I've got it in writing

So I'm starting a new project and I thought maybe you'd share my excitement about it.  You know how much I love letters, right? One of my favorite sites is called Letters of Note (here's the link: www.lettersofnote.com) if you like them too.  When my parents moved last week we came across the box of letters mom had kept from my grandparents to one another.  These letters begin in 1936 so you can imagine the condition of paper and ink after all these years.  Most of them are in pretty good shape, but time does a number on pen and paper so we figured we should go ahead and transcribe them before things get any worse.

I know I've mentioned more than once here how much I adored my grandparents, but I'm realizing as I read that I wasn't privy to the young version of them - only the settled, softer, versions of themselves.  These letters date back to the beginning of their courtship and show the uncertainty and flirtatious beginnings of two young, hopeful people.  These are voices I've not heard before and they are evidence of something lovely. I haven't even read through all of them yet - the cursive and spotty ink make it difficult to read some of them, but Olivia and I are muddling through their discussions of visits and family members and thoughts about work and a possible future together. And love.

The back story is that my grandmother Etsie was supposed to live the rest of her life single so that she could continue to take care of her widowed father and her brother Charley who had Down Syndrome.  She sure as heck wasn't supposed to marry John Sparks Johnson. He'd already been married and, in order to get out of that relationship, had actually disappeared long enough to be declared dead (7 years was the time requirement). His return was a joyous one for his family, but his exploits all over the country during his disappearance probably didn't give him the best reputation among potential fathers-in-law.  So there was that and then there's just LOVE and the fact that you can't keep people from it.  And there's evidence of that in these first few letters even.

Here's the thing about actually writing something down.  When I speak, I can be flippant. I'm not careful with my words all the time - you've heard countless times how I blurt out things I'd not intended.  When I type I still do it.  But when I write, when I take the time to be deliberate with my penmanship and my word choice, I think it's when I am most sincere.  Don't you?  Kenny's been writing notes for Olivia for over a year now. Every time he hits the road (right now it's every week) he pens a note telling her some specific things he's enjoyed doing with her or likes about her and what he's looking forward to next. They chronicle our life together and she's come to expect the little note taped to her mirror every time he leaves.  It's a simple task, but it shows her he's deliberate about their relationship, that he knows her and wants to spend his time communicating with her.  I'm telling you this because these sincere things become treasures one day. She saves them already. This is the value of letter writing - it's evidence you are loved.

I'd always known John and Etsie Johnson to be affectionate and sweet to one another, but to see his repeated pet names, Sweetheart, Kid, My Little One, and underlined The One I Love The Most, remind me of the fondness he had for her.  She begins even the ones after they were married most often with My Dear One.  They both sometimes claim to be blue over missing one another and always take a few words to share how pleased they were to hear from the other. This glimpse into their real intimacy is priceless and even makes me feel like it's a private thing that I should not be seeing at times. Of course, as soon as I think that, the writing moves to talk about how the garden is coming along and whether the Allen's cows are going to milk themselves. So it turns out that LOVE letters are sometimes just letters about your day too all because you took the time to use your hands and then send it to the one you love.

A person's handwriting tells you a lot too don't you think?  I've always thought the the messiest handwriting is actually a statement in which the writer is trying to establish his superiority over you - how hard will you try to figure out my important statements? I see careful penmanship in most of these. They are taking time to make sure they are understood clearly so early in their courtship.  There's one letter from John where it's apparent Etsie has asked him to clarify a rumor she's heard about him. After all, he's in a different town at this point. All she has is his word. His patient explanation reveals how desperate he is to be seen as a good man in her eyes. He swears more than once that he had never lied to her and never, ever would.  I could tell by his firm print that he means it.

I can feel my grandmother's anxiety when she writes to him about how she will have to find a way to meet him to elope.  She's worried that the roads will be bad and she will walk to the bus and it will rain and then maybe he will not come and she will be in the road soaking wet, muddy and looking like a fool.  She worries that she will need to finish her chores first. She worries that he will change his mind. He worries that the gloves he's buying for her will be too big and swears that he'll be there to see how pretty she looks in her dress no matter what. It's so funny that I'm anxious because obviously it worked out.  Their letters extend on into their marriage when he had to be gone a lot working to support their little household. In every one I've seen so far, there is evidence of the careful consideration they offer each other.

I'm only a few letters in, but I can tell you that John S. Johnson married Etsie Allen in March of 1937 and built her a house with his hands and made sure there was room for my great uncle Charley. He cleared with those same hands all 300 acres of Kentucky farm land he could buy and spent the rest of his life tending to that farm and to her and to his family and community. She took care of him and grew gardens, fed chickens, canned vegetables, and then raised their two daughters and took care of neighbors and church members and the little church cemetery with him. Their hands got tan and spotted fixing fence rows, snapping beans and growing tobacco. She hummed hymns while she worked and always cooked a little extra in case they had a guest and they were welcoming enough that they often did have one or two. They prayed for each other and made each other laugh for over 57 years. When he began to forget things and cough, she nursed him and when cancer grew inside of her he got down off his tractor and learned how to cook a little so he could be near her just in case she needed him. He told me he prayed every day he could just have her one more day because if he'd lost Etsie, he'd lost everything.  And then within the month of her leaving he went ahead and left this earth too because he was telling the truth when he said it wouldn't be any good to stay here without her and he never, ever lied to her.