Beverly England Williams
The First Year
One of my earliest memories is of Wakefield, Kentucky, a village
near Louisville. I remember a woman and a man coming to the
house and the adults holding animated conversations as I lay
in bed upstairs. One Christmas afternoon these visitors had
to dodge a hyperactive three-year old whose parents, to their
dismay, had told her that her Christmas lollipop --with its
soft and looped stick --was safe for running. That lollipop
lasted the whole day.
The next time I remember seeing Florence and Clarence was
at Koinonia. Memories of that year on the Farm include:
- living in the old farmhouse. That winter we three kids
(John, Jeanette and I) had, in succession, the measles, mumps
and chicken pox. At the end of the siege Mother, exhausted,
contracted a serious case of the mumps. Dad, busy with farming
and child care and never a good cook, began mixing together
all the leftovers and calling it "Muckaloochee Special."
Being both trusting and hungry, we always ate it.
- the entire community gathering in the yard on Sunday afternoon
for watermelon.
- the first summer volunteers, who shared a tiny bedroom in
the farmhouse. The neat one drew a line down the middle of
the room to protect his half from the other's junk. One of
them collected rattlers from the snakes he killed. I think
that was also the one who would throw our dog Inky into the
creek to my screams of "WATER MOCASSINS!" Inky,
however, was a water spaniel and relished the swim.
- adults spending all day canning green beans, only to waken
to a tremendous explosion. The next day, just as hot, was
spent cleaning up beans and broken glass.
- Eleanor and I waiting for the school bus to begin first
grade at Thalean School. Eleanor and I playing under the old
farmhouse, and giggling through a service at Rehoboth Church.
We were sitting alone on the first row; the adults would have
had to make more of a scene to get to us. Clarence was preaching,
and he illustrated the vanity of a police officer who gave
directions with his new shoes. As Clarence demonstrated, he
knocked over the big white basket of flowers. While the adults
in the congregation chuckled and returned to listening to
Clarence, not so the squirmy six-year olds who could set each
other off for yet another round of giggling.
- Mother, and we children, standing at the front of Rehoboth
Church, saying goodbye to join Dad for a year's study at Cornell.
Years later, when I read of the problems between the Farm
and the church, I recalled the feeling of watching my mother,
uncharacteristically, crying as she said farewell to
her friends there.
After forty five years, it was an honor to return to Koinonia
as a member of the Board. I cherish the people, the early morning
walks to Muckaloochee Creek and the visions of dreams yet to
unfold. Thanks be to God for these fifty years.
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