Nell Bumgarner and "Old Lucasville" -- Shared Expressions

 

 Nell and Guy

The ability to communicate what is important to us. Doesn't everyone feel that desire? We have important ideas to share, yet we often struggle to write or say exactly what we feel. Sometimes our problems with expression frustrate us so much that we give up without writing or saying a single word. But, what if we accept our personal limitations and try. I knew a lady who took on that task, and it made all the difference.

I Cannot

There are stories I wish to share with you

To convey the essence, and feel, and charm

Of long-ago memories that live within me.

To write is my desire, yet I am hindered;

I have neither command of words nor expression,

Nor power to say what I would.

I lack the ability to select and condense;

I prefer to write as the snatches drift by.

I cannot tell you what's in my heart – but I'll try.

--Nell Bumgarner

Nell Yeager Bumgarner (1895-1994) was a local treasure. A writer, a poet, a nature lover, and a rather eccentric human being, Nell was a true Lucasvillian. She was a meticulous, learned woman who could spin tales of area lore so vivid and detailed that you felt as if you were living her past while reading her works or listening to her verbal renderings. And, did she ever preserve local color and detail. Her gracious heart and sharp mind graced our community for nearly 100 years.

Nell loved to write her memories and memoirs on her “vintage, World War I era L.C. Smith typewriter.” Her daughter, Laura Rachel (aka celebrated actress Laurie Franks) compiled many of Nell's stories, poems, and sayings. To commemorate her mother's life, Laura Rachel presented the finished product to her mother on the occasion of Nell's ninety-ninth birthday – a book Laura Rachel appropriately titled Lucasville Lore. The book contains page after page of what Nell referred to as “memories grabbed out of a handful of mist.”

Nell Bumgarner was born in Lucasville, Ohio, on September 9, 1895. She was the sixth child of Civil War veteran, Benjamin Yeager, Fife Major and Principle Musician of Company H. First Ohio Volunteer Heavy Artillery, Union Army. Yeager entered service at age fifteen and married Nellie's mother, Rachel Jane Brant, when he was twenty-six and she was nineteen.

Nellie – her childhood name – wrote for the Lucasville Rural Gazette during her high school years, then was stenographer for Bannon And Bannon, attorneys in Portsmouth, Ohio. Later, she clerked, took dictation, and kept books at the Joseph H. Brant Store in Lucasville until her marriage to Guy Bumgarner in 1928. Guy was a teacher, a mentor of Roy Rogers, King of the Cowboys. In 1953, Guy was a surprise guest on the popular TV show “This Is Your Life” honoring Roy.

Guy died in January 1976, and after that great loss, Nell began to compose many memoirs, writing recollections in earnest at the age of ninety. (Let that be a lesson, in itself, of the importance of industry at any age.) She spoke of her greatest hope: “Before I go, I have something to say.” That “something” was bountiful beyond measure.

I had the good fortune to visit Nell one day as she held court in her Lucasville home. Hours passed like minutes as she weaved her stories, each a gem in the strand of her life. She spoke with the authentic voice of a sage, and I tried to absorb every word, even the dollops of digressions and occasional repetitions. Sitting there, somehow I knew I was receiving a precious gift from the heart and mind of a very special soul. I began to understood why Nell wanted to share her life with me and with others. She cared … about people, about history, and about community. Nell revered her life on earth. As I went home after my visit, I knew Nell Bumgarner's legacy would live on long after her demise.

Nell revealed her purpose in the Foreword to Lucasville Lore. Read these words to that prayer she composed in her nineties …

“Lord, Father, help me to write. In the long hours before sleep or that follow sudden awakening, sometimes toward morning, my old mind is so crowded with stories, perhaps some worth preserving, from age three on into my nineties.

“I yearn to write of Old Lucasville and its dusty streets, the condensation of many dusty, early roads that led into and out of it; of remembered stories of people I've known and loved through the years; of precious scenes that can never be relived except by means of the inadequate pen. A title comes to mind, then a scrambled bit, frustrating me at the idea of recording them. Will you, Father, please bless and help me in any worthwhile efforts my lazy mind and hand put forth? Please help me overcome the inhibitions and faults I struggle with, and guide me. Keep me mindful of Mildred's three gates: Is it true? Is it needful? Is it kind?

“Father, you have given me a life so full of beautiful and interesting things to write about and have blessed me with opportunities to absorb from unusual and capable others some of the tools that could make it possible. I am so very grateful for everything and everyone you have given me. Truly, my cup runneth over. Thank you always.”

The prayer is emblematic of Nell – seemingly fragile yet incredibly substantial, a person of grateful compassion and strong faith. Her mention of “Mildred's gates” is likely a reference to a poem by Beth Day.

Three Gates of Gold

If you are tempted to reveal
A tale to you someone has told
About another, make it pass,
Before you speak, three gates of gold;
These narrow gates. First, “Is it true?”
Then, “Is it needful?” In your mind
Give truthful answer. And the next
Is last and narrowest, “Is it kind?”
And if to reach your lips at last
It passes through these gateways three,
Then you may tell the tale, nor fear
What the result of speech may be.

by Beth Day 1855

Nell Bumgarner's mindful observations serve us well. They are timely reminders to her beloved Lucasville community of its eternal obligation to others. True, needful, and kind – these words imprint the legacy of a wonderful pundit, a rare keeper of local history. Thank God Nell's “cup” did run over, for her “handful of memories” are inestimable gifts. It is my hope the “Lucasville lore” comes to the mind of area residents. That would make Nell very happy to know people still care about her hometown. Allow me to close with Nell's observation of “Old Lucasville ...

“My memories of Lucasville form a dear and enthralling picture. Oh for an artist's brush and an artist's touch by which to memorialize each person, each scene – the myriad of experiences. Lucasville was the loveliest place, I think, in all this world, to be born. Now at the advanced age of ninety-two, as I review my life from birth to here and now, thankful tears fill my eyes and prayer my lips.

“By 'Old Lucasville,” I mean to include the surrouding area. Because it too, as comprehension grows, becomes part of life. The history of Lucasville from my birth year (1895) until now (1988) is my history too – and I am happy for it. Such a period it was that none can ever be like it.”

Nell Bumgarner -- Natural Musings From the Lucasville Woods

  

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 100^th 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