Sara Silvey Moore (1919-2018), A Tribute

Last Thursday, July 12, I received the call that I had been expecting for some time, yet dreading nonetheless. My grandmother, Sara S. Moore, had passed away peacefully at the tender age of 99.  I had thought that I might write an obituary.  But I’ve chosen to pen something more personal.

You might be wondering what this might have to do with vintage cameras. Well, nothing really other than a few photos that were undeniably made with vintage cameras. But today it is my pulpit, so bear with me.

Sara Josephine Silvey was born to Tom and Ethel Silvey on March 21, 1919, in Fulton County, Georgia.  Soon afterwards, the family moved to Whitesburg, Georgia, and that’s where Nana (as she was know to us grandkids) spent the majority of her 99 years of life. It’s where she met her husband, W.G. “Bill” Moore, and got married in 1937. It’s where she raised two children – Robert and Sylvia – and played host to us four grandchildren for what I remember as some of the happiest times of my childhood.  Mom says that she completely spoiled me. I don’t think I’ve ever disagreed with that.

My family was living in the Chattanooga, Tennessee area mostly from about the time I was born until I started high-school.  And Chattanooga isn’t that close to Whitesburg, Georgia.  Back then before the Interstate System was completely finished, a trip between the two could take around three hours. But that didn’t stop us from coming down countless times on a Friday after school and heading back home after church on Sunday.  And in the summer when school was out, I’d spend weeks at a time there.

As these past few days have gone by, I’ve been thinking about her life and the cumulative effect it has had on me. And I began to think about specific things that can be attributed to her and my grandfather from all that time spent at Twin Oaks Farm.

Mud pies.

Playing in the dirt and building roads.

How to shell peas.

How to snap beans.

How to shuck corn.

Learned why and how you canned tomatoes.

Deciding I don’t like rutabagas.

Constantly waffling on whether I liked turnip greens, but spinach was terrific.

Cheese toast with Karo Syrup.

How to be careful digging potatoes. It was like finding buried treasure.

Hiding from my sister in the corn stalks.

Trying not to brush up against the okra plants.

How to deal with chiggers, Beggar’s Lice, and cockleburs.

I had a rooster named Hoyt and a hen named Jean. Jean layed green eggs. And Hoyt was mean. I remember all the times my Papa would come out of the coop, forearms bloodied from defending himself. He never raised his voice or spoke ill of Hoyt, but I’m sure he wished that rooster dead.

Having a blast in the lake at Tanner’s Beach.

Playing in the creek at McIntosh Reserve – before the road was paved.

Seeing Star Wars for the first time. This was a MAJOR event, by the way.

Shopping for Star Wars action figures at the Big K.

Shopping for Star Wars action figures at the Super D.

Shopping for Star Wars action figures at the K-Mart.

Buying food at the Colonial Grocery.

Having lunch at the counter at McCrory’s.

Going with Nana to the craft store was interesting because of the variety of odds and ends.

But going to the cloth shop was the worst thing in the world.

Spinning myself dizzy on the tire swing.

Playing under the front porch.

Gathering blackberries and muscadines.

 

Finding out firsthand what a salt-lick tasted like. It’s about what you would expect.

Vacation Bible School.

Buying Sixlets from the Stop n Shop.

I learned the important difference between Merthiolate and Mercurochrome.

Waiting out a summer rain in the treehouse with a couple of comic books to pass the time.

Building a haunted house in the carport for halloween and inviting the kids I knew from Bible School and church.

Having a homemade Batman costume.

Having a homemade Darth Vader costume. I’m sure she dreaded the holidays that required costumes.

How to build a tent out of a sheet and two kitchen chairs.

Nana even took me to see “Jaws” and the original “Friday the 13th”.  I don’t particularly remember why she thought that was ok, but I’m sure she was mortified. And never said a  word about it to me.

And, I’m sure I’ll think of 100s of other things as the years go by.  This dear woman spoiled me rotten and meant so much to me.  My childhood was shaped in large part by all of the wonderful experiences she afforded me. And I wouldn’t trade any of them for the world.  And when the great-grandkids came along, she doted on them, too. Her refrigerator was decorated by newspaper clippings, crayon art, and thank you letters. And she would brag on us all every chance she got.

 

I’ve struggled with exactly how I might end this – falsely thinking that this would somehow be the last word for Sara Silvey Moore. But in truth there will be no last words.  Her legacy will remain alive.  Her influence on my life is inextricable. And it will be clearly evident in the way I avoid rutabagas and merthiolate.