“My daughter-in-law started calling me Daisy. My grandkids call me Grand Daisy. I am from Corinth, MS and grew up in Grenada. That was before they dammed up the lake.

I was a tomboy, the only girl in three generations. I played with slingshots, roamed the clay pit canyons, and picked cotton for my uncle. The newspaper editor lived next door, so I got a paper route at a young age and rode my bike to deliver newspapers.

I come from strong women. My grandmother was married to a railroad man. He died when she was 36 years old, leaving her with three children; the youngest one was nine months old. She got a job cleaning restrooms in the courthouse. She walked a couple of miles to work each day, but they survived.

My mama fed people and visited the folks no one else would, including the grouchiest people in the nursing home. My dad caught fish and took them to feed others. My parents were givers, and taught their family to be that way.

Dad was also a machinist in a hosiery factory. He had a heart attack and died at 55. Mom had never worked, but she packed up everything and moved to Jackson to become a house mother at the Mississippi School for the Blind.

I married Johnny when I was 14. He was seven years older and loved me unconditionally. We were married 62 years. It was a very good marriage.

Johnny drove a truck delivering produce in the Mississippi Delta, then he got a job with Ingalls shipyard in Pascagoula when some of the executives came to Grenada for a fishing trip and my dad helped them find fish.

There was nowhere to live in Pascagoula, so we moved into a nasty little fishing shack that we cleaned and fixed up. It was the first time to be away on our own, and that two-room shack was one of the happiest places I ever lived. We had two children, and company came over the whole time.

We outgrew the shack, and I went wandering around looking for a house. My family calls it ‘poot-waddling,’ when you get in the car and don’t know where you are going.

I found a house in Grand Bay and fell in love with the trees and azaleas. We moved in, but God had a bigger purpose for that house and told me to start a church there. I didn’t want to but obeyed anyway. I didn’t do it the right way for the Presbyterian church, and they didn’t know about our church until we were already established. We went door to door inviting people to the church that we started.

On the morning of our first Sunday service, my husband burned the trash before company came. The burn barrel was close to the cane field in the backyard. The cane caught on fire, and it sounded like war had been declared with all of the popping and snapping like guns firing. We started that church off with a bang. It kept growing on its own and is now in a beautiful building.

We moved to Mobile, then my husband had an accident at work. He was blinded in one eye and lay for 17 days in the hospital without moving. He was fired while he was in the hospital. He couldn’t get workman’s comp because he was fired, so we had three boys and no income. Cleaning houses and selling Amway saved our lives. We finally got a lawyer, and the company paid his doctor bills and a small settlement that helped us survive.

We didn’t have much, but we still helped others. After Hurricane Katrina, we were without electricity for just a day, so I cooked everything in our freezer and delivered water and hot food to Bayou La Batre. They were devastated. I kept driving from house to house in my station wagon delivering food and asking them what they needed.

Helping after a disaster is a chance to see human nature. I stopped at one house to give food to a little old man. He said, ‘Ma’am, if you don’t have enough, take it down the block. There is a couple with children who don’t have anything.’ I went to the couple’s house, and they said, ‘Ma’am, there’s a little man who doesn’t have anything, please take him ours.’ I had plenty for all of them.

Some told me not to feed the Vietnamese, but I feed anyone who is hungry. I took my children and grandchildren with me to help and to see what it means to be without.

Johnny passed away 12 years ago. I moved out of our four-bedroom, two bath house and into a trailer, getting rid of 62 years of junk. My daughter-in-law didn’t think I would adjust, but I always promised myself that whatever happened in life, I would not become a grouchy old woman. This is my first time living alone, and I love it.

I have a deep faith. We have an 8 a.m. prayer time before Sunday school, and I give them a word every week. The word this week is fence. I didn’t think that word had meaning and tried to find another world. Then I realized the fence in my life is old age; I am 85 and can’t do what I used to do. There are some fences I need to tear down to let some people in my life. There are other fences that I need to keep some people out.

Last week’s word was joy—the joy God puts in your soul. I hear the leaves, trees, and clouds whisper, and I have joy.

I went through a period of time where God told me to go to a different church each Sunday. One was a church where they dress up, so I wore a dress and stockings instead of my pantsuit. On the last hymn, I stood up to sing and my drawers fell down with my stockings. They were both around my ankles, and I couldn’t move until I got them off. I quickly sat down and stuck them in my pocketbook, acting like nothing happened.

Tuesday morning, a letter was sent to me at my home church saying, ‘Don’t let your little incident keep you from coming back to our church.’

I give myself a lot to laugh about.”

Daisy, Part One

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Daisy’s story is a part of a series about the Weavers—people stitching our communities together, solving problems, and showing how to care for our neighbors. Send a message to Our Southern Souls to nominate a Weaver from your community to be featured on Souls.