Ruth Kennedy: 2014

Ruth W. Kennedy is the oldest of the quilters living. So cool. Generous, welcoming, appreciative. She enjoys speaking of her long life. Her father ran the cotton gin, extra cotton from the gin was given by Ruth’s father to women in the community to use for quilt batting, they would have to pick the tiny seeds out of the fluff so that the oil did not stain the fabric. Ruth talks about the communal process of quilting: during the winter the women would go from house to house in the evenings in order to work on the quilts of their neighbors. They’d sing, gossip, philosophize and eat.

Ruth married Johnny Kennedy and they were able to buy their home and land from his parents. The house is a Roosevelt House, and Johnny added to it creatively and well. They planted everything. Cotton, vegetables, corn, raised their own meat. Ruth had only three daughters who all went to college.

One afternoon I stop by at Ruth’s to introduce Sammy. She is welcoming in curlers and delights in my daughter. Her hair! Does she comb it all by herself?

The Way to Gee's Bend

The way to Gee’s Bend:

Tunnels of piney woods. Walls of kudzu. Long and low, but not quite as flat as the South Carolina lowcountry. There are dips, like a rollercoaster ride in the kudzu. There’s a vastness in the humidity. A trailer pops up. Prairie like fields emerge out of the woods. Many head of cattle grazing. Dilapidated wooden buildings, then a lovely old plantation house or well-kept church. A large metal building with a quilt of a roof- different colors of corrugated tin. Fireworks stands. Ye Shall Know the Truth missionary Baptist Church is housed in a vast metal shed like building with a steeple plopped on top. Even the light is long and low now; it’s spectacular. The sky is black with thunderstorm, torrential rain interspersed with brilliant sun. Out of miles of nowhere there is now a small wooden building with a hand painted sign:

HATS    DVDS    SHADES

At Pleasant Grove Baptist

Although visiting in Gee’s Bend is quite church like, I always want to attend Sunday service. This year I carry Sammy to Pleasant Grove Missionary Baptist Church; it’s the church where Martin Luther King, Jr spoke, and Mary Ann Pettway is in the choir. We drive up to the brick building as Sunday School is ending, a bit early for the main event, so we sit in the quiet comfort of the rental car’s AC, looking. A very large woman in a white suit carrying a massive watermelon greets a second large lady, putting the melon in the gleaming trunk of a big white car.

 It happens to be Homecoming on this particular Sunday, and we are there for close to four hours. The sermon itself is over an hour, with the pastor singing half of it. He talks about evil, he speaks of gratitude. The congregation responds. The choir belts out lovely punctuation. There are two collection events. The deacons speak. We are called on to speak, we are welcomed to the church. We watch squirmy children, teenaged boys elbowing each other, shirts pressed, tucked into pants that hang low. Finally it is over and we are invited to lunch in the fellowship hall. Women with aprons covering church clothes stand over large stainless steel trays filled with mac and cheese, greens, fried chicken. They spoon dollops onto Styrofoam plates. The room has a baptismal pool; it is painted aqua and has a painting of Jesus on the wall that was done by a member of the church. I am sad that no one has come forward on this day wishing to be baptized.