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Harold and Doris Hammons posted a condolence
Nancy,
We are so sorry to hear of your Daddy's death.
He and your Mama were always so good to me. They treated me like family.
You and Kaye did a great job taking care of him.
Our thoughts and prayers are with you and your family as you go through the difficult days ahead.
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Donna Johnson-Hicks posted a condolence
Joann and family, I am sorry about your brother. Please know that you are in my thoughts and prayers at this difficult time. Our love and condolence to you and you are in our prayers during this time. Thinking of you this Thanksgiving season during your time of grief.
OUr love, Donna and Glenn Hicks
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Shirley and Frank Walker posted a condolence
Nancy, We were so sorry to hear about the passing of your father. You will be in our thoughts and prayers as you go through this difficult time.
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Janet Roop posted a condolence
Nancy, my thoughts and prayers are with you , durring this difficult time. Janet-Walker- RoopDORO
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Christine Lowenstein posted a condolence
Emma, Kaye and Nancy,
I am saddened to hear of Hugh's passing. May you find comfort in knowing that he is at peace and you cared for him so well. He passed on surrounded by your love in his home. It has been an honor to spend time with your family. Love and peace to your family.
Christine Lowenstein,
Hospice
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Missi Rash posted a condolence
Tim and Sandy so sorry to hear about your grandpa. I will be keeping your family in my prayers
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Tim Barker posted a condolence
Henry Hugh McCoy was my Grandfather. Pa I called him. He was more to me than any of my feeble words might express. I pray that I might always remember him- his honor, his integrity, his loyalty, his bright-eyed grin, his mischievous jokes, his work ethic, and most of all his deep and powerful love. He was a man who loved by doing. And “do� he would - seemingly tirelessly. He would DO so many thing to be sure that all of us knew we were loved and cared for.
One of my earliest memories of Pa was when Sandy and I were both dressed in our finest cowboy and cowgirl outfits for some pictures on Pa’s very large workhorses. My being so very small and the horses be so very large made it very hard for me to get my legs all the way across the back of the horse. I remember it was like trying to do a split on a hairy floor. Afterwards, it was as if I was bowlegged from the stretch. This is my earliest memory. I just remember how happy he was and how caring and gentle he was. I would later come to understand just how much horses meant to him. He would take his horse-drawn wagon on rides around the community. I don’t remember ever riding in the wagon with him. It is one of my regrets. He was a most certainly a first rate horseman. Many, many years later, to the best of my recollection, I remember him telling the story of the time he needed to catch a cow, which was doing as cows do – going the exact opposite direction that you need them to go. He was in the field with the rest of the cows and there also happened to be one of his horses there as well. He grabbed the mane of his horse- jumped on it’s back and took off riding bareback, chasing down the cow. He got the cow of course. I think he must have been around 60 or 70. For me, at that moment, he challenged what is expected behaviour at a certain age. I want to remember how strong he was, how clearly he set out to accomplish a job and with what determination he finished it…regardless of circumstances. It seemed every obstacle was an opportunity to teach or learn, a challenge to overcome usually with some fantastic tale being born from the adventure. I miss the zest he had for life and the joy with which he lived. He will always serve as an inspiration to me.
I am so very fortunate to have known my grandparents. Almost every single weekday morning from the time I started school till the time I got my drivers license, was spent with my Grandparents and Sandy. Granny would prepare breakfast and Pa would read, watch TV or be figuring on some tiny piece of paper how much something would cost or how much the cattle would bring or the tobacco or how much fertilizer he needed, the list goes on and on. He was resourceful and independent. Sandy and I finished our homework for school and huddled around hot air blasting from floor vents on the coldest mornings. I remember how impressed I was by how many biscuits Pa would eat. Then as we got older, biscuit eating competitions began to happen. I hate to say it but I wasn’t even in the running. Pa would pack away 12-13 biscuits with gravy and sausage and Sandy a very close second on many occasions. I think she may have won or tied at least once or twice. He would then take off to do the farm chores and often to do logging. It takes a lot of carbohydrates to wrestle logs and cattle or to play sports like Sandy did. In the winter, snow days would leave us snowbound and Pa would be there with riddles, teaching us card games. He would even get into the floor with Sandy and myself huddled around the footstool on the carpet using it as our very own card table.
Another memory I have was of Tobacco setting day- I most fondly remember how Sandy and I would ride the setter, carefully placing the plants in their cradles to be pushed into the soil. Pa would drive just fast enough to make us scramble to keep up. We got great joy in filling the plants in, no matter if I missed a plant or if Sandy missed a plant we would do our best to not let there be any holes to fill in later. Between the two of us very rarely would one get by without a plant happily put in place…well… that is, except that one time when we made up for it….. It must have been early on in our tobacco setting careers when we had just started to ride……or perhaps we lacked a proper refresher course from the year before but anyway…. Sandy and I were feverishly putting plant after plant into the setter. I remember feeling very proud of how well we were keeping up. It was about this time that Pa looked behind to check our work. When he turned around to see what a glorious row of tobacco we had just planted, he only saw what must have been a rather odd sight. He saw only the roots of the plants sticking up out of the ground. We had been placing the plants in upside down. No doubt he had some feelings about the loss of the transplants, fertilizer, and the time. For those of you who are unaware, tobacco does not like to be planted upside down. I cannot say how Sandy felt about this calamity but I felt awful. Pa, being the man that he was, was not upset but instead he laughed it off, pulled the plants out of the ground and we went back and set them again. Such a beautiful lesson, so simply taught and a story that means so much more to me than all the rows of near-perfect plants that we ever planted. I remember him laughing about this on many occasions.
Both he and Granny, along with my parents instilled in me a deep appreciation for farming. I have so many memories surrounding the garden and farming. Springtime days spent riding the tobacco setter, hoeing and planting seeds. Summertime days were spent picking vegetables, stringing, beans, shelling peas, and yet more hoeing in the garden and the tobacco field not to mention the always present need to make hay while the sun shined. This was not my favorite job. Sandy could swing a bale of hay infinitely better than I could. I found my calling rolling bales down hill for easier gathering. Then in the fall and winter, the farming chores went to grading the tobacco. He was so patient as I struggled to understand exactly what a “hand� was and more importantly how to select a leaf to tie the group of graded leaves together. It took me much more than one try to get that rather simple tie figured out. I had mixed feelings about working in the barn on freezing cold mornings. I would dress in as many layers as I could stand and my fingers would get very cold. I can only say that there was absolutely no mistake in the pride I felt at the end of the day at what we had accomplished. I also remember he would take baskets of vegetables to neighbors and family. and take such joy in being able to provide for not only his family but for those others who he could help. I will never forget his pride and joy as each years harvests would come in. One year in particular, he produced a monster crop of potatoes. The potato patch held a special place in my heart after seeing the bountiful crop that he pulled out of the ground. His grin was as wide as the mound of potatoes was long.
Then there were the cantaloupes! I hated cantaloupes. All the ones I had ever eaten came from a grocery store and tasted something like a non-juicy plastic. Then there was the year I finally tried a cantaloupe from Pa and Granny’s garden. It was nothing like anything I had ever eaten before. Sweet, juicy, aromatic and given to me with love. I would forever look forward to those melons and they would always make me think of late Summer, hot days and Pa with his pocket knife eagerly cutting into the best melon.
And then there were the tomatoes! The four of us would pile into the truck during our summer vacation from school and head for a work day at the old home place on Cabbage Creek. Granny would grab a few tomatoes, miracle whip, cheese, bread and some bottles of Pepsi. As soon as we would arrive, into the spring box the Pepsis would go along with the Miracle Whip and cheese. Lunch was a joy in the company of my grandparents who taught an appreciation for simple pleasures and hard work. Now every time I eat a tomato sandwich, my mind takes me back to these good times.
Another thing about Pa was his love of trees. I remember how amazed I was at his knowledge of trees. How could he tell so much about a tree from a twig or identify it without leaves. He was a logger. He did with trees what few other men would even dare to imagine with such ease, or at least he made it seem easy. Although I am sure there was very little easy about it. The sheer size of the trees he would wrestle by himself and pull from the woods with his horses or tractor was amazing. I do not know how he did it. Surely with lots of sweat and lots of cunning. I remember how once he climbed into a tree to cut it down because it was overhanging a neighbor’s house. He was in the tree, so high up he said he could stare down the chimney. This was yet another example of fearless determination to get a job done. I only helped him in the sawmill on a few occasions. He may have been disappointed by my lack of interest in saw milling but he never held it against me. He understood that I was on my own path and he accepted me for that and I have never felt any less loved by him. He was always the best at encouraging me to do what I felt was right for me.
There were a couple times when I remember Granny and he would have a disagreement…and times where Pa and I would have a disagreement. Granny used to say rather loudly for a women who never truly raised her voice. “Now Pa, you’d argue with a sign post if IT would stand there and let you.� I must confess that there were occasions where I was the signpost. To me a sure sign that we are most definitely related.
There was one thing Pa always used to say. “It ain’t work if you call it play.� This is the perfect example of the way he approached every moment in his life. A phrase that echoes in my head and I share with almost everyone I work with and anyone who is dear to me. The very last time I saw him I asked him if he remembered saying. “ It ain’t work if you call it play.� I told him that I had been “trying to play real hard up in New York� at my job. He smiled. His eyes glistened. I knew I had gotten the most important lesson I could ever get from him. He was always grateful for what he had been blessed with. He approached every moment with a child like delight. His eyes burning with delight. I will always hold this moment in my heart.
Even now as I search for words to do him justice, some other phrase or some other memory I might share, I feel as if I am trying to grasp a mountain by looking only at it’s shadow. There is no way to sum up a person’s life in words or a few memories much less someone who is as close to you as my GrandPa was to me. I feel as though my memories run away from me as I try even harder to hold them close to my heart. My comfort comes in knowing I loved him. That he loved me and that no matter how good MY memory or bad, the times we shared together shaped me and he will forever be with me. He is still here in my heart, in my blood and forever a part of who I am. I am eternally grateful!
May God bless you and thank you for your thoughts. May God bless him! May he find rest, comfort and peace with God in heaven. I am sure today, Heaven is a better place with him there and we are better here for having had 94 years with such an outstanding man. A man who we were lucky enough to call by many family names but most of all, we were lucky to call him friend.
S
Sandy Richardson posted a condolence
It was a cold winter morning and as I recall there may have even been a little snow on. I couldn’t have been more than about six or seven years old. I was at Pa and Granny’s awaiting the arrival of the school bus as I did every day and that’s when it hit me. Today is the very day I am supposed to bring a small log to school for a Christmas project. Someone would be there to drill holes in the logs and we would put candles in them to make our very own candle holders to decorate with for the Christmas holiday. I love Christmas, I love candles, I even love logs – how could I have forgotten such an important assignment. I was in a panic and about as distraught as any child could possibly be over a forgotten log. It was too late. I had really messed up. Pa walked to the basement steps, put on his boots, and asked me what I was waiting for. “Let’s go,� he said.
That’s the way it had been pretty much since I was able to walk. And that’s how it would continue to be for many years to come. There was something to do, a task at hand, a job to complete, a problem to fix and we were off to do it. “Let’s go,� he’d say and I’d be right on his heels. When our adventures first began I was a little bitty thing and couldn’t do much to help. Sometimes I’d just watch and learn, but whatever I could do he had me doing it.
I started off in the tobacco patch by salting snails when I wasn’t much bigger than a tobacco leaf. Over time this led to sowing the beds, picking plants, riding the setter, hoeing the rows, topping, cutting, staking, and grading. In the hay field sometimes I’d drive the truck or tractor and eventually was able to back the trailer into the barn, but mostly he’d have me load the bales because it was harder work. And he liked hard work. Tobacco and hay were the two chores I sometimes got paid for doing, but I never knew if I was getting paid until after the work was done.
Then there was the garden. At first I started off by just sowing seeds. Eventually I was weeding, spraying, tilling and harvesting. I remember times when Pa would go to the garden to pick whatever tomatoes, squash and cucumbers were ready for the day. Of course I was right behind him. I’d stand at the edge of the garden with the basket and he’d toss me the vegetables. When we first started this ritual I could catch pretty good, but I was still so young the tiny spikes on the cucumbers hurt my tender hands. So he’d rub them off before he threw them.
We also spent a fair amount of time splitting wood so we could stay warm in the winter. We used an ax. Some years later I learned there was actually a machine that would do this for you. But he liked hard work. During these times he’d talk to me about trees. He explained how to determine the age of a tree by counting its rings, identified the types of wood by bark and density, and talked about which woods were better for what purposes. At first I was too young to understand it all, but eventually it all made sense.
Eventually it all made sense.
For much of the time we spent together he could have looked at me as being in his way, a hindrance, something to slow down his progress. But he never made me feel that way. Not even once. Spending time with me, teaching me about things, and showing me his love was far more important than the speed at which the snails were salted. This seems so obvious, but a lot of people miss it. I am thankful he did not.
Of course as I grew up I became a more useful companion. Thanks to him, I eventually salted snails at record speed, jumped on and off the tractor to throw bales on the trailer as we went, could garden with little to no instruction, and was a decent wood splitter for a time. I believe he was pleased, or at least relieved, at the progress as all his time and patience was finally paying off.
We also had a lot of fun amongst all that work. Sometimes we would go fishing down by the big rock with the cane poles he made. Sometimes on Sundays we would ride over to the Long John Silver’s at Boone for lunch. Or have cantelope, watermelon, ice cream or some other treat back at the house. And then there was the time he was going to teach me how to shoot. He got out his revolver and showed me how to hold it and aim. We were standing on the deck and he told me to shoot at the fence post. So I did. Much to everyone’s amazement I nailed it. He told me to keep shooting so I did. This was the good fence, the one you paint so it looks pretty around the yard. Granny noticed I was chewing it up with Winchester rounds and yelled for us to stop. Pa laughed and we reloaded. She was laughing too.
There were also many wonderful moments around the breakfast table. I remember one morning the Today show had a segment about things people experienced when they got older. It was on in the background while Granny was fixing breakfast. Then while we were eating she asked Pa about it, inquiring whether he thought what had been said on the television about getting old was true? His response, “How would I know?� and suggested she ask him again when they were old and they’d decide then if it was true. She agreed. They were in their seventies at the time. This type of good humor and great attitude was typical and most everything somehow became more fun when Pa was around.
All the while he continued to teach me more and more, but the older I got those lessons had less to do with farming and fun and more to do with life. Like working in that tobacco and putting up that hay - there are some things you must work hard at just because it’s the right thing to do and needs doing even when you don’t know for sure if it will ever pay off. Just like raising a garden and storing up wood - if you want to have positive outcomes in life there are some demands you must meet and some responsibilities you must fulfill. And when the dark cold days come, and they will come, you better have enough faith and love canned away in the cellar and enough happiness and good memories stacked up in the woodshed to get you through.
So what about the Christmas project?
We went to the barn, grabbed the chainsaw, and up on the hill we went. Granny said she’d wave the school bus on as we searched with great care for just the right tree. He wanted to be sure about the project so we could choose the best wood. The American Beech Tree would be a good choice, a very hard wood with a nice bark that wouldn’t peel away so it could be stored year after year without damage. We found a Beech with a limb just the right size and shape, one that would work perfectly. He cut a piece the right length then took me on to school. I was only a few minutes late and made it in plenty of time to participate in the making of the Christmas projects.
He did not just go get the log while I waited for him back at the house. He did not send me on to school without the log and then drop it off. And he did not make me do without a log over an honest mistake I was sorry for. As soon as it was realized he helped me correct it. He helped me get the log by doing only the things I could not do myself.
And so it was - day after day, month after month, and year after year. With his guidance, the things I could do increased and the things I couldn’t do decreased. He continued to teach me in both direct and indirect ways for the remainder of his life. The fact that I came into this world as Hugh McCoy’s granddaughter was a stroke of good fortune for me. I am blessed to have been such an important part of his life. I love him as much as I have ever loved anybody. He will always be my hero.
And when all was said and done I had, and still have, the best log candle holder around.
-Sandy
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The family of Hugh McCoy uploaded a photo
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
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The family of Hugh McCoy uploaded a photo
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
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