One of my greatest hopes as a parent is for my children’s friends to think of our house as their home away from home. I hope to always have a pantry full of snacks and a slew of kids that know they are always welcome. It is often said, “It takes a village to raise a child.” Growing up in Ruston, Louisiana, I learned about “the village” at a young age when my mother, Gay, was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was thirty-five. I was in the second grade, and the group of parents that came together to support me was a village indeed. Faye Barnes was the mayor of my village.
Faye was my mother’s best friend. Her oldest daughter, Adrianne, and my big sister were best friends. Her youngest daughter, Ainslee, and I were joined at the hip from day one. We grew up running the halls of Mrs. Faye and Mr. Guy Barnes’ home. I remember every detail of their house from where she kept her TAB cola, to the cabinet above the coffee pot where she kept her liquid sweet-n-low. I especially remember the giant Weeping Willow tree in her front yard that made for the perfect play house. We spent our childhood dressing Barbies, performing impromptu fashion shows, and dance offs. As a mother now, I look back and think about Mrs. Faye often. She gave her undivided attention to us as children. She wanted to make our childhood memorable and she did. Her genuine amusement and contagious laugh is still so prevalent in my memory.
Our summers were spent in her backyard pool where I learned to swim. The hours of playing Marco Polo are countless. It always made me feel so “taken care of” when she brought lunch to us. We would eat our sandwiches, wrapped up in wet towels, and the only drink option… milk. I hated milk, but I drank it at Mrs. Faye’s; it just tasted better there. After lunch she would make us wait thirty minutes before getting back in the pool. That was the longest thirty minutes ever! She would make us wash our hair after swimming so that our blonde hair would not turn green and then spend an hour brushing out the “rats’ nest”. Mrs. Faye is a caretaker, but not without expectations of those she loves. Every Saturday morning we would wake up to a “chore list” sitting on the counter, waiting to be checked off. If you spent the night, your name was on that list followed by your chores for the day. When you finished your chores, you got to play, and boy, did we play.
In the fall Mrs. Faye and Mr. Guy would load us up in their giant blue van and take us on weekend trips to the mountains of Arkansas. We stayed in small log cabins and built campfires. Ainslee and I would spend our time arguing over which New Kid on The Block we were going to marry. These moments are so etched in my heart. They enriched my childhood beyond what words can describe.
As the years went by, I observed the friendship between my mother and Mrs. Faye. It was something to be admired, even as a child. Mrs. Faye had taken the reigns on making my childhood special because my mother had fallen ill. As I sit here now, writing these words sting my eyes and puts a small lump in my throat. I am thirty- five now, and the friendships that I share remind me of my mother and Mrs. Faye’s devotion to each other. When my mother went for treatment, it was only expected for me to move in with the Barnes. They took care of me like they always had. If my grades were not up to par, I was grounded, even if Ainslee was not. That did not upset me; as a child it made me feel loved. It made me feel like family.
People like Faye make you scratch your head as to how they make the time to fit in everything that they do, and do it to the highest standard. Faye and Guy Barnes have run a staple photography business in North Louisiana for nearly forty years, Barnes Portrait. If you were raised in Ruston, more than likely you had your photos taken by Guy and perfected by Faye. She would sit with a pallet of paints and hand touch each portrait. Clearly photography has evolved over the past four decades, but the traditional beauty of Barnes Portraits is unmatched by any modern photography.
Recently the photography studio had a facelift and is now Meadows Manor , the newest and most exquisite event venue in Ruston. Meadows Manor, like everything that Mrs. Faye pours her heart into is perfection. They are currently booking bed and breakfast stays, private dinner parties, weddings and special events. They have plans to turn the old potting shed into a small gift shop, filled with plants and pottery. Landscaping is another of her magic talents, along with designing children’s clothing, event planning, photography, and anything else that she can get her hands on. She says that she is a forty-year-old in a seventy-year old’s body. I beg to differ; in spirit she is not a day over thirty.
To work for Mrs. Faye is not for the faint of heart. Like everyone in her life, to work for her makes you family, and she will hold you to the same standards that she holds everyone she loves. She loves hard and she works hard. The work ethic of this woman is unlike anything I have ever witnessed. At seventy there is absolutely no signs of her stopping. She will tell you that work makes her heart happy. Bringing people together and making beautiful things is what she does.
Over the years, I have grown up, moved from Ruston and do not get to see Mrs. Faye often. I was able to visit with her recently. Her face may or may not have aged in the past twenty years. It’s hard to tell. I can only see the same eyes beaming with determination, searching for her next project. She laughs the same laugh that fills the room for her ten grandchildren as she did for us as children.
My appreciation and admiration for Faye Barnes has always been present. My childhood was fully stacked with happy memories created by her. I will say, my gratefulness has grown as I have become an adult. After my mother passed away in 1994, I knew that Mrs. Faye grieved. I knew that she had stepped up to the plate as my mother’s best friend. As a grown woman now, I am blown away with the devotion she had for my mom. I am just as thankful for the example of friendship, hard work, and love she taught me as a child, as I am for the sandwiches and milk by the swimming pool. I hope that I find my home full of kids that are not necessarily mine, but they feel like family, as I felt with the Barnes. I pray that I am a part of “the village” for many. It takes a village to raise a child; I am forever grateful that Faye Barnes was the mayor of mine.