Covered Wagons, Feather Beds, and Granny Susan
Great Grandmother Susan Ann Tarlton Moore I remember my mother brushing Granny Susan’s long white hair as she sat up in the old featherbed in her daughter’s home, the home of my grandmother Bessie Moore Wilson, on Reece’s Creek in the Missouri Ozarks. She was old, I thought. And maybe a little scary because of it. Mother finished, and Granny’s slight frame remained turned in our direction, Grandmother’s colorful patchwork quilts up to her waist. I was less than 4 years old, Ken must have been around 8 that day when Granny Susan patted the featherbed for us to hop on and sit with her. Now I was about 1/2 cowboy and 1/2 Indian at this time, so I paid rapt attention when she began to talk about covered wagons. Covered wagons automatically meant cowboys and Indians so she, as much as was possible, had me on every word. I doubt any other theme of her story would last a man near 80 and be as fresh as a new lily after a spring shower. This would most c...