Martha Mae Jones was a master at crocheting. She was born on August 31, 1954, on Lee’s plantation in the unincorporated Mississippi Delta farming community of Scott. Not long afterward, her family moved to Benoit, approximately seven miles north of Scott. Though they were sharecroppers, Martha, who was diagnosed with sickle cell anemia when she was six months old, never worked in the fields as did most of the blacks in her family and others around her. Exempt from the outdoor toil, Martha cultivated her craft in the home as a seamstress of various forms.
Above (main image): Close up of Martha Mae Jones' afghan that is now a part of the author’s personal collection. Photo by Maria Zeringue, courtesy of the Mississippi Arts Commission.
Right: Martha Mae Jones. Photo courtesy of Shirlean Jones Turner Carter.
Because of Martha’s frail health, a doctor predicted that she would not live to celebrate her twentieth birthday. Ironically, though, when she was fourteen or fifteen, Martha was lying in a hospital bed when she received a prescription that might have helped her to beat these odds. This prescription had nothing to do with medicine, ancient or modern. Tired of hearing the ailing girl cry for her mother who was unable to be at her bedside, Martha’s nurse, a young white woman, had finally heard enough of the teen’s moans and groans. She demanded that Martha cease her weeping, take the instructional crochet booklet and supplies that she had brought her, and learn the stitches. Although this crochet therapy was not what any doctor would have ordered, it might have been Martha’s best medicine. Heeding the nurse’s advice, Martha learned not just how to make a few simple stitches; she became so accomplished with her hook and yarns that she went on to make countless items such as babies’ booties and caps, dolls’ dresses with matching hats and handbags, men’s and women’s vests, and king-sized bedspreads, which, because they were crocheted, are called afghans. These works showed Martha’s expert handling of the crochet hook as well as her eye for design and economy. Ever conscious of knowing neither the day nor the hour when Fate would dictate that she lay her crochet hook down, Martha stitched with an urgency that led to her incredibly voluminous body of crocheted work. When she died on April 30, 2011, at age fifty-six, the work that she had done to create her afghans and other items spoke for her.
Be like Martha; use what you got.
After Martha’s death, I started thinking about the fact that there would be no more creative work from her. All her stitching had ended, so my thoughts went to an afghan that she had made in 1996 as a pastoral anniversary gift for my pastor, Rev. Ivory James, and his wife Winnie of Shaw, Mississippi. Though Martha was a member of the St. Thomas M. B. Church in Lamont, Mississippi, she gifted this afghan to our pastor on behalf of my brother, Andre Coleman, a deacon in our church and the father of Martha’s only son, Quintarius. By mid-2009, both Reverend James and his wife had both passed, so where, I wondered, was that afghan that Martha had made for them years earlier? Could I locate it now and perhaps even make it my own? I had to try. Below is an account of the life of the afghan from conception until it turned sixteen and was in my care.
Sunday, November 10, 1996
I attend the thirty-eighth pastoral anniversary of Reverend Ivory James and his wife Winnie at my church, the Pleasant Green M. B. Church in Mound Bayou, Mississippi. During the program, Martha presents Reverend James and his wife, but more so the wife, with a colorful, twelve-block afghan that she has made. I am unable to get a close view of the afghan from my seat, but from a distance, I can see the beauty of the floral garden spread. At this moment, it dawns on me to commission Martha to make an afghan for me. Martha suffers from chronic pain mainly because of her sickle cell anemia, so crocheting is one way that she finds solace from her suffering. In the months following that anniversary program, I put in my request, keeping my instructions simple. I ask Martha to crochet an ivory and green coverlet for me, one with flowers.
Left: The program from the Reverend Ivory James’ 38th pastoral anniversary. During this program, the author sees Martha Jones' colorful floral afghan for the first time. Photo courtesy of Dr. J. Janice Coleman.
Monday, May 26, 1997
Today, Memorial Day, I go to Martha’s house in Benoit to get the afghan that she has made for me. She has called to say that she has finished it, and she seems impatient for me to have it. Full-sized, it is lovely, so lovely, in fact, that I become curious about how she learned the art of crocheting. When I ask her, she tells me a story that is just as much about surviving against great odds as it is about how she learned to crochet. After she agrees to retell it, I go to my car and get my tape recorder so that I can preserve the compelling narrative.
Right: Photo of the afghan that Martha Jones made for J. Janice Coleman in 1997. Photo by Maria Zeringue, courtesy of the Mississippi Arts Commission.
Thursday, April 9, 1998
Mrs. James, Reverend James’ wife Winnie, dies today, just a few days shy of her ninetieth birthday, leaving the afghan among her many personal effects. Naturally the afghan passes into the custody of her husband. The stitched bed of flowers, however, does not cross my mind. As a graduate student at the University of Mississippi, I am just hoping that the funeral will be on a day that I can travel to Blaine, Mississippi, in Sunflower County, to document the service by photographing those who are present. (I have been Reverend James’ self-appointed photographer for nearly three years now.)
Wednesday, June 8, 2009
Reverend James dies today at age 103. The afghan now falls into the hands of his daughter, eighty-two-year-old Josephine Morris, who lives in Cleveland, Ohio, but has been at her father’s house in Shaw for an extended period to manage his care.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Reverend James’ funeral is today at the First Baptist Church in Mound Bayou. I arrive early at his house at 205 Johnson Avenue in Shaw to take pictures of the pre-service activities. I capture his daughter Josephine, his grandchildren, and some of his other relatives as they are sitting in the living room waiting for the limousines to arrive. In two of the pictures, I also capture the afghan, which is draped across the back of the couch.
Close up of Martha Jones' stitching and layering with various scraps of yarn. Photo by Maria Zeringue, courtesy of the Mississippi Arts Commission.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
I return to Reverend James’ house today to drop off the album of pictures of the last rites. While sitting on the couch where the afghan still is, I tell Josephine and her daughters a little about Martha, the woman who made it. They are packing up things so that they can return to Ohio in a few days. Because they know that I am an English professor at Alcorn State University, they invite me to take any of Reverend James’ books that I might want. I take only two. One of them is Abraham Lincoln: Wisdom and Wit, edited by Louise Bachelder. A maxim in the book that Reverend James had highlighted is, “I say ‘try’; if we never try, we shall never succeed.” Three and one-half years later, I will find myself trying to locate the afghan that now lines the couch on which I sit, and I hope that I succeed!
Saturday, April 30, 2011
The afghan maker dies today. All her life, Martha had borne witness to the conventional wisdom that “a stitch in time saves nine.” Her straight-line crochet hook must have twisted and turned a bit today as a way of nodding farewell to her.
An afghan that Martha Jones made for the author. This piece was made using yarn left over from other projects. Photo by Maria Zeringue, courtesy of the Mississippi Arts Commission.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Today I attend Martha’s funeral at the St. Thomas M. B. Church in Lamont. During the service, many family members and friends speak of her as a talented seamstress. The officiating minister, Reverend Cicero H. Hall, commends Martha for using the talent that she had to support herself and to improve the lives of those in her community. His message to all is, “Be like Martha; use what you got.”
Although this crochet therapy was not what any doctor would have ordered, it might have been Martha’s best medicine.
Right: Martha Mae Jones and her son, Quintarius. Photo courtesy of Shirlean Jones Turner Carter.
Thursday-Sunday, May 17-20, 2012
I spend much of these days transcribing the interview that I did with Martha on May 26, 1997. It has taken me a year to find the cassette tape of the recording. Listening to Martha’s voice and hearing her talk about how she began to crochet make me wonder where that afghan is that she made for Reverend James and his wife nearly sixteen years earlier. I am also thinking that if whomever has it can do just as well without it, then I would be willing to give him or her a bedspread to replace that afghan. I would like to add the afghan to my made-in-Mississippi-by-Martha collection. I’m thinking that it is with Ms. Josephine, as I address her, or one of her daughters, but I shall see.
Left: J. Janice Coleman gave Martha Jones personalized tags to include on the back of her work. Photo by Maria Zeringue, courtesy of the Mississippi Arts Commission.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Today I call Ms. Josephine at her home in Cleveland, Ohio, to find out where that afghan is. Though I give her a description of it, she does not recall ever seeing it. She tells me that many of Reverend James’ things are still packed away at her house and that her daughter Carol might be able to help me. I talk to Carol, who is equally unaware of the afghan. She asks if I would take a picture of my photograph of the afghan and send it to her. I direct her to the “last rites” album, telling her that it includes two pictures of the afghan. She and her mother tell me that they will look at the pictures and for the afghan and call me back in a few days.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Ms. Josephine has not called me back, so I call her again. She tells me that she believes they left the afghan at “Daddy’s house” in Shaw and that she had contacted Patricia, whose brother John now lives in Reverend James’ house. Patricia was to ask John if the afghan was still in the house and then call her back, but Ms. Josephine has not heard from her. Ms. Josephine says that she cannot contact John herself because he does not have a phone. It is likely, I am thinking, that the afghan is still at Reverend James’ house, where Ms. Josephine and her daughter left it three and one-half years ago. Before Ms. Josephine and I disconnect from each other, she says, “Let me check with Patricia again and call you back later.”
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Josephine calls me back and tells me that Patricia has already gone to her brother’s house and gotten the afghan, which she found lying across the back of an armchair. Josephine says that Patricia has washed the coverlet and that she will hold it in her car until I can come to Shaw and pick it up. Giving me Patricia’s phone number, Josephine says that if I let Patricia know when I am coming, she will have it ready for me.
Right: A crocheted vest that Martha Jones made for J. Janice Coleman's brother. Photo by Maria Zeringue, courtesy of the Mississippi Arts Commission.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
I call Patricia shortly before ten o’clock this morning to tell her that I will be leaving Vicksburg in a few minutes and stopping in Shaw around eleven-thirty to pick up the afghan. Patricia tells me to give her a call when I get to Shaw.
Nearing Shaw, I call Patricia, and she tells me that I should go to her house to pick up the afghan. “My husband—his name is Sammy—will be there,” she says. “You can get it from him.” She then gives me the directions to her house.
When I knock at Patricia and Sammy’s door, Sammy peeps through the blinds to see who is standing outside. When he opens the door, he hands the afghan to me immediately, and I leave the house, but I do not leave Shaw. I go to John’s house, formerly the home of Reverend James.
When John answers his door, I ask, “Are you Mr. John?” “Yeah, I’m John,” he says. “Well, I came by to give you a bedspread to replace the other one.” At the word bedspread, John, seeming not to notice the package in my hand, points toward Patricia’s house to tell me that the afghan is over there. But I quickly inform him that I have already picked up the afghan and that the bedspread in the bag that I am holding is his. I give him the bag and wish him joy for the rest of the season.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
I return to Vicksburg this evening. Tired from a weekend of visiting in Mound Bayou and Memphis, I put the afghan on the bed without looking at it.
Monday, December 31, 2012
I pull the afghan out of the bag so that I can see it in its full glory. Fifty-two inches wide and seventy-two inches long, the afghan is a twelve-block array of at least twenty different colors including orange, tan, ivory, burgundy, red, and various shades of blue, yellow, green, and purple. This coverlet is composed of blocks that have layers of frames that lead to a yellow and white flower in each center. For example, in block five, the one in the center of row two, the flower sits within a navy square that is surrounded by a wide ivory frame. In the last block, the flower sits in a square bed of purple that sits within a wider frame of lemon yellow that sits within a narrow bright red frame. The yarns are mostly leftover threads from other crocheted works that Martha made.
Photo of Martha Jones' afghan that is the subject of this biography. Photo by Maria Zeringue, courtesy of the Mississippi Arts Commission.
I see this afghan, overall, as a framed self-portrait of Martha.
Though this afghan is sixteen years old now, it is in remarkably good condition despite that block six, the third one in the second row, suffers from a modicum of distress. In this block, a lime green frame that is in between a baby blue frame and a pale yellow one is partly detached from the frames which once had it contained. Unlike all the other yarns in the afghan, this green yarn is blurry and seemingly of a less resilient quality than the other yarns, but that does not matter since this coverlet is a storage place for the many leftover yarns that would have sat around Martha’s house in various bags and baskets if she had not given them presence in this coverlet. Yesterday, this afghan moved from the Mississippi Delta and now rests at my home in Vicksburg, on the edge of the Delta. In my hands, it is home sweet home again until . . . maybe someone else, at some point, will come in search of it for other purposes. Today, though, the afghan makes a happy fiftieth birthday present for me!
As I look back over the life of this afghan, which is now twenty-eight, I pay tribute to Martha, who would have turned seventy this year. I see this afghan, overall, as a framed self-portrait of Martha. Despite her chronic illness, her life, summarily, has led to one thing: Martha herself as the rose in the center of all the lives in the Mississippi Delta that she touched with her crocheting.
Close up of Martha Jones' crocheted flowers from the green and ivory afghan that she made for the author. Photo by Maria Zeringue, courtesy of the Mississippi Arts Commission.
