Charles Fletcher Deems Mitchell was the son of Barney and Mary Ann Rouse Mitchell. He was born in Greene County, NC, in 1869. Not long after Charles was born, his father Barney and Barney’s brother James set out on their walk to CA which led to their settling in AR. Charles was probably about two years old by the time his father returned to take the family to Arkansas.
Charles became a Methodist Circuit Rider, and during his lifetime he wrote several books, one a biography, the other a book of sermons, and also a book of meditations. He mentioned his family life as a boy from time to time in these books, giving a little glimpse into how his parents felt about life, and the secure grounding he had in his faith. When he talks about his life at home and his father and mother, it is nearly always his mother, Mary Ann, or Molly, that he remembers there, and rarely mentions his step-mother, Mary Elizabeth Hicks. Barney remarried a couple of years after Mollie’s death, and had two more sons, but Charles’s memories seemed to have been fixed with Molly and Barney and their home together, rather than the new home. Charles would have been about 8 when Mollie died, so he had good memories of her always in his mind.
One of the sweetest descriptions of his home life is in the book of sermons, Gather Up the Fragments, in the chapter called “The Church: Its Origin and Growth”, on pages 85 and 86. In this sermon, Charles talked about the many places the church could be:
The Church was in my father’s house, a little log parsonage on the side of a hill. It was whitewashed with lime, with the cracks chinked and daubed with clay; a rail fence inclosed it, while in the corner was a well where water was lifted with a sweep pole and bucket. Old-fashioned flowers grew in the front yard, hollyhocks, marigolds, bachelor buttons, and moss. A bucket of ground ivy hung from a rafter of the gallery, and honeysuckle vines screened the front porch. A wide, open fireplace was in the front room, where wood and pine knots blazed to give heat and light for the long winter nights.
My mother, a beautiful woman, with her hair parted in the middle, a white pointed collar about her neck, and a breakfast shawl* around her shoulders, was busy clearing away the supper dishes. Two children, a girl and a boy, were playing William-the-Trimble-Toe** before the fire. Father took the family Bible from the shelf, and all was quiet as he began to read. His voice is confident as he pronounces every word of the Shepherd Psalm. The lowly prayer follows, in which he remembers his home and his family, calling each child by name, closing with a hearty Amen. Mother draws out the trundle bed, spreads the covers, and puts away her little ones with a kiss for the night. The kitchen door whines on its hinges, a basket of wool rolls and a spinning wheel are put in place; a roll is attached, and the wheel given a turn. As the thread is drawn, the hum of the spindle makes music as she sings:
"I want to live a Christian life,
I want to die a'shouting;
I want to feel my Savoir near
When body and soul are parting."
Thus she sings and thus she spins, the Church in her house enables work and worship to walk side by side in sweet fellowship.
* Breakfast Shawl: A small, square checked shawl, folded diagonally and worn around the neck by women. (from “A Complete Dictionary of Dry Goods” by George S. Cole)
** This link is from Google Books, and shows an excerpt from the book North Carolina Folklore, Chapter: Children’s Games and Rhymes, by Paul Brewster.
Maggie
