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Memories of Golde Dicks Markham (1996) Golde Markham Dicks 48/125

She turned her head toward the old men in their Amen comer and said, “All you men
sitting over there in that comer, I want you to listen good to what I’m going to say. A few

days ago I came out here and scrubbed this church and that comer. That comer was knee­
deep in tobacco spit, and it was hard work getting it up. I don’t intend to keep cleaning up
tobacco spit! I don’t want to find it there anymore!”
Well, those old men started swallowing the tobacco juice, I guess, because there was

never any tobacco spit in that Amen Comer again. Ma did keep the church and cemetery
clean until she died. Her baby was buried in that cemetery. My mother believed in keeping
places neat and clean—those places in which she had a personal interest.

For years, the deacons at Hopeful Church took up the collection in their hats—-
churches didn’t have collection plates then. When I was 10,1 thought that taking up a church
collection in a hat didn’t seem too respectful to the Lord. So I pulled green pine straw, and

using a needle and thread, I started in the center and wound little bunches of green pine
straw with my thread. I knew that green pine straw wouldn’t break and crumble like dry
straw would. As I wound the small bunches, I sewed them together until they were as large
as plates. I figured a way to make the rim of the plate roll up at the edge. I made two plates.

I showed these plates to Ma and asked her if she thought they would do for collection
plates. She was so surprised that I could make something like that. She thought my idea was
great! Before the service, I showed Grandpa Dicks, one of the church deacons, my plates.

Grandpa couldn’t believe that I had made the plates either. He seemed pleased but was never
one to brag or compliment anyone on anything.
We placed my plates on a little square table in front of the pulpit, and Grandpa used

them to take up the offering. Those collection plates were used in Hopeful Church for years.
I can remember going to the first Hopeful Church in the winter when it was so cold
that the roaming hogs congregated under the church to keep warm. Hogs pile up side by side

to keep warm. Once when the preacher delivered his sermon, the hogs got into a big fight,
starting to bite and make so much noise that we couldn’t hear the preacher. We never heard
so much squealing and grunting! Those hogs bumped into the church floor until I was sure

they were going to destroy the building. Finally the preacher stopped to wait for the hogs to
finish their skirmish. After a number of these interruptions, some of the brethren put wooden
latticework around the building to prevent the hogs getting underneath.

As time went by, Hopeful’s membership grew from one service each month to two
Sundays a month, and finally, years'later, full-time services. The preachers often stayed at
our house—and many times they brought their families. People back then tended to put a

preacher up on a pedestal, forgetting that he was just a human being. Ma was willing to have
the preacher stay with us because she said some family was doing the same for her husband.

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