A Century of Grace: Celebrating Ethel
Nestled in a quaint home, tucked among pine needles and decades of memories, lives Ethel. Though she’ll tell you she doesn’t quite see what the fuss is about – we know that turning 100 is something worth celebrating.
When asked the secret to her longevity, Ethel smiled with a shrug and said, “Oh, I have no secret. The Lord has been good to me.”
We smiled back, replying, “He certainly has.”
“He surprised me with this one,” she added, gesturing to her century of stories and remembrances.
Ethel was married for 46 years to the love of her life. Together, they raised five children — a legacy that now spans nine grandchildren and 14 great-grandchildren.
Ethel worked as a secretary when she first married and later in the IRS, but her true handiwork is stitched into every blanket she’s gifted over the years. She shared with us her last remaining knitted piece. “You’ve only kept one for yourself?” we asked.
“This one’s not for me,” she clarified. “It’ll be a gift — for when it’s needed next.”
In addition to knitting, she shared a fondness for dancing. “When I was young, I’d go once a week with my group,” she said, smiling at the memory. Her favorite was Big band music.
“There were ballrooms everywhere! Wakefield had an open-roof one — we danced under the stars. Isn’t that romantic?”
Yes, Ethel, very romantic, we thought, picturing young Ethel floating across the dance floor speckled with the light from the night sky.
Her cozy home is tribute to the life she’s built — filled with family photos, snapshots from her travels, and a treasured collection of artwork from her dear friend Dan.
She even invited us into “Dan’s Hall,” a hallway gallery leading to her bedroom, showcasing portraits made for her and her children.
Her favorite however, hangs directly across from her seat on the sofa — a man in a boat on a serene lake, alone, with oars far too long.
“It’s my favorite because it’s both sad and funny,” she explained. “Sad because he’s alone, but funny because of how long the oars are.” She explained stretching her arms wide mimicking the length of the exaggerated oars.
We had a sense that the painting carried deeper symbolism as Ethel hesitated. Needing no further explanation, we simply sat in silence and let it speak for itself.
Though Ethel hesitated to share about herself, each time we neared goodbye, she’d offer another tale. She is no stranger to loss — having outlived her husband and a beloved daughter — yet she speaks with a clarity, humor, and wisdom that draws you in.
She pulled out cherished photos of her and her husband, pointed to images of the beach and the lake — her heart, she confided, belonged to the lake — and proudly showed a frame housing series of portraits from 1988, 1992, and 1997. In each, her granddaughters stood in the same order through time —chronicling the growth of her family.
Beside her couch sat a box filled with 100 birthday cards — many from people she’d never met. “It was just wonderful that they thought of me,” she said, humbly.
When asked if she had any advice for a life well lived, she waved the thought away:
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of giving advice. I just did things as they needed doing.”
Ethel’s pride and joy is her family.
“I have wonderful children,” she repeated more than once. “They call. They send gifts. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
She spoke with such warmth about having them all home for her 100th birthday.
“We had a wonderful time,” she said again, holding onto the joy of the reunion.
Though she shared that she is the last living among her circle of friends — and that loneliness visits now and then — she spoke gratefully of the home health aide who helps her today.
Before parting, we asked one last time —
“Any words of wisdom you’d like to leave us with?”
Reluctantly, thinking she really didn’t have much to share, she offered one final thought;
“Just love each other.”
