I wandered far from Banner Mountain . . . far from the place where I was born.
. . . But never have I forgotten where I am from.
My folks were one of the families of the Banner Mountain community whose houses nestled along a road that still is hard dirt, clay and rocks. Our address once was Route 2 and we had a mailbox number, which does not immediately come to my mind.
A few years ago, when 911 maps were introduced, the road by my homeplace was named Silver Rock.
My grandparents lived along this road in a house with a breezeway. After my grandpa died, my folks with five children moved into the house with Grandma and my aunt. My grandma’s house with a breezeway is the place of my birth.
The breezeway was converted into more rooms and though no one lives in the house today, it still exists as the homestead of my grandparents.
While my parents were living with Grandma, my dad built our homeplace nearby. When I was about one year old, the family moved into our new frame house. So the house Daddy built became home to me and I never left until I married at age nineteen.
With my husband I moved far, far away from Banner Mountain . . . I followed my husband in his travels with the Air Force . . . but never have I forgotten where I am from.
© Freeda Baker Nichols
a painting of my homeplace by my sister, Yvonne Baker Hall. © copyright, Yvonne Hall.
Freeda Baker Nichols 
Thank you Freeda. Your writing and the pictures you post are like a breath of fresh air! Keep writing, dear friend! Cloetta Hutto, Bee Branch, Arkansas.
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Cloetta, Thank you so much!
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It is lovely going back to where you used to live.
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Thank you, Catherine!
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Lovely post and pictures. Your sister is quite talented as are you.
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Thanks, Dot. She took to art like I did to writing. We had no early introduction to either, but both of us in our thirties began our “hobbies” of art and writing and pursued our dreams. We’ve had fun, if not fame! 🙂
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Always love your posts about Banner mountain!
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Just wish I knew more of the timing and details of our grandparents’ homestead- the house where I was born. Thanks, cousin. I always think of you and your mom when I write of our grandmother.
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This is lovely, a little haunting, in fact. I’d love to see that home place.
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Dorothy, the frame house and other buildings on the homeplace are no longer there. Only a cellar, and two wells and a few brick from the stove flue are signs that it was ever a homeplace. It’s still in my memory, but my folks moved from there in 1956, built another house and the house where I grew up was left unattended and unrented so that age and weather took it away. Too sad. But I can show you where it was. Maybe one of these days, that will happen. The picture I posted is from a painting my sister did when we gathered what few photos we had and put them together, along with her own memories of what the buildings looked like “back then.”
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