Stoney Creek is wide in territory if narrow in outlook. When Ruth was growing up strangers, though politely welcomed, were quietly unwelcome. “Them folks, they don’t bother nobody,” was a high complement, requiring years to earn.

The mountain area poverty sharply contrasted tantalizing natural beauty. Purple mountain wildflowers bowed down to early killing frost. Old time religion was spoon-fed to hungry people. Ruth’s childhood preacher stressed repentance and emphasized washing away of sin through baptism. Ruth’s faith was powerful, and the drama of immersion and resurrection to a new life held such fascination for her that she had herself baptized on seven different occasions.

Ruth loved the sound of words, strong saving grace pulpit words even if she did have a fondness for swearing. “If you stop saying them cuss words, I’ll git ya a new dress,” a deacon had offered. The promise of a new dress did not equal the fun of shocking everyone. Ruth held fast and wouldn’t give up this mischievous pleasure.

She was a good little girl deeply connected to the earth. “Damn and double damn,” she would say, but her innocence belied these words and were part of her charm. Tradition held that on birthdays children in the tiny mountain church were given a penny for each year of their age. On her third birthday, Ruth had walked down the aisle. She stood up front, waiting, to be given her birthday money. Other children came forth, but only Ruth asked the old preacher, “Mister, can I sing a song?”

“Praise God, yes child, you surely can sing a song.” He’d removed everything off the altar table, lifted the small child on top of it. Ruth sang in a loud clear voice, “Let Others See Jesus In You.”

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