07 October 2018

Ann E. (Bullard) Pemberton

She's not buried in the cemetery where most of the family is, but oddly enough, in a plot all by herself right behind Richardsville Methodist Church, surrounded by this little iron fence.

I obviously never met this woman. She was born in 1828. But she's been part of my life as long as I can remember.

She's my paternal grandmother's maternal grandmother. Her father died when she was about three. I had several of her school books, still covered in the cloth coverings she made for them. She attended Orchard Farm School. Spellers, history books, and some English books that are some pretty tough reading! I believe Lauren has most of them now. Next to my bed is the wash-stand her husband made. In my dining room is a bench that my grandkids just ate on and that her husband made. The matching table also happens to be in my basement as my desk, and also made by Thomas.

Her visage greets me every morning and evening, from the picture hanging beside my closet and looking at the night stand that sat beside her bed a century and a half ago. In another ten years it will be 200 years since she was born. But her memory lives on. The past has never seemed to terribly distant to me. I think growing up with folks like Ann E. Pemberton explains that a bit...

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