The Montana sky over the small town of Melstone grew dark as green clouds boiled over the prairies along the Musselshell River. Impregnated clouds unleased balls of hail as the storm swept through the countryside. The Knapp’s grain crop was completely destroyed but even that did not dampen their spirits for their firstborn baby girl made her appearance. That was July 18, 1927, and the newborn was my Mama.
Her eyes were like green hail clouds, and just like the gathering storm, sometimes my mom was a force to be reckoned with. She was a strict no-nonsense mama who had expectations for her kids and grandkids. Sometimes she was even a bit scary. Those cloudy green eyes could burn a hole right through you and peel back every layer to expose what lay beneath. She held the utmost of values and encouraged others to attain the same heights.
This girl from the prairie came from a long line of survivors, those who traversed across the country and forged new trails that opened the west. At a young age during a time of drought, Mama and her sister saw the countryside from the back of a covered wagon as they made their way from Montana to Idaho in search of good grass and relief from the dry barren land. The family later moved back to Montana where she and her sister attended prairie schools. When she graduated and received her teaching certificate, she taught in a one-room schoolhouse on the prairies of Montana.
Though she loved the prairies, she had a greater love for her little Man of the Mountains and made the Crazy Mountain wilderness her home for a time. Living in the heart of the mountains was no small feat. With harsh winters and few necessities, Mama made a home for her husband and their Montana born children. Encouraging her husband “Buck” to follow God’s call into the ministry, they gathered up their family for the trek South. They added another child, their “Georgia peach,” to their collection of kids and there, she finished her days.
Mama was an industrious lady. She made most of our clothes and excelled as a seamstress. She was an artist, calligrapher, homemaker, quilter, made her own bread, canned her own produce, and managed the household. Her home was always a place of open hospitality. Idleness was not an option in her home and any spare time was used in her love of reading.
Had Mama lived, she would be 95 years old today. Her journey had been a long one from the Montana prairies to the wilderness to the deep South. She lived those years well. Though her life ended abruptly sixteen years ago, I can still see those cloudy green eyes of a storm. Her love of her family and her giving spirit continue to rise over us and bathe us with memories of a gracious lady.