Uffie

My great-great Aunt’s house is covered wall-to-wall in things she has brought back from seventy-something years of travel: zebra and giraffe masks in the stairwell leading to the basement, green and blue china on glass shelves, a brass hookah pipe, Russian nesting dolls. She was born in 1921, went to college, never got married, worked, and traveled the world on a regular basis with her friends. A few weekends ago, I traveled to Maryville, Tennessee, to celebrate her 98 years of life with our family. She and I share a name. Her name is Mary Ruth and mine is Langley Ruth, but my brother James and I call her Uffie.

In Dad’s homily, he reminisced on his childhood memories of packing a picnic and driving up to Cade’s Cove in the Smoky Mountains, skipping rocks and wading in the mountain streams with Uffie in rolled-up jeans. He traveled the world from Uffie’s living room, her projector flashing grainy images up on the wall. I got to have these same childhood memories, shared with my Dad and Granddaddy, who Uffie helped raise.

At her funeral, we took our time soaking in pictures of her life. She rides on a camel in one, a friend perched behind her, holding on tight as they both beam towards the camera. In another, she holds tight to my arm as I hold tight to James; we are balanced on a big rock by the creek in Cade’s Cove. In another, she sits alone on a rock by the creek, her arms on her knees and her bare feet out, ready to dip a toe back in the water and relish the feeling of it rushing past.

She was loved deeply by her community, who made sure she walked home safely when she would venture out to the Bruster’s for ice cream on a Sunday afternoon. The church was packed wall-to-wall with people she had volunteered with at the library or clothing drive, or who had traveled with her. As I sat down to speak with a woman in a wheelchair, she told me that she and Uffie had walked across glaciers together.

I flew out of Maryville as the sun rose over the Smoky Mountains, purple and golden and covered in snow. Somewhere below was the stream running through Cade’s Cove, gurgling against rocks that will remember the frequenting of Uffie’s bare feet for centuries to come; feet that always took the next step; a woman who drank in the world with curiosity and wonder.