Brownsville, Indiana, about 1900. As did I, my grandmother Hazel arrived later in her parents' life. Far right, seated, is her mother, Sally Ann, who interacted with Indians as a girl, and saw the Abraham Lincoln Funeral train. Her youngest daughter -- my Grandma Hazel -- stands next to her. Hazel's father is seated in the center. I recognize Grandma's sister, Etta, in the back. The little kids are probably Hazel's nieces and nephew. Mine are nearly my age, too.

Grandma Jobe spent her entire life living in either Brownsville, Indiana, or Rural Route 1, Brownsville on the family farm.

In her final years, she lived on the farm with her only child, Huburt, and family – my dad and our family. There, Grandma shared a bedroom with her only granddaughter, me.

She slept in a plain twin bed, but as grandmas do, she bought me a new, double one – a white, four-poster with a light-blue canopy and matching bedspread. I loved it.

She told me many of her life’s stories, as well as those handed down from her mother, Sarah “Sally Ann" Whetsel. Both of our mothers had us later in life, so the tales date to the middle-1800s.

They were stories that reached deep into not only the history and heritage of one typical, Hoosier family taking up a small spot in the cornfields of Indiana, situated on the Whitewater River banks, in and  near the Union County village of Brownsville.

These were tales that heard now, seem to transcend one family and reach into American history: stories that included Indians and Abe, as well as local drama.

I was 9 or 10 when, armed with grandma’s stories in my mind and imagination, I penned an essay called, “The Good Old, Bad Old, Days of Brownsville.” I still have it because my mother saved everything.

The piece took second place in the 4-H essay contest, and I got a check! Never mind that the prize was $7 (if memory serves) and there were probably all of three in the competition. It was my first essay, ever. And at age 9 or 10, I was paid for writing it.

Fast forward thousands of essays, letters, feature and news stories, columns, emails, and blog posts later, not to mention about a half century’s worth of time.

A year ago my friend Janis Thornton told me that Indiana University Press was accepting essays for a book called Undeniably Indiana. She said what editors wanted were Hoosier essays and that this project had my name written all over it and I should hurry up and enter because the deadline was near.

So I sat down and updated those stories, simple, old ones you don’t hear firsthand anymore, ones that came from Grandma, and from her mother; sort of a fiftysomething granddaughter rewrites grandma’s memories. Somehow, it felt like the article I should submit.

And guess what? The piece was chosen for inclusion.

Still, I didn’t say too much about it or get up my hopes in case it got bumped.

So when Undeniably Indiana was recently released, I held my breath and bought it on Kindle.

Grandma’s stories are there, on pages 147-148. Of course, tons of other people’s stories are there too, but I had to see hers first. (You know you’d do the same.) Then I picked up the printed version.

I read my piece aloud last weekend on the Union County Courthouse square, not far from the original sites mentioned in the essay. It was broadcast over the public address, this summary of 170 years of community history as reported from the Whetsel-Jobe-Cronk women.

This is ironic when you consider that I was asked to participate for the weekend as a storyteller.

Those coordinating the program didn’t even know going in about this essay.
I’ll read the piece again next week – as I talk about the importance of families sharing multi-generational stories and talking to one another in this age of electronic devices during family night at a local elementary school. I was asked to give the opening program.

This just occurred to me: Grandma would be proud.

We’ve come full circle: Sally Ann from the mid-1800s, Hazel from the late 1800s to 1968, and me, still at it – storytellers.

Donna Cronk is author of two novels inspired by her Union County hometown. They are on Amazon or available from the author. The first is Sweetland of Liberty Bed & Breakfast. The new one is That Sweet Place: At Home in the Heartland. Cronk enjoys giving inspirational programs. She welcomes subscribers to this website. Reach her at [email protected].

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Hazel Whetsel Jobe with her only surviving child, son Huburt, my father, circa 1920.

Grandma's older sister and husband, Orville and Etta Campbell, circa 1900. The building behind them remains recognizable today in Brownsville.

Grandma at Rural Route 1, Brownsville, Indiana, 1950s, on the family farm where I grew up. The home and summer kitchen to the right were ours, and before us, Grandma and Grandpa Jobe's.

My great-grandmother Sally Ann had some incredible experiences that resonate today: She interacted with Indians and viewed the Lincoln Funeral Train.

Grandma Hazel Whetsel Jobe, right, around 1900, with her likely her two sisters. I recognize her sister Etta, standing. In Etta's final years, she lived with my widowed grandmother in Brownsville. I was there when Etta died. Her funeral was the first I attended.

Grandma and me, 1967, possibly the summer I wrote the essay which inspired the one in "Undeniably Indiana." She may look grumpy here but she was not! She was a lot of fun and spent many years as the Brownsville United Methodist Church pianist. My niece, Marlene, has her piano, and I'm so glad.