Life, Faith, and Needlework: The Heart Behind Pisgah Needleworks

Sometimes people ask me where the name Pisgah Needleworks came from. The direct answer is that Pisgah National Forest is located in the Appalachian Mountains around the Asheville area. The core of the forest was once part of the Biltmore Estate, which was sold during the Great Depression in an effort to save the house itself from being torn down or turned into a hotel. The longer answer is a Biblical reference. According to the book of Deuteronomy, Moses was guided to the top of Mount Pisgah and shown the Promised Land that his people would inherit, though he was told he would not enter it himself. Moses would be rewarded for his faith in Heaven, not on Earth.

Neither Erin nor I have ever identified as Evangelicals. We are people of faith and believe in the divinity and teachings of Jesus, but the details that so often divide and upset people in modern society we leave to God to sort out. That’s why our friendships have included Catholics, Protestants, Mormons, Jews, Muslims, atheists, agnostics, and countless other worldviews. Our own faith, however, has guided us to where we are today.

I’ve written in previous blogs about how our family came into being. For a short period, we were angry that we were not able to have children of our own. But if you ask our kids, they’ll tell you that we were meant to be their Mom and Dad. Each of them came with unique physical, psychological, and intellectual challenges that required a firm, loving, and knowledgeable approach. We were always meant to be their parents, and they were always meant to be our children.

This past weekend, I was reminded of how divine intervention and the notion of “working in mysterious ways” so often show up in life. My mom and dad met when she was thirteen and he was fourteen. Mom was standing with her cousin at the corner by Royal’s Drug Store, just a stone’s throw from our shop. Dad and his cousin walked up with a late 1960s swagger to the girls. Dad asked the taller of the two girls out on a date, and she turned him down. He then looked at the shorter of the two, a blonde girl with piercing blue eyes and a giggly personality, and asked if she would go out with him. She also said no, but added that if he met her the next day at the same spot at three o’clock, she might let him buy her a hot dog at Royal’s and then see a movie together at the Reeve’s Theater.

He agreed. The next day, he walked three miles from Arlington, across the Yadkin River, into downtown Elkin, and stood at the spot as promised. He began to sweat a bit as the clock on the bank building crept closer to three. Then he saw her from a distance, turning the corner from the road that led past Elkin High School. She had walked nearly five miles from Pleasant Hill to Royal’s, just as she said she would. From that day forward, they never dated another person. They married in 1971, and I came along in 1973. Fifty-two years later, I look out the window of my shop and stare at the corner where my family roots began.

On opening day, we had an emotional moment when my Uncle Phil and Aunt Sylvia visited the shop. Both are in their 70s, and Aunt Sylvia now needs a cane to walk. We never anticipated that they would be able to climb the steps up to the shop. But when they walked through the door, it felt like a piece of my mother had come back to us. Dad lived with our family the last four years of his life, and Mom lived with us the last eleven. She passed away this past April, and her loss has been especially hard. She was the quilter in our family, as well as the constant source of laughter and love for everyone who knew her. Of Mom’s four siblings, she was closest to Sylvia. Their bond was unbreakable. When I see my Aunt Sylvia, I’m reminded of my mother’s spunk and zest for life—her ability to make you laugh even in the dreariest of moments.

We asked Sylvia and Phil to sit and rest for a bit when they arrived. Sylvia told us she remembered climbing those same steps as a little girl. My grandmother, Mama Willie, went to the Mayflower Beauty Salon, which was across from my shop. If you’ve watched our Pisgah Needleworks YouTube channel, you’ve seen the video I made of the beauty shop’s painted sign door and the old dress shop across the hall. My grandmother’s best friend and neighbor, Wilda Lawrence, worked at the salon, and every Friday Mama Willie would bring the girls up those steps so she could get her hair done for the weekend.

To complete the circle, my mother was very close with Wilda’s daughter, Debo. In Mom’s final days, Aunt Sylvia, Aunt Ann, Aunt Denise (Mom’s brother Jeff’s wife), and Debo kept a vigil by her side so she would never be alone as her spirit made its way to Heaven and to my father. They stayed with her in shifts. Jacob, my brother, and I came every day as our work schedules allowed, but thanks to these faithful women, Mom was never alone. They kept their promise to her, and I can never thank them enough for their devotion to my mother and their shared faith.

As I sit here in the shop, I can see the corner where Royal’s Drug Store stands (now, Royal’s BBQ Restaurant), the tall art deco architecture of Reeve’s Theater, and the painted glass door of the Mayflower Beauty Salon. I’m reminded of the beauty of God’s blessings and how life works in mysterious and wonderful ways. The people who have loved me beyond measure were all part of these surroundings, and now my family owns a business in the very same spot. I can feel my mother’s presence here. Sometimes I catch myself thinking I see her walk by the door, or I notice a faint trace of her makeup and hair products in the air. I smile and think, Isn’t life grand?