Yesterday we stopped by little house on the side of the mountain because it had a sign outside that read "Gifts by Lavender." Delta said that sign's been up since he was a kid but he's never been in there. So we stopped. I wanted to find a face jug made out of local pottery for my mom Face jugs are jugs made from pottery that have scary, twisted faces made into the belly of them. Making the jugs is a traditional craft as old as moonshine and potters and the purpose was to scare children away from the poisonous substances inside. (i.e. moonshine, whiskey, medicine) Face jugs were, literally, the original skull and crossbones.

Anyway, we stopped by this little Lavender shop to see if the local crafter inside had any to offer. The shop was attached to the house, right inside a little carport and there was a sign asking you to wipe your shoes and ring the doorbell. When a little old lady in a wheelchair wheeled up to let me in, I knew that pottery or not I would have to buy something before we left. She had a houseful of old lady crafts. You know, crocheted afghans and doilies and stars for Christmas trees. She had handmade quilts selling for $500 a piece. She had teddybears and baby booties and dishrags. But no pottery.

So I uncomfortably engaged her in conversation, checking the prices of everything, cringing because the prices were all up around where I'd have to write a personal check. Somewhere in our conversation I ceased to be a customer and she ceased to be a crafter and we became sisters from opposite ends of the spectrum.

"I'm 84 years old already," she said, "And Harold's already 88." She gestured to outside where Harold was mowing a portion of the hundred acres they owned. "And I still clean this house every Thursday."

She also held mortgages for as many people as a bank, owned a campground, two farms and half a mountain, did all her own bookkeeping and crafting, found her way into a half a dozen most notable women books and received a personal Christmas card every year from the Reverend Billy Graham.

And she'd lost 3 out of four sons, one husband to infidelity and later death and both her parents.

All I could ask was, "How?"

"Don't think about things too much," she said, looking deep into my eyes, transcending roles. "Or the panic will get you."

Instead of a face jug I bought a doily and a few dishrags and hoped that Delta wouldn't blurt out that I made the same old lady crafts myself and I thanked her. When we pulled away, I had the serendipitous feeling that nothing happens by chance. There really IS a sisterhood and during this trip I've been embraced and comforted. The same for at home. It's the sisterhood who carries you when you fall.

I promise never to take that for granted again.