The year was 1912, and the Tennessee sun hung low in the sky, casting golden light over the rolling hills of Stewart County. In front of a weathered wooden barn, two boys stood proudly, their hands resting on the backs of their goats. A camera, a rare sight in these parts, had been set up by a traveling photographer, sent to document rural life for a Nashville newspaper.
“Stand still, now,” the photographer instructed, his voice firm but patient.
Tommy, the older of the two at twelve years old, squared his shoulders and adjusted his suspenders, while his younger brother, James, barely nine, straightened his patched trousers. Their goats, Daisy and Buck, fidgeted but remained mostly in place.
Their family owned little but worked hard. The boys’ clothes were hand-me-downs, stitched and re-stitched by their mother’s careful hands. Their boots, worn but sturdy, told the story of miles walked over rocky roads. And yet, when the camera lens focused on them, there was no shame—only pride.
“These goats,” Tommy had once told James, “ain’t just animals. They’re our future.”
Indeed, the goats provided milk for their family, and soon, they’d breed more, ensuring the boys could sell some at the market. Their father, a quiet but kind man, had always said, “Hard work will keep a man honest, and an honest man will never go hungry.”
As the photographer clicked the shutter, freezing them in time, neither boy knew that a hundred years later, strangers would look upon their photo and wonder about their lives. They didn’t know that their simple, rugged existence—so ordinary to them—would one day be a window into the past.
For them, it was just another day in Stewart County. Another day of chores, of dusty boots and sun-warmed fields, of laughter echoing between the hills. And though their faces would fade from memory, their pride—the pride of two country boys standing beside their goats—would remain forever in that single photograph.
