Husband

“Hey Cheri, is that Randy’s ring your wearing?” “Yes it is!”

Give me my Romeo; and when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.  "Juliet"

This is the gospel truth. The first time I saw his face, he was getting on the school bus. I got dizzy, my heart started pounding, and I had goose bumps. I thought, “what’s wrong with me”? This is so weird, and then I shrugged it off. Little did I know I would marry him 2 years later. That was 40 years, 2 months, and 4 days ago, we have what cannot be expressed with mere words. The term soul-mate, is an understatement.

We were engaged, and I loved him. His parents invited me to the family cabin close to Yosemite. The beauty of that place is heaven on earth! I slept in the bedroom closest to the kitchen. I could smell Grandpa's bacon cooking when Randy knocked on the door. He came over to the bed and gave me a morning kiss. He was dressed in a brown plaid flannel shirt, 501 levis, hunting boots. He was unshaven and his thick blond hair was tossed all over his head. He was the  most handsome perfect man, I had ever laid my eyes on. I had always seen him in his French cuffed shirts, slacks, well groomed hair and face. He looked great, but I really nearly died when I saw this new side of him. All scruffy and manly. He’s still tall and slim and even better with time. He is even more beautiful on the inside, if that is possible, than on the outside. God could not have given me a more perfect gift than my man Randy.

Ruth 1:16 Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the LORD do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me.

Treasures

Of all my treasures, this letter, written by my Great Great Grandfather “Coleman Harwell,” is one of my favorites. The letter is from Coleman to his wife and child, during the California Gold Rush 1852. He wrote in beautiful cursive, with such eloquence. Proud he was one my "Papa's!

Sacramento CityMarch 18^th 1852

My Dear Mary,

With great pleasure, I write you tonight though I would take more delight in writing, if I could only get a letter from you to answer. I thank God that I am well and hearty. Hoping that you are enjoying the like blessing of God. This is a fine country for health, making money, but it is a terrible place for misleadings, and dissipation. But I can say of a truth, that I have less to tempt me, to do evil, than I ever had, or else I am more on my guard. I have attached myself to the Methodist church the same day I got here. I never enjoyed a more pleasant Sabbath day in all my life. It appeared to me that the windows of heaven were open to my soul. I hope dear, you are serving God and praying for me. I want you to remember me night, and morning, and at noon, in your devotion to our God. I hope you dedicated our dear little Candace unto the Lord, by baptism and prayer, and may He bless you in raising the dear little creature, and take care of you both. When I talked of coming to California, you said you were fearful that I would suffer for something to eat. Now let me assure you that you need not give yourself any more uneasiness about that, for I have everything heart could wish, and can eat more than a common dog. We have the best provision in California of any other state in the union. I only wish that you had as good living in Georgia. When I left home, you know my weight was 145 lbs. It was the same when I left Panama, or about that. But now I weigh, one hundred and sixty four or five, and I don’t recollect which, though I was weighed this morning. You would hardly know me if you were to see me. My cloths that I brought from home are all too small for me. You know my old red coat was too large for me, but now I cannot button it around me, and my pants will not hold me much longer, if I keep growing, for they are bursting themselves now, in trying to keep me in. I must hold, or you will think me in a state of exaggeration. I reckon you want to know whether I am doing anything or not. Well I am not making much money certain, for I am only getting the sum of 50 dollars per month, and boarded, but I should not have worked at that, if I had not been afraid to go into the mines, after being sick so long. There is a better chance in the mines now, than has been for a long time, for it has been raining several days, which affords water for washing. I expect to start to the mines in the morning. McLemore has gone on to the mines more than a week ago. I beat them all to California in just 8 days. I find that I can get along as well by myself as in company with any acquaintance. There is no need of company to get on here, not like there used to be. The country is settling up very much. People cannot make money here like they did in 1849 and 50. Good hands, if they will be saving and careful can make 50 to 100 dollars per month. I certainly cannot advice my friends to come to this country, to make a fortune, unless they want to settle in this country for life. It is getting late and I must come to a conclusion. I want you to write me every two weeks certain, now do not fail. You cannot imagine how much I want to hear from you. I am perfectly impatient to hear from home.

I want you to tell me all about everything, about the place particularly, and Ann, and my old sow, and pigs, and everybody you know. I must acknowledge that I never knew what it was to want you before, but that is out of the question. So fare thee well.

                                                 Your Loving Companion,          
                                                                            Coleman

Post Script

Oh my dear, my love, and my all. I want to write more, if I knew what to write. It has been so long since I talked with you that I want to say many things, while the tears of love wet this sheet, my heart throbs and beats for you. If I ever were to sit here till daylight and write with all the eloquence of Demosthenes, or Shakespeare, I could not express my feeling, and my love to you. Shall I ever meet your kind embrace again, and my dear little babe? Shall I ever have the opportunity of stealing another sweet kiss from that smiling little face and quivering lips that I left sleeping on the bed on the morning of the 6^th of Jan. 1852? Oh God preserve them, and may I meet them again this side of eternity.

Coleman did return from the “California Gold Rush” to his loving family in Georgia. He and Mary had more children.

To My Dearest Daughters,

No matter where you go, or what you do, you will never find another human being, who loves you like me. You know well, how you love your children? That is how much I love you. You know well, how much you worry about them? That's how much I worry over you. It does not matter how the years go on, a mother's heart never waver's. It's a sacred thing! A God thing!

 I want you to know that I'm amazed by both of you. The fab women you have turned out to be, in every sense of the word. I only wish all moms were blest with kids like you two. I still pinch myself, saying how could I be so blest to have you. It must be a God thing too! I surely don't deserve you, or the love of God, but I have both. Thank You! With All Heart,
Mom
                                                                                                  

                                                                                                                               

"The Cabin"

In recognition of "National Park Day" I wanted to tell you about "The Cabin." It's a very good true story, about  an "American Family." It is also a way for me, as a romantic heart, to deal with living so far away from this most important dwelling place.

Close to seven decades ago, "Grandpa Paden," being quite the "outdoorsman, purchased a beautiful piece of land on the edge of the majestic "Yosemite National Forest." There he built a small rustic, no frills cabin. At the time, I'm sure he hoped many generations of his offspring would come to, and take joy in the  place he built. 

  Indeed, the cabin is still unchanged for the most part. Over the years, came running water, indoor plumbing, electricity, but beautifully unchanged. Five generations of one family have shared in this blessed legacy,  in this peaceful place. Thank you "Grandpa!" 

"Gutsy & Gussied Up"

By, Cheryl Harwell Bailey

My girls, and their Daddy
 spoil me on Birthday's, Mother's day, etc.

 One gift I love receiving each year,
 is the totally huge girly "Hat" for church on Easter Sunday.

 Every year I hear, "she's not really going to wear that is she?"

 I walk into our big church hearing, 
"Oh no she didn't" all the way down the aisle. 

I think sometimes they all wish they were wearing one too.

 I decided a long time ago, I am going to be "myself."

 Yes, it takes courage to wear a hat like that, 

but it's okay to be "gutsy & gussied up" once a year.

"Grandma's Purse"

My Grandma Harwell's purse was a lesson on many levels. She was not into "things" but taught me their value. She carried a beautiful "Kelly" type bag, of fine hand tooled leather, made for her by her eldest son. Supple glove leather on the inside, in red, golden brown on the outside. A "thing" of beauty to behold, even the jeweled clasp. 

Oh, but the contents therein! Tidy and tiny treasures to be sure. A neatly folded "handkerchief" embroidered with purple forget-me-nots, trimmed with Belgium lace. A little crystal bottle of perfume from "Paris" France, in it's own silk velvet pouch, a gift from her second son. Her soft black gloves. Small very expensive scissors, kept in her purse to keep them away from grands like me. A copper picture compact filled with photo's of me of course, lol, ( all her grands,) a gift from my Dad.  A dainty coin purse always full. And most important to her, a small red letter edition Bible. I can still see her carrying her purse and herself with the dignity of the true lady she was. They don't make "purses " like that anymore.

"CALLAHAN"

"Grandpa Grover,  I love, love, your new puppy. Is he a wiener dog?" "Yes baby girl, he is!" "What's his name Grandpa?" "Callahan." "Callahan is his name."

Callahan was a great friend to the whole "Donaldson" clan, but he was my "Grandpa's dog for sure. That dog was his constant companion. He followed my Grandpa even more than I did. We both knew he was a very special man.

One awful day, my "Grandpa" died of a sudden heart attack. My 5 year old heart was broken, but Callahan's heart was so broken he would not eat. He grieved himself to death and died of a broken heart. Talk about love!

"The Harwells"

Our Harwell Heritage

The oldest and favorite true story
 from my childhood, is the "Harwell" story. 
We little ones sat on the edge of our seats begging for more. "You are a California girl," Grandma said, 
"but our family comes from a little village in England."
 Many years later, I journeyed to "Harwell," 
and stayed in the village. 
It was the thrill of a lifetime.