Remembering Arley James

Autumn brings back memories for me that I am eager to always share with my young art students. Recently I shared the story about Arley James to one of my elementary classes. While using storytelling as another art form, I carefully provide details so as to  'paint' a picture in their minds.  Through my words, I hope they can see and feel  the true beauty of this sweet little old woman who enriched my life.

I have always found it pleasing that these little ones always seem eager to hear one of my stories.    They often beg for them. Telling the story about Arley James is probably one of my favorites. It is easy to describe her with her long handmade skirt and worn apron; her hair up in braids and carefully tucked under her handmade bonnet. I describe her modest house with only four rooms. And I detail the little living room we sat in together. With  only a couple of cow-hide bottom chairs, a rocking chair and a pot-belly stove in the middle of the room.  It's hard for them to imagine that that was all she had.  I usually have to stop here to explain what a cow-hide bottom chair is and a pot belly stove.

My story continues as I explain that she had never had her picture taken in her entire life until that day in November when Mr. Rick happened to drive by and catch a glimpse of her chopping wood. It's when I explain the sweetness and kindness she relayed to Rick and me that I see their eyes sparkle and a smile emerge on their little faces.

I guess the part that touches them most is when it's obvious to them that she touched my heart and that I loved her and was proud to call her my friend.  And that I didn't let the color of her skin or the poor conditions she lived in keep me from stepping over that threshold into her life.

The little old house that Arley lived in is gone now. The trees have grown up and in the spring you can barely see a few dots of yellow as the little daffodils try to mark the spot where her garden once was.  When we drive by her old home place, I can't help but look over and imagine her standing on the front porch with her little bonnet on, drying her hands on her apron, smiling, and giving us a big wave.

I love you, Ms. Arley!