Nell 1898
“What, oh what, has come to pass?
No wonder our world is in such a sorry state. Children, and even
grownups, stare blankly when I ask – in earnest and really wanting
to know – “Are the deer-tongues in bloom? Maybe a grownup might
seem more comprehanding after rephrasing of the question. “Have you
noticed any dog-toothed violets blooming yet?” Not a violet at all,
“trout-lilly in proper parlance. Yet where can I find one single
person who cares? Once queen of the sciences, botany has been exiled
to the status of castaway.”
--Nell Bumgarner in Lucasville
Lore (1995), compiled and edited by Dr. Robert Emerson French and
published by Laura Rachel Bumgarner Franks
This passage speaks to me. I remember
visiting Nell Yeager Bumgarner one day with some members of the
Valley Class of 1988, who were taping a human interest piece as an
assignment of their 100th Valley graduating class. She
told us one of her greatest concerns was that young people did not
have a good knowledge of the flora and fauna in their own woods. She spoke about how her father, Benjamin Yeager, used to
hike with her and point out the name and significance of nearly every
plant and animal they saw.
At the time, I nodded my head in
agreement and didn't give the idea much thought; however, I have
considered many, many times since how important those words of Nell
Bumgarner really were. What vast botanical knowledge lies essentially
untapped by the average person – all within a short distance of his or her
home. With the perspective of her many years (Nell was born in
1895.), she understood the significance of the loss. Nell loved
nature and so often wrote of her experiences with an eye toward the
natural world.
Long Ago Path
Little old path of the long ago.
I never knew then I could love you
so
As, tired and sleepy, with brown
feet I pad,
Pad, pad, padded in the wake of my
dad.
Long ago path, it wandered at will
Through the New Graveyard and the
Old, on the hill
Past the truck patch Dad loved and
tended to –
On, and on, and on then, to the
bottom-land low.
Along you, Dear Path, Dad pointed to
me
Something rare at each turn,
Either bir, flower, or tree,
Some marvel of sky, or the meadow
lark's call,
Or the wisp of red creeper in trees
towering tall.
Sometimes long and weary I found you
then;
It seemed that I'd never get back
home again;
But always, next time, for my bonnet
I'd dart
And be waiting when Daddy was ready
to start.
Little Old Path of the long ago
years,
I can see you yet through the
welling tears;
My head droops low and my heart
grows sad
For you, blessed with memories of
Dear Old Dad.
Nell wrote this poem in 1983 in memory
of trips she used to make with her dad to “The Bottoms,” across
the “Old Scioto River Bed” to where her brothers tended the
crops. She recalled, “Dad husbanded, awaiting the good food Mom had
packed into a big split basket – green beans cooked in an old iron
pot, potatoes boiled whole and browned in bacon grease to a crispy
brown, apple sauce with a touch of nutmeg, pickles, and all the
rest.”
The knowledge Nell acquired was so
valuable, yet the bonding she experienced was, perhaps, the greatest
gift of all. Later in life she treasured this kinship with nature and
held trips to the woods as among the most wonderful times of her
life.
Here is a poem Nell began as a school
girl and finished in 1984. This poem is based on memories about her
and her husband Guy's annual trek to their beloved "McCullick Creek"
(actually, McCullough) out past McDermott, near Arion). To them, it was a magical place
with “green water, huge rocks, banks of partridge berry, pines, and
towering hemlocks strugh with tiny brown cones on their branches.”
Every year they returned to gather Christmas greens and Wintergreen
(mountain tea). Nell also said that “the partridge berries hold
their bright red glow in a terrarium for months.”
The Pinewood
I love to roam in the Pinewood
Where the wild arbutus blooms
And the lofty arches of treetops
Sculpt many vaulted rooms.
I love to roam in the Pinewood
Where the air is balmy and sweet;
Filtered sunshine plays in the
needles
That lie at the old trees' feet.
The fallen log that we sit on
Harbors moss so rich and deep
Cradling tiny red flowerlets
In a privacy they'd fain keep.
Among all of nature's melodies
There's none so dear to me
As the sound of the wind in the
treetops,
The song of the Old Pine Tree.
Nell could tell you of beautiful sights
such as Deer-tongue with “thickish, pointed, dull-green leaves
splotched with brown like the tongue of the deer.” She spoke of
“Rue A-nem-on-ee, a “modest little princesses of the wood with
flowers pink or white on wire-like stems.” She knew baby blue-eyes,
the “churndashers that dotted pasture fields.” She recognized
wild violets, “more delicate and sweeter than regular violets,”
and Johnny-jump-ups “whose heads she 'fought' with, hooking each
head around the neck of the other then jerking the stems.” Nell
spoke of trilliums, baby iris, and Dutchman's britches.
Dutchman's Britches
Deer Tongue
Johnny Jump-Up
Baby Blue Eyes
Rue Anemone
Poke
Nell's knowledge was endless. She loved
greens. She could tell you about crow-foot root that she harvested
“with her Case knife and took home to cook with bacon.” And, she
would say, “Don't forget about the 'queen of all greens,' Shawnee
(squaw lettuce).” Nell loved the sound of the steady “cuh-shake”
– of the “cool, fresh greens dropping into her basket.” She
harvested morels and poke (“only when green and tender”) which
she cooked with bacon, vinegar, and chopped onions.
How much better our lives would be if
we followed Nell's advice and took it upon ourselves to commune with
our own environment. Nothing compares with the uncommon beauty there.
Indeed, we are fortunate to live in a place with an endless store of
natural wonder, and as stewards of this bountiful land, we should
share the treasures of our fields and forests with our loved ones. It
is our duty to provide a kind, human understanding that imparts true
folk wisdom.
I agree with Nell – it is far past
time that we too should ask, “Is there one single person who
cares?” So few appreciate the natural world that sustains their
existence – a world that offers solace from the rat race of modern
life. Blinded by materialism, we neglect to understand the
significance of the bounty there.
Guy and Nell on Their Honeymoon
Nell is gone, but her memories provide
us with vital lessons handed down from a time when life was so much
more dependent upon self-reliance and a thorough knowledge of the
natural world. We sorely lack this exposure. As she said, there is,
indeed, “something new at each turn” on those “little old
paths. Most of the same trees, plants, and wildlife are still there
in our backwoods … still there, waiting for someone to notice …
still there, waiting for someone who cares.
“With acknowledgment
to our Creator for the Scioto Valley, farms and homesteads scattered
among our hollows and hills, creeks and sandy bottoms, the tapestry
of greening fields, for wonderful friends and neighbors, and memories
enduring. Thanks be to God for a glimpse of this sampling of Eden.”
--Nell Bumgarner,
September 27, 1994
Nell 1912
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