The Shemwell Family

"Just A Little Piece of Cloth" By George McDaniel MyFamily Texts For many years now, a four by ten inch piece of cherry red woolen cloth, hanging in a little white frame, has brightened a favored spot on one of our walls. I am not one that would hang just any old piece of cloth on our wall, but this is a very special piece of cloth. It is a piece of my grandmother Amanda Shemwell Freeman's skirt. Before you decide that most anyone could have a piece of their grandmother's skirts, let me tell you the story of this finely woven little swatch. Sometime during the early part of the Civil War Amanda Shemwell was left a lone orphan. Although in my youth I talked to her about many things, I never learned jut what happened to her parents or to any brothers or sisters that she may have had. I do know that when she was about fourteen years old she was left to fend for herself. Shortly after the end of the Civil War she found herself working as a domestic, for a little more than her keep, for a plantation owner near Symsonia, Kentucky. Prior to the Civil War this plantation owner had been a large slave holder. After the war many of the slaves continued to stay with their old masters simply because they had no other place to go. This was the case at this plantation; some eight or ten of the oldest slaves continued to live in their old quarters and work on the plantation. While working as a domestic, Amanda Shemwell lived in the old slave quarters with these former slaves. She dearly loved them and they obviously loved her. Clothing and materials to make clothing was in short supply for everyone in the South at the close of the Civil War. For an orphaned domestic it was almost unobtainable. For quite sometime before and during the early part of the war many sheep were raised in the Symsonia area of Graves County, Kentucky. As the sheep grazed through the brush or scratched against the rail fences they left obscure little bunches of wool. Amanda, with the aid of her former slave benefactors, began to collect and save these little whisks of wool. In her spare time she would search the woods and adjacent fences for any bits of wool that had been scraped off by the sheep. After some time she gleaned two or three pounds of the sheep wool. One of the old former slave women had a spinning wheel and a small loom. The motherly old soul taught Amanda how to card the whool, spin it into yarn, dye the yarn, and then weave it into cloth. From the unfaded bright color I would guess that the dye was wild cherry or poke berry set with an acid mordant such as vinegar. With the assistance of her benefactors, Amanda made herself a fine skirt by hand. I am not sure but it is likely that Amanda wore this skirt when she married my grandfather John Wesley Freeman. Anyway, grandmother was still proudly wearig it some fifteen years later when they moved to Christian County in 1882. (**Note - Christian Co., MO) Some sixty-nine years ago this summer -- back when there were no paved roads, no road signs, no motels, no bridge where we crossed the Mississippi, and dang few filling stations- I drove Grandmother Amanda Shemwell Freeman, from her home near Linden, Missouri back to Graves County, Kentucky. We made the trip alone in a 1919 Model T Ford touring car. Although grandmother was past 73, we camped out at night and most of the time we were obliged to prepare our own food. When we finally arrived, it didn't take grandmother long to locate the old plantation place, near Symsonia, Kentucky. The place was in shambles. There was an old vacant southern-style mansion that looked as if it was ready to fall-in. Behind this old building were the remnants of several log cabins. The place was totally grown up in weeds and brush. As a young teenager, I wondered just why my old grnadmother had wanted to go to so much trouble to return to such a neglected place. She hardly hesitated at the site of the old mansion but hurried through the weeds and brush to the site of the old log cabins that had been located behind it. As we waded through the thickets she would say, "Here is where old Uncle Ike lived", "This was old Aunt Martha's place". Finally she came to the remains of a small log dwelling that stood somewhat behind the other slave quarters. Here she sat down ona small patch of grass surrounded by the thicket. She placed her head in her arms and wept. After what seemed an eternity to a fifteen year old, she mumbled, "Aunt Ida was more than a mother to me". Later, asking about Aunt Ida, I learned from my grandmother that the slaves only had a first name and that Aunt Ida had taken her in when no one of her own kind was willing to do so. So very long ago, it was in this lowly log hut that Aunt Ida had taught her to spin, dye and weaved the gleaned wool into the lovely cherry-red fabric. Now that I am older (83 on 15 September 1988) I have a greater appreciation for the dear, sweet hands that made this cloth and the loving hands that taught them how.