Opal Myers was no more than a name, and mountain hospitality no more than a concept to me, that summer morning I crossed Morgan Branch on a foot-worn bridge and met Larry, her youngest son.
My husband, Don, and I were newcomers to East Tennessee. We planned to attend ChristyFest™ 2000, a celebration of Catherine Marshall's novel, held yearly in Townsend. Before the festival started, I wanted to visit the Christy Mission, as it is now called.
The smells of bacon frying and coffee perking greeted us. We signed the guest book; in it I saw visitors' names from all over the world. Larry gave us a packet of mission information. He showed us his home, pointing out renovations he'd made. I wondered where the bathroom was. I later found it on a hill, sheltered by trees, sporting a crescent-shaped moon.
Before Larry left for work, he told us he commuted daily from his home on Chapel Hollow Road to Greeneville, a round trip of seventy-four miles, and worked various shifts, mainly second. His commitment to the never-ending maintenance the Christy Mission required necessitated a good paying job. Such was hard to come by, I later learned, as many in Cocke County worked seasonal tourism jobs, and did odd jobs or collected unemployment the other nine months.
I looked out the window and imagined Larry driving on this one-lane road in pitch darkness, navigating over ruts and washouts with nothing more than headlights to illumine his way. Chapel Hollow Road veered right off Old Fifteenth, hugging the mountain as it climbed, allowing no room for driver error. I wondered why Cocke County did not maintain these two roads better: a number of people lived on them, plus they constituted the only route to a world-famous tourist attraction.
Then Larry, his voice husky with emotion, spoke of his mother. I learned of Opal's role as advisor to Catherine Marshall; the Hugette Lee family mentioned in the prologue of Christy is actually Ben, Opal, and their three sons. I later saw a photo of Catherine and her parents taken during a 1959 research visit.
But Opal's brand of mountain hospitality extended far beyond welcoming a distinguished Southern author and her kin. Larry told us that Opal practiced unlimited, unbounded, throw-caution-to-the-winds hospitality. I call it the dangerous, New Testament kind that Jesus practiced–without modern precautions like dead bolt locks and security peepholes.
Day or night, Opal would hear a knock, open the door, and fight the natural inclination to slam it shut. The person knocking might be incoherent, reeking of alcohol, unsteady on his feet. Trusting God for her safety in a remote location, Opal invited him in, and shared what she had: a clean shirt, a hot meal, a hug. Time and time again, Opal welcomed the weary, the addicted, the abused. Most left, but some stayed on, living in the abandoned Click cabin until they got back on their feet. Opal's love and willingness to accept people as they were changed countless lives.
To honor his mother's memory, Larry could do no less. He explained that the mission site was open to the public twenty-four hours a day. Even though grant money was available, Larry accepted no government subsidies for historical properties, fearing that constraints of schedules and regulations would thwart Opal's wishes. Larry urged children and parents to pick wild flowers, to dangle their toes in the mountain-fed waters of Morgan Branch, to stay as long as they wished, whenever they wished.
On September 27, 2002, I learned via the Internet that Larry's cabin had burned to the ground, cause unknown. Neither he nor his wife, Karen, was home that morning. A hunter discovered the blaze. He spent precious time trying to find a neighbor willing to let him use their telephone to notify the fire department. By the time firefighters arrived, his cabin was a total loss. As is common in the mountains, Larry carried no fire insurance, due to its expense.
Opal's annotated copy of Christy and other precious historical artifacts, not destroyed in the mission property fires of 1962 or 1992, were reduced to a smoldering pile of ashes. I mourned Larry's loss and wondered if he would rebuild or leave.
In early 2003, I started thinking that someone should write a history of Ebenezer Mission. The articles I'd read were confusing and differed greatly on such crucial facts as when the mission began and how its founder's surname was spelled. I thought it necessary to supplement oral tradition with facts from whatever written sources existed. These facts would refute, support, or amplify oral tradition, forming a comprehensive history of the partnership between the missionaries who served Ebenezer, and those parents who entrusted their children to its ministry.
When the co-chairman of ChristyFest™ 2003 visited me, I showed her some Ebenezer materials I'd collected. She asked me if I'd lead a book discussion–one which would correlate the history of Ebenezer Mission with Christy. As I wrote my presentation, I started thinking that the “someone” to write Ebenezer’s history was me.
I revisited the mission site in June 2003 as a planned activity of ChristyFest™. Still grieving his loss, Larry wept as he thanked our group for their prayers and support. He was rebuilding a log cabin on the concrete foundation not destroyed in the 1992 fire. Rather than move off mission property, his family lived in two small camping trailers. I drew upon his determination, and knew that by sifting through the ashes of Ebenezer Mission's four fires–three in Tennessee, one in China–I could collect, collate, write, and share its history.
It's now August 2007 and I am nearly finished with the research phase of my book. I've traveled to nine states; my Rolodex file contains about two hundred addresses. I've met people who have generously assisted in what has become my personal quest and a labor of love.
I thank Barbara for this opportunity to inform you of my upcoming book, tentatively titled: Sifting through the Ashes: The History of Ebenezer Mission.
You’ll learn about Katherine Plantz, who at age twenty-three, left Wisconsin with no more than a suitcase and a dream, trusting that God would help her plant a mission “far back in the mountains.” You’ll read the untold stories of Leonora Whitaker and John Wood, Ebenezer’s most famous missionaries, whose lives were immortalized in print as Christy Huddleston and David Grantland.
You’ll be inspired by stories of Appalachian parents and their children, who, according to worldly values, were “raised up poor,” but by means of opportunity and education, “turned out rich.” You’ll be challenged to consider God’s plan for your life, as were the Ebenezer missionaries, who, when told of fields “white already to harvest,” answered God’s call to service.
My book will draw upon letters, articles, and interviews gathered from all over the United States. Of special interest are previously unpublished photographs of Ebenezer and its staff beginning in 1899. Purchase information will be available at www.christyfest.org.
I was privileged and honored to proofread Barbara’s manuscript. Her book, Letters to Lori, is a marvelous story of Opal Myers’ love, courage, and dedication. May we all draw inspiration from it!
Marilyn Dean Mitchem
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