Historic Farm Journal
Presented by the 5th and 6th Generations of the Titus Stephens Family
Statement of Purpose
Our family farm was recognized as a centennial farm in 2013 by the State of Georgia Department of Agriculture. We have joined together in various ways to honor our ancestors, to enhance our legacy, and to never let go of our heritage.
The fifth and sixth generations of the Titus Stephens Historic Farm are the grand and great grandchildren of our matriarch, Clemmie Holmes. We hold great memories of our lives on the farm, and thought it necessary to impart our stories and experiences as a source of information and inspiration.
Our purpose for compiling this journal is to reconnect to our family, recount our rich journey, and to reinforce our farm’s future.
Through the Years – The Generations of the Titus Stephens Historic Farm:
First Generation: Titus Stephens
Second Generation: Lydia Stephens, Titus Stephens, Jr
Third Generation: Clemmie Stephens Holmes
Fourth Generation: Ruby Russell Sullivan, Dorothy Russell, Alma Russell Payne
Fifth Generation: Dorothy Bell Swanson, Pearlie Gholson, Virginia Barlow Seabrook, Shelby Sullivan, Connus Sullivan, Priscilla Payne, Pamela Payne, Paula Payne
Sixth Generation: Jennifer Sullivan, Hope Swanson Reynolds, Gwendolyn Gholson Fuller, Chennetta Gholson, Michael Gholson, Brenda Barlow Alexander, Otis Barlow, Wayne Barlow, Calvin Barlow, Jackie Barlow Alexander, Beverly Barlow Williams, Melissa Payne Feurtado, Nate Payne
Seventh Generation: Kareem S. Danielle R, Vance R, Christian F, Jarrett F, Ashley, Rhonda A, Jason A, Corey B, Tonya B, Jessica B, Tynesa B, Katherine B, Michael B, Elvie, B, Abigail B, Sharonda B, Eric B, C C, Monica B, Whitney W, Hillary W, Melynda P, Cameron F, Chris F
Eighth Generation-To be continued
Titus Stephens Historic Farm Timeline
Titus Stephens’ mother Lydia, born on Africa’s west coast. She endured the Middle Passage, and was sold to the Stephens Plantation in Charleston, SC.
1808-Titus Stephens born in Charleston, the son of Lydia Stephens and her slave master
1819-Titus Stephens sold, and became a part of the domestic slave trade from S.C. to Albany, GA
Albany, GA, during mid 1800s was known as cotton country- and also important for export and import of goods. Titus Stephens was purchased by John Mock for work in Albany, GA during prosperous era
Titus Stephens acquired 200+ acre farmland with assistance of John Mock. Black people could not legally own land.
Titus Stephens married Darcus on the farm.
Titus Stephens became a father: Titus Stephens,Jr 1858. Lidia Stephens, 1863
The end of slavery, circa 1870-Titus Stephens became legal owner of the farm from John Mock
1887 Lidia Stephens became mother to Clemmie Stephens on the farm
Farm ownership transferred to Lidia Stephens after death of her father. Titus Stephens, Jr was deeded a portion of the farmland
During Reconstruction and/or the Jim Crow era of Southern US history, the farm was placed in financial difficulties. Although the reason for this is not clear, ownership of the farm remained intact.
Clemmie Stephens married Benjamin Russell
Children of Clemmie Stephens and Benjamin Russell: Rubye 1910
Dicina (Dorothy)1912 Alma 1918
Late 1800s- old homestead built on farmland. Construction was overseen by Titus Stephens, Jr.
Clemmie Russell married Homer Holmes in Albany, GA They settled on the farm.
1948-Clemmie Holmes raised $202 to pay back debt, to reclaim ownership of the farm
The Great Migration Era, in the US (1910-1970), saw movement by family members to northern cities to work. Children of some family remained on the farm.
1970 old homestead was torn down. The new family home became primary dwelling on the farmland
Circa 1967, deed for farmland was signed over to Clemmie Holmes’ eldest daughter, Rubye Russell Sullivan
1968 Clemmie Holmes signed will stipulating ownership of farm should be shared by her 3 daughters. As deed was previously put in Rubye Russell Sullivan’s name, the will could not be enforced
Deed to farm was handed down to descendants of Rubye Sullivan upon her death in 1999.
2013 Titus Stephens Farm recognized as centennial farm by the state of Georgia Department of Agriculture
2018 ROOTS Initiative began to develop strategy for preserving the farm and family legacy. Groundbreaking ceremony, historic stage play and media coverage for centennial farm and agritourism events
2019-Settlement case with widow of family member, Shelby Sullivan was completed. Titus Stephens Historic Farm taken out of heirs property jurisdiction.
2020 LLC established to manage farm. Family members comprise LLC Board.
2021 LLC has incorporated principles established by ROOTS initiative to preserve and promote the historic farm. LLC Operating Agreement filed with Georgia State Dept
LLC dedicated to increasing conservation on the farm, including work with the USDA.
2022 Titus Stephens Historic Farm website re-established; business plan and objectives developed; LLC Board to begin plan to renovate farmhouse and clear excess forestry for possible venture into agritourism activities. Structural analysis of farmhouse by engineering firm completed.
Ancestry Profiles
A Message from Our Matriarch:
Memories
My cousin, Virginia (Mother Dear), and I grew up in different environments. We have the same grandparents, and our mothers were sisters on the farm. We remind each other that we have strong ties since we can still remember what our mothers told us. Virginia has advised me, more than once to stick with her. Remarkably, at times I understand exactly what she means.
I visited with my cousin on the farm one spring day, coinciding with the celebration of her 94th birthday. She had stories to tell of the family, and her life raising her children. She spent time reminiscing, and I attempted to absorb as much as I could.
I had gone on a tour of the entire 99 acres of our family farm. I was so in awe of the beauty and history I saw, that I invited my cousin to go one day also. She gave me an insightful and profound response, after she reminded me that she has seen the farm many times live, and also in her mind’s eye.
The memories I have keep me going. I have pictures of all my family around me, and thoughts of my past keep me focused. The things I have learned, and experienced makes me know who I am. I function well in this way-I am comfortable.
My memories sustain me, and help me to make sense of the things I see. I find it difficult to venture into new activities in a world that now operates in way that makes no sense. I cannot adhere to anything that is not a part of what I think of as real.”
At that moment, and even now, I cannot be sure if Mother Dear has ever explained herself in this way before. I am grateful she expressed her thoughts to me that day. Aside from being thought provoking, her words caused me to wonder what more she has to say to us all.
-Paula
Pearlie Gholson…In her words…
Purl! Purl! Time to get up! It’s 7:00 am…Gin, Bell and I sleepy-eyed and dazed go out to the field and start our daily ritual of milking our cows and putting them out to graze. Brother and Con get up to pump water for the mules. I am so tired, but when Toomamma tells you to get up…you get up. I finally come in from my morning chores and I am suddenly awakened with the wonderful smell of those hot biscuits from the oven. Gin, Bell, Con, and I hungrily dig into those sweet biscuits. Oh yeah and brother (we used to call him “bug” in those days)… well brother is another story…that boy ate those biscuits like he hadn’t eaten in days! I’ve never seen a boy eat so many biscuits at one time… every single morning…like his last day on earth…
Pearlie Mae Sullivan was born on June 2nd 1931 in Albany, Georgia. The 3rd child of Ruby Russell and Shelby Sullivan. The family worked on their 100 acre farm lovingly run and cared for by Toomama and Little Mama. Soon after graduating from high school (1949) she headed to New York. Following the path of her sister Dorothy, and Aunts Dorothy and Alma.
In 1951, while attending Goodwill Baptist Church in the Bronx, she met a lovely woman named Pauline Campbell. Pauline told her about her brother Morley who was in the Air Force and stationed in Alaska. She thought it would be nice if Pearlie could write to her brother Morley which she did. Their correspondence lasted 18 months and one day, Morley proposed to Pearlie by mail and she accepted. He readily sent her engagement ring thru the mail. Morley and Pearlie met for the first time just one month before their wedding, on May 9th, 1953.
They moved to Philadelphia and soon after Gwen and Chennetta were born. They then moved to Brooklyn, New York where Michael was born. The family moved again to Long Island, New York where they bought a home. Michael sadly passed away in 2009.
Pearlie spent the early years raising her family and as her children got older, decided to go back to work. Soon after returning to work, she decided to go back to school and earned an Associate Degree in Nursing. She then went on to further her education getting a Bachelors and Masters in Social Work. After moving to Georgia in 1991, she worked as a social worker until retiring in 1996.
Gwen and Chennetta married and life revolved around her grandchildren Ashley, Christian and Jarrett. Pearlie was a devoted wife, mother and grandmother. Some of her greatest joy came while enjoying family trips and spending time at the family farm in Albany, visiting family in New York, Philadelphia and by the shores of Long Island with her husband’s family.
While Pearlie enjoyed her profession in social work, she stayed a farmer at heart. She had vegetable gardens wherever they moved. Pearlie took pride in talking of her years growing up in Albany and the love she had for her family. “Picking cotton and shaking peanuts” were her go to discussions on how hard life could be, but more importantly, how much life on the farm meant to her.
MY LIFE WITH RUBYE SULLIVAN
Littlema was so caring to all of us. She was the disciplinarian between her and Toma. She did it with love. Aside from that, Littlema allowed me to participate in school activities after school. She would be the one to pick me up when I couldn’t stay in town at Aunt Mattie Bell’s house, her best friend, sometimes when I had school trips or band rehearsals.
Littlema was a tough lady; she had to be. After our grandfather passed away, I remember she had to learn to drive and step into the gap left after his passing. She adjusted with flying colors. After all, there were seven of us and, at one point, ten with Paula, Pam, and Gay.
I remember one day, she had to pick us up from school, and the car broke down, and she said to a stranger, “Push me, please.” Well, that is one of the phrases we all remember, for that was uncomfortable. We will never forget that. She wanted us to get out and push to start the car again. The boys had to do it. You had to have been there.
Another time, it snowed in Albany, and we all went to the bus stop. She loved herself some Wayne. She told him, “Baby if it gets too cold, you come back home.” We all returned home, and she said, “I told Wayne to come back, not you all.” You see, Wayne was her favorite! Overall, she was a phenomenal woman; after raising her five children, she turned around and raised grandchildren. We had beautiful times growing up. We learned how to make ice cream, buttermilk, milk the cows, can fruits and vegetables, and live off the land.
We thought we were poor, but we had the main ingredients, love, food, and a place to stay; I appreciate all of it. Thank you, Littlema.
Profile; Dicina Dorothy Russell
Dicina Dorothy Russell was born December 5,1912 in Albany, Georgia. She was the middle daughter of Clemmie Stephens and Benjamin Russell. She did not like her given name and chose to be called Dorothy. Her young life revolved around farm and field work. Although she joined with her sisters and other family members in local events, Dorothy exhibited some frailties in her mental condition at an early age.
When she turned 18, Dorothy moved to NYC to begin working. She lived among a network of family in the Bronx, NY. She worked as a housekeeper, and was able to maintain an apartment for a long time period.
Unfortunately the mental problem Dorothy exhibited when she was younger never was treated. She began having episodes of outbursts that caused her to need hospitalization. She was admitted to a hospital in upstate NY, for seven years. While she received psychiatric treatment the family each summer, would show love and support by gathering for a picnic on hospital grounds. Upon her discharge, a metamorphosis occurred right before everyone’s eyes. Dorothy became everyone’s Aunt. She helped everyone in the family. She moved back to Albany, originally to take care of her aging mother. She took it upon herself, to take care of any and everyone. She cooked meals, cleaned and responded in situations with care and kindness. Even today, family members are hard pressed to remember a time when Aunt Dorothy was not nice.
Aunt Dorothy epitomized the transformation that can occur as we live our lives. She did not elaborate on the problems she faced as a child. Neither did we hear her blame or complain about anything contributing to her hospitalization. What she showed us was the love and gratitude she felt for her family. We are all better for having her as an example in our family.
Profile: Alma Payne
Alma Louise Russell Payne was born September 4, 1918 in Albany, Georgia. She was the youngest daughter of Clemmie Stephens and Benjamin Russell. Her young life was full of farm chores, and following her family. She had a feisty and outspoken personality, and wanted to explore the world beyond southwest Georgia. She had aspirations of receiving an education, and decided to pursue it in NYC. She went to beautician school, and later studied health care.
Alma met and married Oliver Payne in 1946. She had three daughters, from her marriage-and found herself raising them as a single parent. She was a hard worker, sometimes holding 3 jobs to support her family. Alma was strong, and championed for women. She taught her daughters to be focused and independent. She had seen the devastation perpetrated on women, and decided not to allow this to be a part of her reality. She was quick with an answer and despised any situation where anyone was being taken advantage of.
Alma loved family. She often hosted standing room only, holiday gatherings in her small apartment in NYC. She enjoyed cooking, crafting and some gardening in her spare time. She helped anyone who asked in her family with advise, or temporary shelter if needed.
Alma moved back to the farm after she retired in 1975. Her life was then defined by her spiritual beliefs and her desire to care for herself and other aging family. The difference in lifestyle on the farm however, proved to work against her remaining in Georgia. Alma returned to NY where she engaged in church activities and civic responsibilities.
Alma Payne passed away in 2016, at the age of 97. She will always be an inspiration to family and friends. She encouraged all to be right, and to never let the evilness of this world corrupt who we are. She reminded us that we live in a crucial time, but God is watching!
DOROTHY BELL SWANSON
Dorothy Swanson is my mother, whom I didn’t know until I came to the North to reside with her after graduating high school in 1965. I got to know her when I moved to New York after high school. That suited me because even though I loved Albany, I couldn’t wait to venture out into the world.
Bell was one of five siblings raised in Albany on the farm. She, like them, often liked to reminisce about growing up on the farm. I learned that my mother was a kind, loving and caring person. That’s where I inherited those traits. She would give one the shirt off of her back which at times left her vulnerable, even to those closest to her. However, to love with our whole hearts, with vulnerability, is a gift which is authentic and that level of love was felt from everyone around her.
After moving to New York, she made a life for herself. After retiring and much soul searching, she relocated to Albany, Georgia, with her ailing mother, predeceased in death. I got to know her and God blessed me by giving me the time I had with her. I am so thankful for getting to know my mother.
Our Stories
MEMORIES OF GROWING UP ON THE FARM
I was born in New York. Soon after, I moved to Albany, Ga where I would finish high school. During this time in Albany, I was raised by two women who inspired me and were influential in my life. The first woman is Clemmie Holms. My great-grandmother, affectionately known as Toma. [Say something about her] The second was Rubye Sullivan, my grandmother. She was known as Littema, and [Say something about her]. Their guidance would instill the love and toughness I needed to navigate a world outside of the rural walls of Albany, Ga.
I enjoyed my 17 years in Albany. We lived in the country, as we called it, but it was a rural area about twenty miles from town. I wanted to participate in many school activities. However, I had to limit them because Littlema was the only one to transport me back and forth after school. As a child, it was tough to understand but as I became older, the more I understood the decisions that were made.
My life in the country was enjoyable. In retrospect, it was a great experience. Even though we thought we were poor. I remember our being ashamed of the car, the Studebaker, the mules and the house. Littlema would often say, “Y’all are some foolish children.” Of course, looking back we are blessed for many reasons. We lived on a farm and grew our own food. Organic before organic. We grew up with cousins and were raised like brothers and sisters. We experienced life together, and with the teachings of Toma and Littlema, we were nurtured and learned about life. It was sometimes challenging, but that made us ready for the world.
We had a good life. Between the episodes of being ashamed of the car, the Studebaker, the mules, the house, our lives were pretty good. Our grandmother would often say, “Y’all are some foolish children.” That’s because we were so ashamed of what we had, i.e., the car, our house, and other things. We didn’t want our friends to see us in the car (and they didn’t have a car at all, and they did not live on a farm. We grew our food and had to buy theirs). We lived in an unpainted house, which was the best in the neighborhood compared to our neighbors. Ha, ha, ha.
Clemmie and Rubye nurtured and loved us; I will remember them fondly. My life would have been much different had it not been for their teachings and the values they instilled in me.
“Life“
I used to think I had the WORST childhood ever, now I know it was the BEST. When I look back, the first image I have are Saturday mornings, because that’s when we got homemade biscuits from Lil-ma. I would sit in front of the tv with that plate in hand with some cane syrup and watch Tarzan and bugs bunny. Afterward it was time to go outside and ride on my bike. Another image is Christmas, I remember fondly, me and Beverly looking up in the night sky, hoping to catch the Big Guy on his sleigh. The security, the love, the sense of family, the discipline (that was rough), and so much more, made my childhood on the farm a BLESSING that I will always be thankful for. Thank you Lil-m, To-ma, and Aunt Dorothy for your strength, your tenacity and your faith, and above all your iron will. These are the traits that I carry with me now; these are the traits that are helping me get through this thing called LIFE
-Jacqueline Alexander.
“A Cotton Picking Good Time”
Our family farm has a history, and each family member has a unique history with the farm. I think as we look at history, there comes across various generational views about the farm also. The fifth generation, of which I am a part, has a different understanding and involvement on the land, than does the seventh generation. It becomes important, I think, for the generations to explain and share their experiences so that the farm’s legacy can easily be continued.
My history with the farm began at age 2. It was a time of turmoil for Black people in America. There were things going on in the southern part of the country that may have been different from what happened in the northern part of the country. Because of economics, my mother sent her children to the farm so that she could work in NY. I lived with her mother, my aunt and uncle and cousins, on the farm until I was age 8. Believing educational opportunities were better up north, than in the south, my mother brought her children back to NY.
The summer of 1962, when I was 11 years old, became a very pivotal time in my life. This was the year I returned back to the farm for the first time. The farm represented freedom to my child’s mind; the city was a place of rules and conformity. My sisters and I were so excited to return home to our extended family. The farm was in our blood-the sights and sounds we had become accustomed to had been missed among the pace of the city. We hoped somehow, that we could stay in Georgia-we had no understanding of integration or discrimination; we didn’t care about educational equity or opportunities-we just thought that farm life was better.
After our reintroduction to the farm and family of cousins to play with, we were given some chores to do. Then my grandmother told us that everyone would rise up early to go to the cotton fields. We were going to pick cotton- and we were going to earn money. My experience working in the fields was limited-and I had no idea what was going to happen. The historical images of Black people struggling to pick large quantities of cotton was not a part of my understanding either. It was a chance to join with the rest of the family, to do what everyone else was doing, to be involved rather than feel the isolation sometimes evident in city living.
That day picking cotton was enlightening. I picked a row of cotton with my sister, and we earned 95 cents. That seemed like a good amount to us-even if everyone else made much more. I can remember that the most enjoyable part of the day was my cousins playing games and telling jokes up and down the rows of cotton. We did as much laughing as picking.
When we got home and started planning for the next days work-my grandmother told me and my sisters, that she needed us to stay back. We were very disappointed because picking cotton was not like work at all. We thought we’d done something wrong, or let the family down by not keeping up with everyone else’s pace. We were heartbroken, but obedient. After some time I thought it was my mother who asked her mother not to send us to the cotton fields again. She thought it best to limit our farm activities, and focus on education. A sign of the times in which we found ourselves, and debates that we had no voice in solving.
As I consider that one day cotton picking experience, I realize that it helped shaped my identity. I learned the strength and perseverance of my people throughout history. More importantly, I learned the importance of the connecting bond and acceptance of family.
“Memories for Life”
For me, I will always consider myself a country girl who never knew hunger. Once I was no longer living on the farm, I took along the many memories that have helped in shaping my life.
How crazy is this memory, I fondly recall the smokehouse. I don’t know the history behind it, but it was probably built from the many pine trees on the farm. The Smoky structure was very dark inside with no windows for any form of light. The few times I did see the door open, it was such a receptacle place with logs overhead from one side to the other. The flesh of different animals was hanging from the logs and other meats propped against the walls as if everything in there had its purpose. I remembered when Toma opened the door I could smell the meat that had been infused by the smoke.
During the fall season I remembered when hogs, calves and other animals were slaughtered for food during the winter. I also remember watching Toma attach a meatgrinder to a wooden table to grind meat and make sausages to store in the smokehouse. She would let me turn the handle for the meat to come out. Not sure if it was something I wanted to do or not do. It doesn’t matter because you did as you were told. From those days to these days, you better appreciate life experiences.
Another childhood flashback that comes to mind is long before the new house was built. It was a stormy and rainy day coming home from school. The kindhearted bus driver decided to turn off the main road and drive us down the muddy road to drop us off at the door. A nightmare it was, the bus got stuck in the mud behind the house for about 20 minutes. All the other kids on the bus could see our unsightly old house with wash tubs hanging on the outside. The mules under a shed and the outhouse sitting off in its glory. However, he finally had to continue around the house through the front yard, ran over Toma’s flower bed and embarrassed Jennifer to know end to say the least.
Another fond memory was when in 1956 it first snowed in Albany, that was the prettiest day of my life. And it was the first time that I had ever seen snow or new what it was. School closed that day and we got to play in the snow. However, by noon the snow had melted. Another flashback was when Toma would take us to New York on the train. To this day I love riding on the train.
Perhaps with such a range of memories, we can’t merely rewind and replay, as though our memories are sealed forever on a cassette tape. That’s simply not how our brains work. All we really have are the stories we tell ourselves and others through memories.
-Brenda
“The Chinaberry Tree”
Throughout my childhood, my memories have captivated two farms: Gravel Hill and County Line Road. The bond is beholding to many lifelong lessons and memories. Also, I used my growing-up on the farm to navigate many aspects of my life.
I loved been outdoors and spending lots of time climbing a huge, impressive chinaberry tree in our front yard on Gravel Hill. I had climbed it many times because it was a great feeling being so high up off the ground. One day my sister decided she was going to follow me up the tree. Too much success she manages to succeed. Well, I got mad and left her in the Chinaberry tree. WELL, WELL, WELL!! Talking about memories, I have never forgotten the whooping my dad gave me. I think I was jitterbugging for two days after that massacre.
Another particularly fascinating time on the farm was the 4th of July celebrations. Surrounding family and friends would gather in an area near the house and feast on roasting barbeque hogs, chicken, goat meat, brunswick stew and other southern dishes that made the event a total success. As kids we played games with sticks, rocks or whatever we came up with at the time.
I was a bit older growing up on our County Line Farm. My great grandmother was a strong matriarch of the family with the patience of a saint. I remember her watching her gennies for hours at a time to see where they were laying their eggs.
Another memory that comes to mind is preserving pears. We would pick them from our neighbor’s tree and Toma would put them on the tin roof of our house to dry them out and then preserve them in mason jars. I also strongly remember the two mules: Goat and Henry. Henry was the lazy one of the two. We eventually sold him, but somehow, he found his way back. I remember at Christmas time we would cut down our Christmas tree for the holiday and decorate it with homemade items. We planted cane on the farm and made syrup with it. Once again, our mule Goat took the lead on that project also.
Another snippet that comes to mind is my grandma’s car AKA kuta shell. On one occasion we were riding in the Kuta shell in East Albany (the heart of town) and the car died. She was begging us to get out and push the car. About six of us were in the car and no one would get out. After pleading a few times “push me please” I got out and pushed it.
For me, from milking cows to plowing the fields the memories are a field of dreams in life and history.
-Glen
“Homework Assignment”
I remember when I was in the fourth or fifth grade, my teacher gave the class a homework assignment to get twenty five leaves and name them. My classmates began to look around at each other, as though to say(how and where are we going to get twenty-five leaves in one day?). I was at ease, because I knew I had my To-ma to help me with this assignment. To-ma spent a lot of time in the woods as though she connected with her native heritage. She knew a lot about nature. That is one thing I loved about To-ma; looking after her guineas, and in the woods was her second home. I could not wait to get home to tell To-ma about the assignment. When I came home, I told To-ma about the assignment and she gladly agreed to help me with the project. To-ma told me to go start collecting the leaves. I started collecting twenty-five leaves. It did not matter what tree leaves I collected, To-ma would name it. I remember I did not have twenty-five leaves, and started to get worried I would not complete the assignment. Then To-ma noticed that I did not have a pine leaf. For the first time, I was educated by To-ma that a pine straw was considered a pine leaf. I never forgot that; To-ma helped me paste the leaves on large cardboard and helped me name all the leaves. The next day, I turned in my homework assignment; I was the only student to turn the assignment in. I remember the surprise on the teacher’s face when I walked in the class. I will never forget To-ma helping me and getting an A plus on the assignment. Thinking back to those times reminds me to have respect for heritage and culture. I am so grateful for my great grandmother sharing her cultural knowledge with me that day. Our family tree has different parts that we should be aware of. I developed a curiosity about my family as time went on. I vowed to understand history and the hidden responses that cause us to react as we do. The best lesson here is that we should always be willing to share and respect other cultural perspectives-because we may learn something new.
-Elvie Lywaine Barlow
“Sunday School”
I remember when we would have Sunday School every Sunday morning around 10:00am, on the front porch of the old house. To-ma would have these old Sunday school books that we used every Sunday. She would teach the same Sunday school message every Sunday morning. Jesus Christ died on the cross to save us from our sins. And we are sinners and need forgiveness of our sins.
One Sunday, Glen, Calvin and I went to the woods and deliberately tried to stay there until Sunday School was over. When we got back to the house about 10:30, To-ma had just started Sunday School. She said, Y’all come on and let us have Sunday School’. If we did not have Sunday School on the porch, we would walk the dusty road to the County Line Baptist Church. This Baptist church was located on the corner of county line road and spring flats road, which is approximately one quarter mile from the house. To-ma would be in front of all of us, and we would be straggling behind on that dirt, dusty County Line Road. When we arrived at church, To-ma would open the church and we would have Sunday School for about an hour. After Sunday School, we walked back to the house. After returning home, To-ma would start dinner. We ate our Sunday dinner; played in the yard until sundown, and went to bed. This was our Sunday routine and activity for years.
I always wondered why Sunday School was so important to my great grandmother. Was she following in her uncle’s(Titus Stephens, Jr), footsteps-since he taught Sunday School for many years. Or did she take on this evangelistic responsibility because she wanted her grandchildren to be like angels. I believe that whatever the reason, the life lessons she lived and taught were just as important. I don’t think anyone could do more to emulate the love of God, than my great grandmother, To-ma.
Elvie Lywaine Barlow
“Momories”
Being barefoot; time with my favorite cousins; peaches; homemade ice cream; Shiloh Baptist Church; Lil Ma; ToMa; Aunt Dorothy; these are some of my first thoughts and memories of “being home”.
I spent my first year of elementary school there, and it’s my earliest memories of myself. These memories lead to focusing on ToMa, who left such an early impression on me with her loving kindness and calm nature. I can envision her walking outside around the house with her trusty stick and her hat: she always seemed to be fully dressed and ready for the day! I loved going on❞p walks with her and hearing her share her memories of growing up or sometimes she would just hum. Most importantly, ToMa taught me how to pray, first with The Lord’s Prayer and then she taught me to always add a blessing for family and others, the prayers that I still do nightly, and did with my children and now with my grandchildren.
She talked to me about being a good person overall, not just a good child and shared her love and joy in being anchored to God and His Word. She made an impression on me in other ways as well through her love for family, nurturing spirit, and knowledge of the land and nature around us; she seemed to be a wealth of quiet knowledge and strength. And sometimes she would awaken me and sneak a spoonful or two of ice cream to me (which I also ended up doing to my grandchildren).
Now that I look back I marvel at how she was able to make all of us feel equally special and leave a legacy of family love, sharing wisdom and memories, faith in God, and a connection to the land.
-Hope Swanson Reynolds
“Face to Face with Nature”
When I was growing up, I had a cat named Princess. I don’t know where she came from, I just knew she was always strolling through the yard with other cats. I remember how adorable and cute she was. I so fondly remember how Princess would meet me every day when I got off the school bus and we would walk back to the house together.
Other times, I remember enjoying taking long walks behind the fields with my cat. I recall how fascinating and remarkably quiet it was to only hear nature at its best. At times I would spot Toma surveying her gennies for their hideouts. I believe this was her favorite pastime and sooner or later she would hone-in on their nesting spot. I also remember the gennies eggs were very hard to crack open.
Also, I remembered what a cook Aunt Dorthey was. One time I saw her drop food on the floor; she just picked it up, put it back in the pot and kept it moving. I never said a word, we just ate. Lil-ma did the baking and Aunt Dorthey was the chef.
I recall also we had a fig tree behind the old house, and I loved eating figs. They would get so ripe for picking that I couldn’t wait to climb the fig tree for its goodies. No matter how slow I would get in the tree, I knew the figs were there. I called it my special little haven. Once I was up in the tree, I would pick the ripest. As I picked, I ate. One time as I was about to finish, I turned to reach for one more and found myself face to face with a snake. In less than a split second I was out of that tree. I don’t know which way the snake went because I was out. I don’t remember ever climbing the fig tree again. However, I did return but stayed on the ground with great concerns.
Good times were also family time. I remember every Sunday night we would gather around the television and watch the TV show Bonanza. Then you would hear Aunt Dorthey in the kitchen lining up bowls and serving us ice cream and cake; then I would scope out the others bowl to see who had the most.
Too often we take the little things for granted. So, let’s not underestimate the power of self- reflection.
-Beverly Barlow-Williams
“The Message”
I think all of us will recall the beginning of our questions about God. We try to figure out our purpose and responsibilities as citizens of the earth.
I had always thought of the the farm as the birthplace of my spiritual journey. I mean, we the children of the farm had Sunday School on our front porch, and worship services on Sundays at Shiloh Baptist Church. Our grandmother had literature from any and every Bible teacher she could find. We were taught all kinds of Bible stories, and told that seekers of God’s salvation should spend time alone with Him in the woods.
We had nature all around us to reinforce scripture. We experienced the works of Gods Hands at every turn- the sun and sky; birth and death; planting and harvest, the brightness of day and darkness of night. So how could we not actively think how real God would become in our own lives?
The spiritual journey encompasses what we see, as well as hear. Music is ever present in our lives, songs instructed, encouraged and entertained. I heard the old Spiritual ‘I Couldn’t Hear Nobody Pray’, when I was young. It became a favorite song of mine. The song tells the anguish of our ancestors during their captivity. ‘Way down yonder by myself and I couldn’t hear nobody pray’. They were looking to God for help and hope. The song reminds me, among other things, that prayer is a connecting force. I still remember the melodic and rhythmic prayers of my mother and grandmother. Those prayers were a humbled, hushed song of praise, that would become a confirmation of trust in Gods love and strength. Remembering these prayers, and so many others helped me form a strong foundation of my own spirituality. It began as an acceptance of the things I had seen, heard and experienced. That I identify and connect with the struggles of those before me became an integral component in my spiritual growth as well. The faith of our ancestors does become fuel for the generations to follow.
Returning, to the farm allows some time to reflect on both the spiritual and practical aspects of its existence for us all. How will we add to what has already been done? I believe the message that our family must realize is not just the history of the farm, but also the sacredness of the land. It is clear that the 100 plus year history of the farm included some cruel hard times. That the farm and our family were not lost testifies of the tears shed and prayers answered there. No matter the circumstances surrounding us, the outcome was always that of love and grace on the farm. God has honored our people, our family and our own lives. We must together, decide how we will honor God.
Titus Stephens Historical Farm 