I found this tombstone in a little graveyard at the Old Zion Cumberland Presbyterian Church outside Sparta, Tennessee. I don’t know why this one headstone caught my attention out of all the others that adorn the cemetery. It reads “In memory of Sarah A. Brock.” She lived for 14 years, 9 months, and 25 days.
Most likely, she was a farmer’s daughter, growing up in the hills of Tennessee. Sarah probably had the same dreams as most 14-year old girls from that era. Dreams like “when I get older I want to catch a train to California to see the faraway lands,” or “I’m gonna hop a ship and experience the cultures of the Middle East and Europe.” Maybe she would have been satisfied being a storekeeper, or a loving wife to a farmer, raising a passel of children.
As did most families of the 1800s in Tennessee, Sarah most likely had a large family with several brothers and sisters. They all probably piled up in a big feather bed at night and laughed and giggled until their father told them to quiet down and get to sleep.
In the mornings before going out and doing the chores, Sarah’s mother probably had a big spread of bacon, eggs, and homemade biscuits for breakfast. Chores might have consisted of feeding the chickens, slopping the hogs, or milking the old dairy cow to get their daily supply of milk. Back then, most folks had large gardens and I imagine Sarah and her siblings did their share of hoeing the rows, sticking the green beans, or picking the vegetables to “can” so the family could eat through a long winter. After chores, Sarah and her siblings may have run through the fields playing tag, and hide-n-seek, or maybe they headed down to the woods to swing on the vine hanging from a big oak tree. If there were a creek nearby, I’m sure the gang took a dip in the cold, clear water so they could tell “Mama” there was no need to take a bath in the washtub on Saturday because they were “clean now.”
On Sunday mornings, no doubt Sarah and her family loaded up in the mule wagon and made the short journey to some old country church, most likely the Presbyterian Church where she is buried.
As a little girl sitting and squirming in the hardwood pews, did she flip through an old, tattered Heavenly Highway hymnbook to pass the time although she had not yet learned to read? Maybe she was clinging to her mother’s arms, scared to death because the old preacher screamed “the end of time is near.” Sarah didn’t want it to be the end of time because she had some growing up to do. As a teenager, she may have secretly stolen glances across the aisle at a cute boy she had a crush on, hoping he would notice her in her new blue dress. It was likely a welcome distraction from the long sermons and the stifling atmosphere of the old country church.
After church on Sundays, like many families of the time, Sarah’s kinfolk likely gathered together for a big, home-cooked meal. Sarah may have been eagerly hanging on every word from her grandmother as she shared the secret recipe for her famous apple pie, or perhaps she was outside playing with her cousins, brothers, and sisters, eagerly anticipating the sound of the dinner bell that would signal it was time to sit down and eat.
The meal itself may have included a variety of traditional Southern dishes, such as fried chicken, green beans cooked with bacon, mashed potatoes and gravy, cornbread, and biscuits made with lard or butter. For dessert, there may have been pies, like the aforementioned apple pie, or perhaps a peach cobbler or a chocolate cake.
These Sunday meals were an important time for families to come together, share stories, and enjoy each other’s company. It was a chance to catch up on the week’s events and connect with one another over a delicious meal.
Whether Sarah was learning to cook from her grandmother, or simply enjoying the company of her loved ones, these Sunday gatherings likely held a special place in her heart.
Sarah Brock may have had long, flowing red hair, or perhaps her hair was a shade of brown with little curls that bounced as she ran and played. It’s hard to say for sure, but what we do know is that Sarah’s life was tragically cut short at the young age of fourteen.
Although Sarah was not famous and her name is not recorded in the annals of history, her life mattered. She was a real person with her own unique experiences, hopes, and dreams.
Despite the fact that we know so little about Sarah, her name and memory live on. Through this story, her name has been shared with the world and her memory has been given new life.