Making Do

Life back then for simple people was about making do. The few material items passed down the family line are not the true treasures. What lives on is how they lived, not what they bought or acquired.

Bibles, quilts, a sewing machine, a refurbished bed set, and a few pieces of china. This is what remains from my great grandma. Simple people pass down simple things when their time in this world comes to an end. Life back then for farmers in rural Georgia was about the necessities and making do and these items, the bibles, quilts, and such, were the substantive ingredients of their everyday life.

Valuables and trinkets were few and far between when each planting season started with a bank loan that became due at harvest, regardless of the consequences of weather, pestilence, or disease. The only things to pass down were the textiles to keep you warm through the winter nights, the sewing machines to extend clothing’s life span, a bed to rest weary bones in, the scripture to sustain you, and porcelain pieces when times were good to keep dreams alive.

Yes, those were the necessities. The real treasures passed down are the ones that cannot be taken away, only given. A rich language of sayings that carry multiple meanings based on tone, context, and whether or not something is being pointed in your direction such as a finger, a spoon, or a frying pan. A knowledge of seasonings and cooking that can turn any undesirable cut of meat or vegetables that have been served one too many times into a delectable dish everyone clamors for. Wisdom that coats itself in a humble and unassuming accent. A sixth sense of knowing the weather and its tendencies and how to plan accordingly. Superstitions that live on because it couldn’t hurt to continue them. An appreciation of nature and building a life around it, content that nothing man-made could ever compare. And to have gratitude in each day because you never know what the next will bring.

What lives on is how they lived, not what they bought or acquired.

Yes, they had dreams and aspirations. To not have to bury their children, to not struggle to scrounge out a living, to live high off the hog, to have opportunities that did not extend into the backwoods and farmlands. They did the best with what they had. The irony is not lost on me that their dreams may have been to leave this land behind, and mine call me back to it.

The material items can only go to one person; the intangible goes to everyone. In the end, they gave more than was possible, stretched it into generation after generation just as they did clothing, quilts, bibles, and the like. And truth be told, it lives on still—in language, kitchens, and the wisdom and values that guide each day.

Given the choice, I would rather bequeath what they did.

It has made me who I am.