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The Little Blue Chair
I prefer to be surrounded by things that have a story to tell.
New things are nice, but I prefer knowing the history of an object to be
reminded of stories about the past.
I have and love some interesting things in my home. One is a
small, mule eared, cane-bottom chair that belonged to my grandfather
Bunch.
The chair has a story to tell. My Grandpa Bunch (all titles
required an additional descriptor to keep all of my many relatives
sorted) was a farmer in the Ozarks. He and his bachelor brother, Uncle
Sam, managed 80 acres of mostly bottom land in the Big Sugar Creek
Valley.
The farm was largely self-sufficient and outside the money
economy. It was called the Scots style of farming. Each place was a
small kingdom unto itself. They made, raised or found food and materials
needed to support an extended family of eleven people – my
great-grandmother Bunch, Uncle Sam, Grandpa and Grandma Bunch and their
seven children. They had cattle and sheep, horses and mules, chickens
and guineas, raised a big garden, grew corn and wheat, even tobacco.
From the land they hunted and fished and found nuts and berries and
sassafras for a spring tonic. They traded milk, cream and eggs for small
items like spices, sugar and coffee.
One day about 1940,Grandpa was driving a team of mules home
from Southwest City on the Oklahoma/Arkansas border with a load of
cornmeal ground at the local mill. As he began the steep descent down
Pine Hill Road into the valley, something spooked the mules, and they
ran away. He was tangled in the reins and when the wagon finally came to
a stop, he was severely injured, including a broken pelvis. When he was
found by nearby neighbors, they carried him to their cabin, probably
making the injuries worse. After three days of pain and misery, a doctor
was located, but he had to be sobered up to give Grandpa Bunch any
medical care. His cuts and bruises healed, but the broken bones were not
set properly, and he walked painfully with a cane the rest of his life.
In addition, he was unable to sit comfortably. As a
resourceful farmer, he sawed off the legs to the little wood chair
constructed by a neighbor to a height he could tolerate sitting on. One
of my memories is seeing him sitting in the chair in the front yard,
reading the Kansas City Star. The bright sunshine helped him read the
small type with his failing eyesight,
After he passed away, my Aunt Etta inherited the chair. Aunt
Etta was also resourceful in making things useful. She also had an
innate artistic ability. She liked to paint anything that stood still
for more than 5 minutes, so the chair was coated with light blue paint
and used as a plant stand for many years.
I was given it by my Aunt Etta more than 40 years ago when I
returned to live in the Ozarks once again. I used it for a stack of
extra towels in the guest bathroom. The chair has an honored spot in my
new apartment and continues to remind me of the dear people who are no
longer with me and brings history alive to me once again.
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