By JANET HART LEONARD
From the Hart
My story doesn’t begin with my birth, but with the story of my parents.
As I began writing my book, I realized I had to share the story of my parents so you could understand my story.
My parents were born three years before the Great Depression in the hills of Kentucky. They were poor before everyone else was poor.
A few years before my mom was born, the Catron family home burned to the ground. The Catrons were left with nothing but the simple clothes on their backs. They moved into the home of my great-grandparents, Granny and Granpap. Five children and four adults in a four-room house. An extra kitchen was added. It was still a lot of family in a small area of square footage.
Then my mother was born. It was 1926. Another five girls would be added, one about every two years. Ten girls. One boy. Same house. They gave real meaning to being a “close” family. It was a good thing the older sisters would marry and leave home before the younger sisters were born. Most Catron sisters were married by the time they turned 17. That was just the way it was back then.
I often think that my mother’s story reads a lot like Dolly Parton’s story, without the … music, although guitar and banjo picking was often heard on their front porch on Saturday nights when cousins came for a visit. Country tunes, as well as hymns, would be strummed and sung well into the night. A little bit of honky-tonk and “Tom Dooley” would blend in with the soul-seeking chorus of “Shall We Gather at the River.” It was sort of like bringing sin into repentance the night before they went to church.
Water would be fetched from a nearby spring. The “necessary room” was down a path. Food was raised or hunted to kill. Times were hard. Items from the country store were luxuries the family would struggle to afford, things like sugar, flour, fabric and shoes. Things we take for granted.
Dad’s mother died during childbirth, leaving him with an overwhelmed father who had several other boys to raise. The Harts lived on the same mountain as Dad’s birth family. Mr. Farrell knew the Harts were good people and Dad would be well cared for, so he asked the Harts to adopt him. Dad grew up going to school with his biological brothers. Dad would be passed along to two stepmothers after his adoptive mother died. On his adoption record, only his adoptive father’s name is listed, no mother. Things sure were different back then.
If you are a bit confused, welcome to my world as you get a glimpse of our family.
Mom and Dad came from good people. They were raised by the words in the “good book,” as well as the switch and the strap, if you know what I mean.
I come from good people who were not afraid of hard work. Grandpa Catron left home before sunrise to walk to work in the coal mine or the sawmill. He walked back home in the dark. My grandma would kill a chicken, work in the garden, sew a quilt, sweep the dirt around the outside of the house, birth a baby and keep track of more than a few of their other children. Rest was not a commodity she could afford.
The Catron and Hart families would share what little they had with anyone who might just happen to stop by. My mother inherited the idea that no visitor should ever leave her house feeling hungry. Company would be fed whether they needed it or not. I might have inherited this idea as well.
The meals were simple. Food was brought in from the garden and cooked fresh. On special occasions, fried chicken, fried potatoes, a pone of cornbread and apple stack cake were on the table. Dessert was a luxury. Leftover cornbread was crumbled into milk or buttermilk for a later meal. Nothing was wasted. My family is known for their longevity, even with all that fried food.
With nine aunts and one uncle on my mom’s side and four aunts on my dad’s side, you can imagine I have lots of first cousins. Let’s just say our quiver is full. I know of 60 cousins from my Catron aunts and uncle and 13 from my Hart aunts. Don’t ask me to name all of them.
In a few weeks, you will be able to read more about my family and how I was raised. There is so much to tell. I think you will fall in love with my Hart and Catron families. I know I did, from the very beginning. I have quite the story to tell and you will find out why I am the way I am. When the Hart Speaks … coming soon.
Janet Hart Leonard can be contacted at janethartleonard@gmail.com or followed on Facebook (@janet.hartbaker) or Instagram (@janethartleonard). Visit janethartleonard.com.