Love North Georgia
The Right Time by Anna DeStefano - Photos by Kevin Croom
It’s always time for love. It’s never too late for your next great adventure. Man wasn’t meant to be alone...
I
write about relationships, and I thought I understood sayings like these. Then I met a 90+ year old gentleman, spent precious time listening to his story, and I realized how much I had to learn about loving with my whole heart. If you’re a Rabun County native, especially if “back in the day” you attended Rabun County High School, the name Clayton Croom will sound familiar. He invested twenty-five years of his life after he and his wife, Vanita, moved here, teaching chemistry and physics and physical science. Vanita taught music in the local elementary school and later became a librarian. They were active in the community, put down spiritual roots at Clayton Baptist Church, started and raised their family, and had a blast loving the dickens out of their adopted North Georgia home. Afterall, they’d met as teenagers in Hendersonville, North Carolina— another small mountain town not so very far away. Rabun County seemed familiar. It was a good place full of good people. It was exactly what they hadn’t realized they were looking for. Locals may remember Croom’s Grooms—a group Mr. Croom sang with around town, Vanita accompanying them at what he jokingly calls “no talent” shows. Over the years, Vanita’s gift with the piano was much sought after. Former students regularly turned up, asking her to play at their weddings. Mr. Croom told me dozens of wonderfilled stories like these, reminiscing with pride about his bride and their rich life together. Good times and bad, they found a way to have fun. They lived their Rabun County life to its fullest. They made a lasting impact on their community. If you’re from these parts, you’ll also know that after forty years of marriage Mr. Croom lost his dear Vanita. Which for a while put a seeming end to this local love story. How do you go on, after your reason for going leaves you? But hearts as open as Mr. Croom’s, I’ve found, aren’t easily silenced. Which means he had one more amazing story to tell. And to share it, I’ll need to take you all the way back to the beginning. Enter Ms. Elizabeth Freeman, whom Clayton calls “Lib,” so I will, too.
46 GML - February 2021
Those of you who are familiar with Mr. Croom will know that he and Lib have been “courting” for going on twentytwo years now, he tells me—twentyfour years, Lib corrected, when I spoke with her. All of it long-distance. You see, Lib still lives in Hendersonville, where they both grew up and she never left. She’s one of the few natives to the area who has stayed. She met her beloved husband there, and they raised their close-knit family there, their kids and grandkids settling nearby. Lib reminisced with joy about her late husband, Mr. Ogilvie Freeman, Jr., and their shared passion for family and community and their local church (Mud Creek Baptist, by the way, where years ago Clayton and Vanita first met). Lib’s in her nineties, the same as Clayton. And like him, she’s left her enduring mark on the “small” place she calls home. Separately, they’ve created legacies that will long outlive them. Their life’s work by some counts was done. Until one day around the dawn of the new millennium, something miraculous happened. As it turns out, Mr. Croom and Lib attended the same high school. Back then, Clayton might have looked her way once or twice, he remembers. But according to Mr. Croom, if he knew what was good for him, looking was all he could do. Because Lib was dating another young man who’d recently returned from World War II. Lib had noticed Clayton as well - and thought him handsome and popular and a nice boy from a nice family. But he’d been a grade ahead. And by then, he was already courting Vanita. Now, let’s fast-forward something like fifty years and set a new stage. These small-town hearts had never really met. Yet they had so much in common, they’d later described their instant connection as “scary.” A connection that began at a high school reunion over twenty years ago, because Lib took a chance and said to a handsome man, “I bet you don’t remember me.” “Lawd a’mercy, Yes! I remember you,” Mr. Croom replied to the beautiful lady before him. He’d talked himself into driving over to Hendersonville that weekend, to “rub elbows with some old folks.” He hadn’t really
