A letter date stamped Feb. 3, 1975 is the first document in a three-ring binder labeled “Hildred Jones.” This letter was the start of a friendship that lasted until 8:OO PM May 18, 1994, when Hildred went to sleep for the last time. One of my dearest friends was gone.
In this first letter, typed on a manual typewriter – many more letters came handwritten – Hildred started by saying, “Dear Bob Justus, you have been in my thoughts so often these past few days that I decided to write you as I drink my second cup of forbidden coffee and see if all is well with you. Perhaps you are up in your beloved mountains and watching autumn come up over the mountain tops – my favorite time of year.”
Life’s trails make strange loops and cross unexpected junctures that open vistas unexpected but greatly welcomed.
Hildred was born in Canada and had a father who was an engineer that built dams. One dam he worked on was called Mathis at the time and today contains the waters of Rabun Lake of Rabun County, Georgia. Hildred, as a young girl, came down from Pennsylvania to visit her dad while he was there and fell in love with southern people and the Blue Ridge Mountains. She enjoyed playing with local children and felt a kinship with them.
Still later, Hildred’s dad hired a young Rabun County man named Dave Jones and brought him home for lunch and thus, Hildred met her future husband. On one of her visits to Rabun County, Hildred read some items I had written in Sunshine Magazine after I retired from the US Air Force in August 1971 and wanted to thank me for my articles. In all the years we were friends Hildred never had a word of criticism about anything I wrote so it is no wonder I responded in like manner.
Years passed and then one day Hildred called and said she was visiting the Jones family on the old US Highway 441 below Clayton. I dropped whatever I was doing and drove up there to meet for the first time a slim, small lady but a strong, vibrant person with strong principles. The short visit was the first of only two personal meetings. As years passed we kept in touch by letters.
Hildred, until her late 70s, lived in her home in the woods near the Allegheny River and still climbed on the roof to remove leaves from her gutters and mowed the lawn. However, she grew older and left her beloved home to live in nearby Grove City, Pennsylvania. I heard from Annabelle Hovis, a close friend of Hildred’s, a younger lady living in Grove City that Hildred, growing weaker, was in a nursing home there and growing weaker. On an impulse I drove up to Grove City and spent a couple of days. Hildred, Annabelle and I drove to see Hildred’s old home and the lovely scenes along the Allegheny River. It was an emotional time for us and such a brief time to be together.
Shortly after returning home I heard Hildred had passed away and I grieved over a dear friend of bright and inquisitive spirit who warmed my heart for years. She also wrote interesting, informative letters that shared many topics, including politics, growing social problems, and her love of the natural world that God left for our inheritance and care.
She left a void no one can replace.
