Izane Ellen Hatton Robbins

Born in the quiet hills of Menifee County, Kentucky, Izane Ellen Hatton was raised in a world rooted in faith, family, and simplicity. She entered the world on February 17, 1876, the daughter of John Preston Hatton and Mary Ann Pitts. The Hattons were hardworking folks, and Izane grew up among the ridges and hollers of Leatherwood, a place she would never stray far from.

On October 20, 1904, she married John Morgan Robbins in Frenchburg. Together they built a modest home life in Leatherwood, raising three daughters—Hazel, Annie, and Emma. Theirs was a life not of luxury but of steadfast rhythm: crops to tend, babies to rock, quilts to piece together in the evening hush.

Neighbors remembered her as “Aunt Zane,” a figure of calm and quiet faith. Rose Faulkner once recalled seeing her every Sunday, walking to Fagan Church in her "old ladies’" dress and hat, the bell tolling across the valley as she passed by with purpose and grace. She was not one for frills—but she was faithful to her routine, to her people, and to her God.

Among the heirlooms that have survived her are a well-worn copper tea kettle, dated 1897, and a handmade quilt—simple tokens of a life well lived, stitched with devotion and quiet strength. They tell of her hands, busy with work and care; her heart, steady as the ticking of a parlor clock.

She passed from this life on March 17, 1954, at the age of 78, at her home on Hawkins Branch. Her daughters were grown and scattered—Hazel and Anna in Winchester, and Emma up in Kokomo—but she was never far from their thoughts. In her final days, the house likely smelled of warm tea and damp linens, the walls papered in old memories.

Izane was buried in Fagan Cemetery, not far from the little church where she once walked each week. Her stone is modest, just like she was, nestled in the hillside soil she knew so well.

She left behind not just children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren—but a spirit of quiet strength that still lingers in every dish towel and teacup passed down, every stitch in a family quilt, every story told around the supper table. Her legacy endures, not in grandeur, but in roots.