The good life of Aunt Stella

When word came that Mama’s Aunt Stella had passed to her heavenly reward, there were no reminisces over her great accomplishments or stories of how her children had gathered tearfully around her death bed.

That’s because Stella – called Stellie in the mountain slang of our people – had lived a simple life. Simple because she never knew the complications of a husband, children, job, mortgage or taxes. She lived life as unencumbered as is earthly possible.

She was what the family always referred to as simple-minded. That is to say she had the privilege of seeing life through the eyes of a child for all of her 87 years. Her simple outlook on life was, in all likelihood, the enduring result of a raging childhood fever.

Let’s be clear on something: Stella was not a woman to be pitied. She was one to be envied.

Who among us wouldn’t choose a life where years quietly ebb along in a stream of gentle kindness, where we see only the goodness of others and never the ugliness? And because that is the view from which we would see the world, the world responds with equal gentleness and warmth. It is non-abrasive, non-cruel and non-combative.

And, if we were lucky enough to be wrapped deep in the bosom of a caring, loving family who sees to our every need, whimper and want, then life, despite a lack of adventure or romantic love, would be idyllic.

At the funeral, Mama and I sat four rows back in the little Baptist church nestled in the Georgia foothills, a stone’s throw from where the Appalachian Trail begins, land which, incidentally, was owned by Stella’s father, a prominent mountain man.

The preacher, new to the tiny community, didn’t know Stella well but he didn’t need to because one after another of those who knew the precious woman had pulled him aside and assured him, “If anyone was ever ready to burst the doors of heaven wide-open, it was Stella.”

“I can promise you that a swear word never came from her lips,” promised my cousin Karen. “She was so pure in every way.”

So, on that day, as a slight chill settled over the valley and into our mournful bones, we noted the passing of a sweet woman and her simple life.

When Stella’s brother, Tom Berry, had died 18 months before, the church was packed beyond capacity as the crowd spilled out into the church yard. Uncle Tom Berry, like his father before him, was a prominent man in those mountains, leaving behind him a legacy of goodwill, good works and devoted community service. He was known far and near.

But not his sister, Stella.

She seldom wandered off the mountain. She was content to sit on the porch and rock, working with her crochet, smiling sweetly to anyone who passed. There were no titans of industry, political ambassadors or big city preachers in the pews for Stella’s funeral. In fact, the church was only half full.

But tiny Stella, always dressed in flowered cotton dresses, nonetheless, made a big difference. Those in the community and those of us who traveled the 12 harrowing miles of snaking roads up the mountain, were there to celebrate her gifts to us.

She made us smile. Always. In a quiet way, she reminded us of what has steadily dripped away from today’s lifestyle – a simple-minded view of the world.

Oh, to be more like little Stella.