Big Ma had well over a hundred grandchildren running wild through that yard, and my father knew every single name. I am Eloise Morris, and Johnnie Robertson was Big Ma’s eldest boy — a booming voice, a garden that never quit, and a pair of arms that made you feel completely safe. To the rest of the family he was the oldest brother. To us, his children, he was our hero.

As Big Ma’s eldest boy, my dad took his role as a protector and provider to heart. Much like my Uncle Man, he hovered over his sisters, fiercely protecting them and providing whatever he could. He nourished our family from two distinct places: his physical garden, which was always overflowing with fresh Pine Grove harvest greens, and his spiritual garden of deep, unwavering prayer and devotion. He commanded the room with his big, booming voice, gave the most legendary bear hugs, and flashed a brilliant, joyful smile.

My father was another sibling who chose to stay close to home in Pine Grove. He didn’t remain in the country out of a lack of options, but out of a profound, honorable sense of duty to family. Wherever Big Ma was, you would also find her oldest boy. He was always on watch, always the very first to tackle a task, and always at her call. We watched him serve his mother every day, not out of a sense of burden, but purely as a labor of love — a lesson in devotion he passed right down to me and my siblings.

Even with a whole, vast world out there to explore, my dad knew exactly where his treasure was. He married my mother, Luella Jackson, and together they built a close, loving life right there at home. To their wonderful union, nine children were born: Allen, James, Jannie, Leroy, Louis, Shirley, Leann, myself (Eloise), and Howard. He loved us fiercely and worked tirelessly to make sure we always had everything we needed. His immense pride only grew as he and my mom were later blessed with six beautiful grandchildren. His family was his entire world, and raising us, loving us, and keeping us close was the achievement he was proudest of.

The legacy of my father is forever intertwined with his boundless love for Big Ma, his endless dedication to his children, and his deep connection to the earth. He was a true farm boy at heart who cherished being on that little stretch of farmland in Pine Grove, proving to us all that there is truly no place like home. I will forever remember the joy he found in the simple things, especially raising his prize hogs alongside Uncle D.J. in the backyard of Aunt Beatrice’s home.

For my siblings, for his grandchildren, and for every niece and nephew who was ever swallowed up in one of those hugs — that was Big Ma’s oldest boy. Johnnie Robertson: my father, and the mightiest, gentlest man Pine Grove ever raised.