The Leaf-Chronicle from Clarksville, Tennessee • 11

WEDNESDAY, MAY 19, 2010 THE LEAF -CHRONICLE B3 $100 to the Montgomery County Archives. Proceeds go Cumberland Lore Mama Mama Appleton's Home 125-year-old house talks to me By Glenda Appleton Clardy walk up the brick sidewalk to Mama Appleton's house today as I've done countless times before. Suddenly I stop and look at the moss-covered brick sidewalk, laid over 100 years ago. How many times would I walk this sidewalk again? I look up at the ancient maple trees shading the yard. We played hide and seek beneath these trees.

When night fell we caught fireflies and put them in jars with grass. How many other kids had played under these same trees? Now I see the massive stone steps leading from the drive, which is lined with giant maple trees and six stone hitching posts with iron rings. They were before my time. Before the invention of the automobile. Back when people came 'a calling in their horse and buggy.

I look up at the big old house known as the home place. It looks lonely sitting there. Paint peeling. As if knowing the sweet old owner, Mama Appleton, to everyone who knew her, has gone on to her reward in heaven. Tears fall down my face, as I stand and look up at torn and faded curtains in the upstairs windows.

It's as if the windows were eyes and the house is watching and reflecting memories of days gone by. They seem 1 to be saying, "I hold precious memories. Some happy, some sad, a lot of sorrow. They all make up the Appleton family." "I hold the memories of a mother, grandmother, great grandmother, and wife. This woman belongs to me.

I belong 1 to her. As long as she lives, I live. When she dies, what will become of me? In the guise of progress, will they bring in the bulldozers to level me down? Me, who has been home to so many? Now as I look at the torn wallpaper, my four fireplaces, my big empty upstairs rooms, I feel useless. "But there was a time. Well I remember those wonderful times.

I was shining white, freshly painted. I have brick in the walls between each room. I'm built of sold poplar. My ceilings are tall and I have beautiful wallpaper in every room. I have a big front porch with a swing.

I have tall windows from floor to ceiling and they open onto the porch. There's here rusted metal glider where she sat to shell peas and limas. "Listen in on my past when I was happy and needed. "There're six of them now. Francis died when 9 months old and Reuben when just a baby.

Irma Nell, the oldest, Buford Jewell is next, then Maurice Glendon, next is Betty Jean, Gracey and last, Bobby Joe. Each child has left me with precious memories. I hold the secrets of them, too. The mother and father of this lively brood are my owners. The father isn't with me too many years, and I guess I knew him least of all.

Mr. Gracey spent his whole life searching. I don't think he ever found it. He was a good looking man, full of charisma, and easily won Mrs. Alma's heart.

But he broke Mrs. Alma's heart, too. I can't tell you the number of times I have overheard Mrs. Alma cry and pray for Mr. Gracey.

I hid many a jug of bootleg whiskey in my hideaways upstairs for Mr. Gracey. During the Depression years, he did whatever it took to make money. Poor Mrs. Alma.

She was, and always will be, my own true "Appleton Home" painting by Tom Cox, commissioned by Glenda Appleton Clardy. Used with CONTRIBUTED PHOTO The first Appleton's Harley Davidson dealership, started by Glen Appleton in 1949. He and his brother Buddy built it block by block on Old Ashland City Road. From the left are Glen Appleton, unknown, Bobby Joe Pruitt, Axel Johnson, Howard Bell, Rich Richmond, Buddy Appleton, Reed Bowers, Owen Wallace, Maxie Grizzard, Bobby Davison and Rocky Appleton behind an unknown Harley rider. one of Mrs.

Alma's twenty-five grandchildren, looking at my upstairs windows. What is she searching for? Is she looking for clues to a grandfather she never knew? Does she too sense his presence up here? "Let me show you a scene from my past. "Mrs. Alma is cooking dinner. Here comes Glendon again.

He is a handful. He has picked at Mrs. Alma all morning. Her patience is worn thin. Every time she tries to spank him, he hits that screen door and he's gone.

He's as fast as greased lightning. "Oh, me! Is he in for a surprise! Mrs. Alma's taking off after him. He hits the screen door and it's locked. (Mrs.

Alma tricked him and locked it earlier.) Glendon gets a much deserved licking. "That Glendon. Crazy about wheels. Going fast. That youngun's done wore the tires off his tricycle, now he's speeding from room to room on Betty Jean's.

He's never still. Whatever he does with his life it will involve wheels and going fast. He's more like Mr. Gracey than the others. "I'll never forget the time he and Buddy stole their daddy's cigarettes from out at Hilltop and hid under my porch; along came Irma Nell wanting to play and spotted permission.

the world. To really smell the flowers, to look at trees and know, they too, are your creation, just as I am. To feel cool moss and smell of it, to sit and watch creeks flow by, to watch a bird hop back and forth to a nest of babies with a worm for their dinner while the other parent stands guard. You help me to feel in looking at the stars and moon on a clear night, the magnificence of this great universe that you so lovingly created. I can actually feel your presence in warm spring breezes blowing across my face.

My soul is full and overwhelmed at the sound of the ocean. God, how can anyone plant seeds and have the faith that they will burst forth from the soil, nurtured by water and the sun that you provide, and not believe in a supreme being? Or see the miracle of a new life begin, so tiny, so innocent, so vulnerable, and still not believe. Oh Lord! How I pity the non-believers. Their lives have to be so empty. I can look at your handiwork.

The stars, moon, trees, flowers, and all living creatures. All nature is mine. The greatest gift you have given me is the ability to be still and know that you are, indeed, God and the creator. You gave your son Jesus for my sins. Thank you God, I am so undeserving, so insignificant.

No, God, I have no great talent. But I have the greatest gift you ever gave. Life. My life. My children's lives.

I had the privilege of raising three of your beautiful children, Ricki Holleman, John Wayne Clardy Jr. and Caroline Bond. May they serve you well. Lord, let me be one half the grandmother to my children my Mama Appleton was to me. She was my Rock.

My inspiration. "Mama Tried," let that be my Mama Appleton's theme in glory. them with the cigarettes. I can hear her now, screeching, 'Daddy, Daddy. Buddy and Glen's under the house When Mr.

Gracey was through with them, Glen and Buddy were smoking at both ends. "I remember well the time that Glendon threw Gracey Jr. in the pond and told him to out. Gracey, Jr. couldn't swim a lick.

Glen came to the house and left him. Needless to say, Gracey Jr. learned to swim that day. "I will never forget the day Glen got bit by a snake and sat down, took his pocket knife and sucked the venom out. Those younguns are all strong and crazy about motorcycles.

I hope they find a way to funnel all that energy into something worthwhile. They are Mrs. Alma's heart and soul." Spring is in the air. The trees are budding. Mama Appleton's hyacinths and buttercups are blooming.

I stop to smell the hyacinths. The smell is indescribable, as is this day. God, thank you so much for giving me the gift of life. It's so wonderful to be alive. I know that although you didn't give me talents such as music or artistic ability, you gave me something that all people are blessed with but seldom use.

The ability to stop CONTRIBUTED PHOTO Glen Appleton, founder of Appleton's Cycles, and his precious mama, 1949. love. When Mr. Gracey left for good, I was the only comfort he left her. (Besides her children, of course.) He gave her me, my surrounding land, pond, stable, cows, horses, hogs, and chickens, then left us for a much younger woman.

I hope someday his soul will be at peace. Some of the grandchildren say his soul is still here, upstairs. They say they've felt his presence, felt him gazing out the window. "There stands Glenda now, Precious Memories Taking a rock and knocking off a chunk of cow's salt, then licking it, not minding that the cows had licked before me. Going in the corn crib to get corn to feed the chickens, and running from the black racer that resided there.

SEE APPLETON, PAGE B4.