Southern Belles feature
Story by Cassie Graham Rogers • Photographed by Milton Morris
Mrs. Jane
Morris
The road traveled to Mrs. Jane’s house is a familiar one.
Out in the country, folks rely on neighbors for the exchange
of goods as well as for advice, support, and friendship. I’ve
been relying on Mrs. Jane and her family since I was a little
chicken myself. She is a pillar in the area of the country that
we like to call the Norwood Crossroads.
The clouds are dark and heavy with rain in the distance
as I drive out past the Olanta city limits to sit down with
Mrs. Jane on this June afternoon. Rounding the only curve
in the path, I drive under the canopy of trees that shade the
road—to GaGa’s house I go.
I’d like to say I’ve earned the right as a close friend to
call her “GaGa,” a name her eldest grandson, Erich (now a
lieutenant in the Navy), gave her when he was just a tiny,
little boy. Somehow the name stuck, and she is known
as and referred to as GaGa by her family and a few close
friends. GaGa isn’t a name easily forgotten, but it suits her
because the Belle behind the name is just as characteristic.
I wheel into the driveway of the quaint, country, brick
home surrounded by fields, barns, and woods. This
homestead and farm straddle counties; by definition, this
is undeniably country. Half of the road is Sumter County,
and the other half is Florence County. If I were to close my
eyes, I’d be able to tell by the bumps in the road in which
county I was.
As I wait for her to come to the door, out on the cool of the
patio, two red rocking chairs nod with the breeze. The lady of
the hour greets me, wearing her apron. “Mrs. Jane, I’m here
to find out what makes you a Southern Belle!” I tell her as she
ushers me inside. “Oh my! Well, I think you have the wrong
person,” she declares humbly. But, I know better.
38
JULY 2016
SHEMAGAZINE.COM