The Belled Buzzards
Spreading The October Love

Spooky October 7: A Mother's Love Defied The Bonds Of Death

Blind Pig & The Acorn's Spooky October

My last entry for Spooky October comes from Ethelene Dyer Jones.


(A Mountain Story)

by Ethelene Dyer Jones

    This morning is cloudy and dark.  The overcast sky puts me in mind of days in the mountains in my childhood when the clouds hung low and fog rose like a giant shroud hiding the majestic peaks that stood like sentinels over Choestoe Valley.

  Then I thought of the tradition of mountain storytelling, and how we were entertained as children by hearing stories that had been passed from generation to generation by our Scots-Irish forebears.  My favorite storytellers from my childhood were my first cousin, much older than I, my mother’s nephew, Earl Hood and his wife Allie Winn Hood.  This delightful couple had no children of their own, but they seemed to be very pleased when Earl’s nephew and nieces and his young cousins went to spend the night.  With no electricity then in that mountain home and the only heat being from an open fireplace, we settled down to a wonderful night of entertainment provided by master storytellers, Earl and Allie Hood.

The recipients of this rich legacy of mountain tales, many of them about ghosts and haints, were Little Ed and Bertha Hood Dyer’s children, our cousins Wilma, Genelle, Harold and Sarah Ruth, and my younger brother, Bluford Dyer and I, Ethelene.  We all got permission in advance to go to Allie’s and Earl’s to spend the night on certain Friday nights, and walked the distance from Choestoe Elementary School to their house.  It must have been more than three miles, but the anticipation of what we would enjoy once we arrived made us skip along, laughing and talking all the while, with the boys, Harold and Bluford, outstripping the girls and arriving first, boasting that they were stronger than we girls.

  After the evening chores of milking and feeding and getting in the wood were finished, Allie served us a wonderful meal of hot cornbread, vegetables and country-cured ham, topped off by dried apple stack cake.  We quickly washed the dishes and then settled down for an evening’s entertainment, the likes of which has never been surpassed, even with the advent of television years later.

  One ghost tale I remember them telling—and they had a way of making us “see” the scene they laid out before us with their words---was one about a mother’s love for her baby.  Allie would warn us that we should not try to match the names in the stories to people, living or dead.  This had happened so long ago it would be hard to remember them exactly.  The story went something like this:


Years ago, when sawmillers first came to our mountains to cut down the virgin trees and saw them into lumber, there lived far up near Round Top Mountain, a couple named Sexton, Eliza and John.  They loved each other dearly.  And in the course of time, Eliza had a beautiful baby girl whom they named after her mother but called her Liza.  The midwife or “Granny Woman” named Mary had attended little Liza’s birth.  Things were going along well until two days after Liza’s birth her mother came down with a raging fever.  Granny Woman Mary administered her herbal remedies, but none had any effect on the fever.  Eliza grew worse.

John told Granny Mary that he was going to Blairsville, some fourteen miles from his home, to get the doctor.  He took off down the rutted mountain road, made worse by the snaking out of the saw logs and the rough treatment from big trucks, just then coming into the mountains, hauling out the sawed lumber.  John finally arrived in town in his buggy drawn by his horse.  But the doctor was out on a call delivering a baby and was not expected back until the next day.  John decided to stay in town and wait for the doctor, because he would have to take the doctor in his buggy back up to his cabin on Round Top.  John didn’t get much sleep that night, trying to rest in his buggy.  Fortunately, he had brought along a blanket to protect himself from the night’s cold.  All he could think about was how sick Eliza was, and even how still the newborn baby seemed in the large basket that was her crib.

About daybreak the doctor came back from his all-night call, tired and sleepy.  But he agreed to go with John to examine Eliza and little Liza.  After a hot breakfast and coffee which the good doctor’s wife prepared for her husband and for John, the two men got into John’s buggy and took off at a lope, as John urged the horse to a trot.

Finally they arrived at the John Sexton home.  Granny Woman Mary met them on the porch.  “I’m afraid you’re too late,” she said.  “Both Eliza and little Liza died during the night.”   John, gripped with deep grief, went inside his cabin where he saw his beautiful Eliza and the little baby laid out for burying.  How could this have happened?  If only the doctor had been at home, maybe his wife and child could have been saved.

The doctor and Granny Woman Mary tried to console John.  Neighbors came, and made a casket.  They placed the bodies together in the homemade casket, the baby in Eliza’s arms.   They were buried in the cemetery near the little log church called Salem.  John, so devastated, did not want his neighbors’ sympathy or their food which they always took with loving concern to the household that had experienced death.  John latched his cabin door and told his neighbors he would have to bear his burden of grief alone.

The next morning John’s neighbor, James Collins, went to his barn before daylight to milk his cows.  Times were hard in those days, and there were always people on the road dropping by farmhouses and barns to beg for food.  James realized someone was in the barn with him.  He turned and saw a woman, dressed in black, the sort of finer dress like the women in the community wore to church.  She sat a tin cup down on a bale of hay.  James knew she wanted it full of milk, so he took the cup and soon filled it with warm rich milk.  The woman nodded her thanks but did not say a word.  The next morning and the next, the same woman visited James as he was milking, begging with her cup.  On the fourth morning, James decided he would follow the woman who would not give him her name.  Maybe he could find out where she lived.

He saw her dark form disappear into the woods, but, running, he was able to follow her to the cemetery.  Then it was just as though she disappeared into one of the newly heaped graves.  This frightened James, but he knew he must do something.

James quickly returned home, got his shovel and ran to his nearest neighbor’s house.  He told Lish Hunter what he had seen.  “Get your shovel,” James said, “and come with me.”  Lish wondered what had come over his neighbor James Collins, but he grabbed his shovel and the two men went in that early, foggy morning to Old Salem Church Cemetery.  There they began to dig into the newly-formed grave.    Getting down to the casket, they gingerly removed the lid, and there was the woman James had seen four mornings in a row at his barn, rigid and cold in death.  There was the cup in her hand.  And lying on her breast, gurgling but weak, was a beautiful baby girl, still alive, still breathing.

    The  they removed the baby, and covered the grave.  They went to John Sexton’s home.  The door was still barred with the grieving husband and father inside.  “Open  up,” James ordered.  “We have a gift for you.  Here is little Liza, alive and well.”

John could not believe his eyes or the story James told him about the baby’s rescue.  What rejoicing he had as the baby, safe in his arms, began to cry.  “Come down to my barn and I’ll give you some milk for the baby,” Jim Collins told John.  And he did.  Nevermore did James Collins see the woman in a black dress with the tin cup come to his barn begging milk.  But you can be assured that  he remembered it the rest of his life, and told the story again and again.

  Little Liza grew up to be a beautiful young lady.  Her daddy, John, married again and had more children.  But Liza always held a special place in his heart because she was the miracle baby, his first-born rescued from the grave by his neighbors James and Lish.


  “Is that true?” we kids asked Allie and Earl.  They only smiled and told us it was time for bed.  But every time we climbed the hill to Old Salem Cemetery, we looked at the grave marked with a fieldstone, with no names readable on it.  We always remembered the story told to us by Allie and Earl, and wondered about the mother who loved her baby so much she would return from the grave to get warm milk to keep little Liza alive.  And as we milked our own cows early on foggy mornings, we were always aware that if a woman with a cup appeared, we were to fill it promptly with warm milk.  I think we were a little disappointed that no woman ever came to our barn for us to do this service of love and mercy.



I certainly hope you enjoyed Ethelene's story as much as I did!


p.s. Jump over to Life In A Cordwood Cabin to read Mary's spooky story about dishes.

Subscribe for free to Blind Pig & The Acorn by Email


Feed You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.

I feel honored that "A Mother Defies the Bonds of Death" was included among your "Spooky October" offerings. The whole month's repertoire has been wonderful. We in the mountains have a rich heritage of storytellers and stories. You are doing a great service to encourage us to share them and to preserve them for posterity.

I really loved the story by Ethelene Dyer Jones
My story pales in comparison..but I have a story about a ghost mother, too.
When I started to read this story, "A mother's love defies the bonds of death", I thought for certain it was going to be the following story. I am not as good a story teller as Ethelene Dyer Jones, who did a wonderful job of telling that story, btw.
Well here is my story, which my mom told, long ago.
The Ghost Mother
A man who was widowed ,with small children, married a vain woman, who like the proverbial step mother did not nurture the man's children. She did not cook for them and they would complain to their daddy when he came in from work. They would say, "We are hungry, Daddy!"
The Step Mother started greasing their mouths, and when her husband would come in from work, and they complained about being hungry, she would say, "They have eaten like pigs all day! Just look at them!"
One day when she was getting ready to grease their mouths, the ghost of their mother appeared to her. The ghost mother slapped the woman across the cheek, and said, "You feed my children!"
The Stepmother still bears a white hand print on her face to this very day.

Cool Story!

Oh! I have goosebumps from that story. Really a good one!

Very well told. It takes a good story teller to make it hair raising and this tale did good.

That had me on the edge of my seat, Tipper. What a story.

Tipper: What a great story, thanks for sharing this neat tale.

Wow, This is a wonderfull story!

I loved your story. The lady who wrote it is exceptional in bringing the story to life.
Thanks for sharing it.

Tipper, that's quite a story! I don't know if it's more a spooky story or a story of a mother's love!
It touched my heart!

Tipper, I really enjoyed these stories. I had to dig out my book "Mysterious Oklahoma". This book has quite a few spooky stories and even has a mystery that happened around my hometown and I remember when it happened. People were seeing a large lion. There were reports of farm animals being eaten, and very large cat tracks were plaster cast,and photographed. My dad, granddad, and uncle all joined in the all day hunt for the lion. No one saw it, and afterwards I don't remember hearing about it anymore. I have newspaper clippings my mom had saved and someone drew a cartoonish picture of all the "hunters". Too funny really, but at the time it was a real concern.
I rambled on too long, Thank you again for all the great stories.

You have put forth a wonderful blog for October, but then you alwyas do. God bless and have a blessed weekend.

I think this is the best story I've heard in a while. Thanks for sharing it with the rest of us. Happy Halloween Tipper! xxoo


I love stories like this!

I am wondering whether I might be related to Ethelene; one of my ancestors is named Bluford Dyer (her brother might be named for him?), father of a girl (named Elizabeth, Jeriah, or Nancy?) who married a Bolin Clark (my gggg-grandfather) in Warren County, KY.

Happy Halloween!

Tipper, I have really enjoyed your spooky tales this month. Great writing! Keep it up. I really like this entry.

Great story, Ethelene!
And thank you, Tipper for hosting this Spooky October!!!

Great story! Happy Halloween!

Nothing better than reading a good story like that on a cloudy overcast day.

I did enjoy the story.

excellent tale!

A great story,Tipper. I heard those kinds of stories growing up also. Back in the days when there was no electricity, TV and other distractions, my uncle Jimmy and my Daddy told some great stories.

I love this story!
There are so many unexplained things that happen in this 'ol world, it's amazing.
Happy Halloween!

I hope Chitter and Chatter have a very Happy Halloween. I've enjoyed very much your scary Halloween stories. You've done a great job posting spooky stories this month. Great job!!!

Verify your Comment

Previewing your Comment

This is only a preview. Your comment has not yet been posted.

Your comment could not be posted. Error type:
Your comment has been saved. Comments are moderated and will not appear until approved by the author. Post another comment

The letters and numbers you entered did not match the image. Please try again.

As a final step before posting your comment, enter the letters and numbers you see in the image below. This prevents automated programs from posting comments.

Having trouble reading this image? View an alternate.


Post a comment

Comments are moderated, and will not appear until the author has approved them.

Your Information

(Name and email address are required. Email address will not be displayed with the comment.)