Hi, Folks!
Meet Miss Eller.
Technically, her name is Ella Johnson Hensley but everybody just calls her “Miss Eller” out of respect and endearment.
I’ve known Miss Eller most of my life and can honestly attest that she is one of the sweetest people on planet Earth. Heck, I’ve never even heard her raise her voice except maybe in song.
Miss Eller has recently had a couple health issues, feeling the results of her life experience. I’d been wanting to photograph & interview Miss Eller for quite some time.
When I got the call that she was feeling better and ready to do her story I hit the door running, heading for the Mile Gap in the Shelton Laurel Community of Madison County, North Carolina.
Miss Eller lives there with her son-in-law and daughter, Casey & Judy Shelton, less than a half mile from her own home. She had lived there with her late husband, Monk, for the better part of 40 year but it now stands vacant.
As I reached the sliding glass doors on the side of the house, I was greeted warmly by Judy. When I entered the room, Miss Eller was sitting in her rocker in a plaid shirt with blue sweater enjoying the golden tones of the approaching autumn sunset.
Miss Eller offered a huge smile and said “Hey, honey. I’m so glad to see you. Please have a seat”.
I complied with her request but not before first getting a soft kiss on the cheek.
When I opened my camera bag and she said “Before we start, reach me my Bible there to your left. If you ain’t got the Lord, you don’t have anything”.
“Yes, Ma’am” I respectfully replied……. When a woman of this caliber gives you an order you simply follow directions.
“Now I’m ready” she says matter-of-factly as she softly rocks.
After a few quick photos are taken I grab my notebook & pen.
“Miss Eller, what year were you born?” I ask. In a knowing way, she cuts to the chase knowing fully well what I was too polite to ask.
“I’ll be 93 years old on November 25.” She says with a wry grin.
I realize that I have been outsmarted.
Something I have discovered in these interviews with the “old-timers” of Appalachia; they do not dilly-dally or toy with romantic foolishness when telling their stories.
Nope. Not one little bit. They are brutally blunt and honest. They let the chips lay where they fall much in the fashion that they have lived their lives: Honest & Truthful.
Miss Eller then starts rattling off the facts of her life with a razor sharp memory, honed as keen as the finest quality knife.
When Miss Eller starts talking, I don’t look up or interrupt much. I just let her talk simply trying to keep up with my pen and paper expecting them to ignite at any moment.
“I was born on November 25, 1923 to Joel & Emma Sams Johnson and I grew up just across the hill from here. I was the eighth of nine children”.
“Steve? We were poor but we were happy because we loved one another and things were simpler then”.
“We slept upstairs because the heat would rise from the fire to up there and it stayed warmer. Nevertheless, I’ve seen times that we had to rake snow off of the floor & beds due to the now which had come through the cracks”.
“Daddy had this huge pot with a log handle and he made popcorn for us a lot, usually a big dishpan full”.
“We walked a lot. We would take one hundred eggs to Major Tweed’s store and would sell all one hundred to him for one dollar. Then we would do business with him. He kept coffee & sugar in barrels and it could be measured out based on a person or families need and expense budget. Flour came in a twenty five pound sack. That sack of flour costed a dollar”.
“Steve? You ever heard of a battling stick”?
Taking a quick break from writing, I look up at her and reply “No, Ma’am. What in the world is that”?
She offers a huge smile, saying “A battling stick looked sort of like a paddle and was about yay thick”, using her thumb & index finger to create a gap of about 4 inches.
“When laundry was done, you would wrap towels and cloths around the end of that battling stick. Then you would beat them over a great big block of wood which was about the size of a tree stump. I’ve spent many, many days battling those cloths”.
“When I started school, I went to the old Whiterock School but wound up finishing at Laurel Elementary & High School after they built it in the 1930’s”.
“My first teacher was Miss Mary Franklin. One day, a little red headed girl pinched me. Miss Mary called us up on the stage. Miss Mary told me to pinch her back in the same spot that she had pinched me. When it came time to do the deed, I didn’t pinch her. I hauled off and hit her between the shoulder blades” she says with a mischievous grin.
“Nevertheless, I was a smart child. Miss Nell Franklin said I was the smartest student she ever had. I was always the spelling bee champion. A fella named Rex Shelton would try to beat me but I would sit him down every time”.
Miss Eller smiles, waiting me for me to catch up.
I ask her how she met her late husband, Monk Hensley.
“We grew up together. He used to throw rocks at me on the walk to school and home. We hated each other”.
I ask how in the world they became romantically interested in each other.
“Things change as you get older. Dating back then consisted of going to church or dinners together and then we just thought it would be a good idea to get married”.
Monk would wind up serving in the European Theatre as a Medic during WWII but Miss Eller says it wasn’t something that he talked about much.
Monk & Miss Eller welcomed three daughters into the world: Judy, Phyllis & Rosa Lee. In 1951, they moved to Illinois.
“Monk worked for a company that made spigots and I worked making tackle boxes for the Plano Company. I made ninety dollars per week”.
Monk & Miss Eller returned to Madison County in 1967 after fifteen years in Illinois. They lived in a quaint white cottage style home to live out their years.
As we wrap up our conversation, I ask “Do you have any regrets, Miss Eller”?
She replies “Not really. I wish I could have went on to be a nurse but there was simply no money to do it”.
I notice that she makes that statement without self-pity or any bitterness. She said it matter-of-factly, the telltale sign of Appalachian resilience; Take what life gives you and move on to the next adventure.
In final, many men have searched Earth’s sea floors in search of treasure. All I have to do is walk up the road and talk to Miss Eller.
Y’all have a great week!