Smiles and Tears from Bizzell Bluff

By Thomas E. Barnett

About the Book
From a very early age, Thomas E. Barnett and his sister were taught the value of hard work, family, and caring for your neighbors. Living as a young person in the ’60s and ’70s in the Midwest wasn’t easy, but it was always filled with love, laughter, and a sense of community. In his memoir, Barnett shares the peaceful moments of growing up, from Christmas mornings to picking strawberries in the summers, and the realization he has now as an adult of just how hard his parents worked to provide a joyful life for himself and his sister. By recording his own upbringing, we are given a glimpse into the past, and a time capsule for future generations to connect with those who came before.
About the Author
Thomas E. Barnett was born and raised on a farm in Livingston County, Kentucky, with a vision of rolling hills and valleys, a place called Bizzell Bluff. He lived three miles from the nearest town, called Burna, a small agricultural community where everyone looked out for one another. He attended Livingston County High School from 1973 to 1977.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Oct 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798888125816

Book preview

CHAPTER -1

THOSE EARLY YEARS

OF GROWING UP

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1. WE WERE THE FOURTH GENERATION

2. HISTORY OF MR. TOMMY EDWARDS

3. MA AND PA BROUGHT THE FARM

4. THE CLOSEST TOWN WAS BURNA

5. LAND THAT SPAN NEARLY TWO ACRES OF JOY

6. THOSE MEMORIES OF HOME

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We Were the Fourth

Generation

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I was born in 1959 at Salem Community Hospital. My first home was close to a crossroad, that consisted of a grocery and post office in a small community called Mulligan, north of Burna. Later, we moved to the old Davis Place that is located on Bissel Bluff. In 1960 work was hard to find. Roy, dad’s brother in Indiana, found him a job. In August of that year, Dad hired a man from Salem to haul our things there. I was eighteen months old. In the spring of ’61, Dad decided it was time to move back to Kentucky. I was close to two-an-a-half years old. We moved to the Jess Steele’s house, which was located on Highway 60 in Burna. We would live there until November of ’62. I was three months shy of turning four years old. That November, we moved into the old home place that I would call home for the next twenty years of my life. The original landowner who had purchased that land in the late 1800s was Mr. Tommy Edwards, known around the area as Uncle Tommy. He built a log cabin that consisted of two large rooms and a circular loft overhead. Grandpa Bebout told Mom one time that he visited Uncle Tommy on one occasion and spoke of what a beautiful staircase that was made out of walnut. The two large rooms stayed intact for many years, and later, the logs separated, and Dad put them to use when need arise. In 1903 Uncle Tommy built a new home several yards northwest of the existing one. The chimney was erected at the front of the house, with smooth cut limestone and sandstone rocks that had many bright colors that made up its towering height. And even today, the colors are still bold to look at. The underneath foundation has huge logs rested up on large limestone pillars. And a termite never sharpened its teeth on any of those logs or the interior of that structure. The exterior was wide whiteboard, a small porch on the northside that was the first entrance to the house. There was a small foyer when you entered the house. To the right was a parlor. That would become my bedroom. To the left was a medium-sized living room, that had two very old French doors that went into the middle room, perhaps was a bedroom. A long kitchen. At one time there was a L-shape back porch. Later, a long porch was added on the front of the house, and it would become the main entrance. Each room had thirteen-foot ceilings, and the first three rooms consisted of white beaded box pranks for the walls; this was used for a primitive insulation in its day. The backroom walls were all wallpapered. In later years, Mom and Dad had paneling added. I remember tearing the old wallpaper off and there would be several more layers after layers of different designs, and sometimes old newspaper would be pasted to the walls. They papered over and over to form a way to help insulate the rooms. Uncle Tommy was an excellent carpenter who built many structures, and several of them still remains standing after nearly 120 years. Uncle Tommy sold his farm to Mr. Frank Levan in 1939. Mr. Levan sold the property to Mr. Rolley Johnson SR. in the late ’40s. In 1962 my family became the fourth ownership until 2000. After Dad’s passing, the farm was sold at auction. Mr. Bill Barrett brought the farm; it remains to this day as the fifth ownership. Several generations have span on this land for over a century. The hard work that went into make a living out of God’s dirt was profitable, and the family flourished, to raise their families that were filled with many memories that would last for many generations to come.

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History of Mr. Tommy Edwards

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Uncle Tommy’s grandfather Asa came to the US from England. He bought sixty acres on Sandy Creek in 1818. His wife was Elizabeth. He died in 1836. In 1839 some of the children sold the sixty acres to Alexander Wiggins. Asa Jr. married Delilia Moss, an orphan. They were married in 1841. Delilia’s mother was full blood Indian. Asa and Delilia had a large family; first was Nancy Jane, who married David Mitchell. They went to Mississippi county, MO, to live. William H. was the second child; he married Ann Elizabeth Sivills. William worked as a pilot on the river. His sister Mollie (Mary)lived with him. William died in 1911 and is buried in Oak Grove in Paducah. Then there was Sarah Elizabeth Edwards, who married Andrew Ramage in 1872. They were divorced. Sarah remarried in 1875 to Mr. Riggins. Henry Uncle Buddy married Mariah Lloyd. They had two daughters, Vennie and Elizabeth. They lived on the Bluff (Vennie married Nelson, and she lived near Uncle Bud’s store, and daughter was Lena. Uncle Buddy, Mariah and the two daughters are buried at Dyer Hill. The next child was Victoria; she married William Owen. In the 1880 census, they were in Pope County, Illinois. Asa was with them. The last time I found Delila was in the 1870 census, of here. Mary was the next child, and she married Linn, and he did not live long. She and her sister, Leona Edwards, never married.

Before their deaths, they were living with their niece, Elizabeth Alsobrook in Burna. They are buried at Dyer HIll. The next child was Elizabeth, born in 1861. She married A. D. Lemon, who lived across the river from the bluff. The couple went to Ark, and she lived until 1921, buried in Ark. The last child was Uncle Tommy, and he married Lee Emmer Nelson. She died in 1932, and he sold his farm in 1939 to Wayne Levan. He remarried to Minnie Quinn. My mother and aunt always spoke of Uncle Tommy, but I do not remember any certain thing. Will tell you this. About twelve or fourteen years ago, this couple came to the cabin. He was a physician from Arizona, and they were such sweet people. His great-grandparents were Elizabeth and A.D. Lemon who died in Ark. I gave him the location of Lemon’s Landing, and they went there, also went to where the Lemons had lived at Old Salem. He learned a lot and all the records that I gave him. Since then, he has written a book, and he sent me a book, and also one to the cabin. In it is a picture of Elizabeth and A. D.’s monument in Ark. Dr. Lemon is a member of our Historical Society.

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Uncle Tommy and family (?) on the North Porch of the home he built himself.

Ma and Pa Bought the Farm

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In the early fall of 1962, Ma and Pa purchased the ole home place from Mr. and Mrs. ROLLEY JOHNSON SR. Pa and Dad’s siblings—WANDA, WAYNE, and HARLAND—moved us from the ole JESS STEELE house in Burna to the farm. It was Mom’s birthday; she was twenty-nine years old; Dad was thirty-one. They helped him in the house and sat him in a chair. He was still recovering from his injury months ago by the runaway team that could have resulted into something a lot worst. It took all winter of ’63 and much of the spring before he was back to himself. Mom was getting stronger, also still giving in that ankle, but over time, it improved. One of the first things I remember on the farm was Dad holding my hand and walking down to the mule barn and looking through the cracks of the gate and seeing the largest sows with baby pigs. And she put her noise through the cracks of the gate, and I stepping back several steps, I thought she had me. As we were walking back to the house, Dad said, Tommy, do you think you will like living on a farm?

I said, OKAY, I GUESS IT WILL BE ALL RIGHT. As we walked back to the house, which seemed so far away, I saw the hen house, where I would gather eggs, and the ole Brooder House, where a lot of baby chickens would be raised for many years to come. Before we crossed the road, there was an old building, with a few planks missing, that was long and narrow, that stopped a few feet from the edge of the road. There was a small, RED BELLY TRACTOR. In a few months, I would be placed upon that giant machine to steer the best I could between rolls of baled hay. Times were hard. I was way too young to be doing something of that nature, but yes, I did it. I couldn’t push the clutch down or turn at the end of the rolls. I have through how dangerous it really was. Pap would engage the clutch and give it a little gas and jump off and load the hay on to the wagon. I tried to keep the tractor straight in line the best I could. As I began to get closer to the fence roll, I would start howling for Dad to come and turn the tractor around. Dad always came in the right time to turn us around. I remembered Pap telling me over and over, Don’t jump off the tractor. There were times I was scared. I would howler for him, and he wouldn’t answer me. Where was he, Potty follow me out to the right of me. I guess I did fairly well for a four-year-old. I sometimes ran over a bale of hay, and Dad would have to shut the tractor off and cut, pull the bale out from under the tractor. Soon, the wagon was loaded, and Potty and myself would go to the rear of the wagon and climb up on the bales and ride on the top to the barn; that was a lot of fun. Dad had only enough money to hire someone to bale the hay. Therefore, it was only him and myself to get the hay haul in. I can still see Dad as he would throw several bales through the opening of the loft, get down go into the entry climb a ladder, and stack the bales, and back down and on to the wagon and continue the process over and over. As I grew older, I have many times seen Pap doing it all by himself, how hard, back breaking, and time consuming it really was. Ten to twelve acres field of baled hay took time, several days to complete. I have thought about this many times after I was grown, how foolish, and what a huge chance to take to get some hay in. I went on to drive larger tractors, and by the time I was nine years old, I could drive the old pick-up all over the farm. The hot, dry days of summer that brought sweat in your eyes and the raised blisters on your hands are only a memory, as I look from the windowpane that separates the cool from the scorching sun. It reminds me of a time of growing up, yet there were hardships and many challenges to face, but we all managed to get by. It took each other, some give their best, while others did more than they should have. I left home when I was twenty-three years old. Pap lived and was a stuart of the land for thirty-eight years until his death in 2000.

The Closest Town Was Burna

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As a child growing up in the ’60s and ’70s, it was an interesting period in time. The closest town was Burna three and a half miles north of where I lived. Burna is not an old town. My Grandma Barnett, who was rear in Hampton, remembered as a child where Burna laid was just an open field. Highway