How Black-Draught Cured Granny's Lonesomeness

Spring makes me think about Granny. Back in April 2017, about a week before she passed away, we had an unusually warm, sunny day. She decided that she wanted to go out in the sunshine for a while so I went out and sat on the porch with her. "Granny, tell me a story." She pondered a minute or so, gave a little chuckle, and then the tale began...

"When I started school, I'd become awful lonesome for my Mama. I'd get to school, get to missing her, and then get to crying. I decided that I'd tell my teacher that I had a bellyache."

Now you have to remember that this was the early 1940s. A teacher or school secretary couldn't just pick up the phone and have her Mama come and pick her up. One, Granny and Pa Wilson didn't have a phone, and two, if they had a car or truck it would've been being used by her Daddy to get him to work.

"My teacher went and found my older brother Keith and told him I was sick and that he would have to walk me home. So me and Keith set off for the five mile walk home, he told Mama I had a bellyache, and then he turned around and walked the five miles back. Mama loved on me and all was right with the world.

The next day, I got to school and was missing Mama...again. I thought I'd be slick and use the bellyache excuse...again. My teacher went and found Keith and told him to take me home...again. Keith was fit to be tied because he knew I was fibbing. He marched me the whole five miles home, begrudgingly told Mama that the teacher sent me home with a bellyache, and turned around and walked the five miles back. Now Mama was no fool. She knew from the day before that I was perfectly fine. She had to do something to nip this problem in the bud. She went to the medicine cabinet and pulled out the Black-Draught. Whew, I never came home from school early because of missing Mama again!"

For those of you who don't know, Black-Draught is a liquid laxative sold since the late 18th century. Much like castor oil, it was a commonly used folk remedy for many ailments.

We had ourselves a good laugh over that one! Granny would probably whoop me if she knew I was telling this story but I also know that she would chuckle after she had done it. I'm thankful that, despite all she was going through, she NEVER lost her sense of humor or her ability to tell a good story. I hope that whenever I leave this world people will be able to say the same for me.

Appalachian Traditions: Christmas Plays & Treat Bags

This post was originally published here at AMR on 12/21/16.

Very few things say "It's Christmas" to me like going to a church Christmas play and getting a treat bag. My church had our play this past Sunday evening and everyone was gifted a treat bag as they left. This has been a part of Christmas my entire life and there are still many churches who practice this tradition throughout Appalachia.

I believe this started as a way to ensure that the children throughout the communities would at least get one treat during the Christmas season. For a lot of children who grew up in the mountains, this may have been the only gift that they could expect. While the bags were initially intended for the children, they are now given to folks of all ages. I'm sure this still stirs up some sweet memories for all generations.

What could you find in a Christmas treat bag? There almost always was an apple, orange, candy cane, a pack of chewing gum, a handful of mixed nuts, and maybe a few chocolates. Some things never change and why would we want them to? 

Do you remember getting Christmas treat bags at church? Do the churches in your area still practice this tradition? What kinds of things did you find in your bags? I would love to hear from you...let me know in the comments!

A Candle In The Window

 This was originally published here at AMR on 12/22/16.

The tradition of placing burning candles in the windows during Christmas has its roots in Irish culture. Many people, including myself, still practice this custom and the history behind it is very interesting.

During the British persecution, religion was suppressed throughout Ireland and the people had no churches. Priests were known to hide in forests and caves and they would secretly visit homes to say Mass during the night. 

Every Irish Catholic family hoped to have a priest come to their home so they could receive sacraments and offer hospitality. When Christmas came around, the Irish families would leave their doors unlocked and would place a lit candle in the window. This was a sort of signal to let any priests who happened to be in the area know they were welcome and to let the candles guide them to the homes during the dark night.

The priest would enter silently through the unlocked door and was welcomed by those who were grateful that their home would be used to worship and celebrate Jesus' birth. 

Over time, the British persecutors became suspicious and asked what the lit candles were all about. The faithful Irish explained that they burn the candles and keep the door unlocked so that Mary and Joseph, who searched for a place to stay, could find their way to our homes and be welcomed with open doors and open hearts. The British soldiers thought that it was a harmless superstition and didn't bother suppressing it.

I didn't know the history behind the candle until recently. I just thought that the battery operated candles looked pretty in my windows. Now, they mean much more. I want them to represent John 8:12 - "Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world; he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life."

Do you leave a burning candle in your window during Christmas? 

Christmas Oranges

 This post was originally published here at AMR on 12/20/16.

We rarely got anything in our stockings when I was growing up. My parents had a hard enough time being able to put a few gifts under the tree. They didn't see the point of wasting money on little things that ended up getting broke or lost within a week. On the rare occasions that we did have something in them, we would find an orange, apple, or candy cane. The fruit wasn't that big of a deal because we had access to fresh fruit all year, but that wasn't always the case for people in Appalachia.

Money wasn't something that could easily be found among the early settlers living in the mountains. Things like candies, toys, and fresh fruit were hard to come by. An orange would have been an enormous gift at that time. Once I started researching the history behind this tradition, I recalled a book that helped explain how rare an orange was in 1850's Appalachia:

I remember trying to return the favor by giving him one of a pair of oranges that the teamsters had left as a treat. Bear had not experienced oranges before, and he watched me eat mine before he started on his own.

It took him an hour to finish. He peeled it slowly and studied the differing sides of the peels and smelled them and smelled his fingers. Then he ate each section very slowly, sniffing each one before he put it in his mouth. He savored every moment of his consumption of that orange. When he was done he collected all the pieces of peel and dried them in the sun like deer jerky. A month later, they had lost most of their color, but they still held the ghost of the orange's aroma, and Bear kept them in a gourd sealed with a wooden stopper to hold in the scent that would have to do him until another orange made its way into the mountains. 

- Thirteen Moons by Charles Frazier

There is some history behind Christmas oranges. St. Nicholas was a bishop before he became a saint. The legend says that he rode through a town where a storekeeper had three beautiful daughters and couldn't afford to offer a dowry for them. This meant that the girls would become destitute once their father passed away.

Bishop Nicholas knew that the father was a proud man so he tossed three sacks of gold through an open window (or chimney depending on who is telling the story) while the family was sleeping. One of the bags landed in the toe of a stocking that was hanging by the fire to dry. When the family got up the next morning, they found the gold, including the one in the stocking which had turned into a ball overnight. 

Giving an orange today is a way to celebrate generosity without expecting anything in return. It symbolizes that gold ball and is a reminder to care for those in need.

Who knew there was so much behind a piece of fruit in a Christmas stocking? Did you get an orange in your stocking?

Old Sayings: Superstitions & Such

Today's guest post is by Mrs. Shirley Wood. Shirley was born and raised in West Virginia up until the age of 12 when she and her family moved to Ohio. She is a published author of stories from her childhood. She now lives on a small hobby farm in northeast Ohio. I hope you enjoy her story as much as I did! 

Old Sayings

Parents love to quote old sayings, and like all children, we questioned whether or not they were true. I’m not talking about the usual “Don’t run with scissors” or “You’ll put your eye out with that stick”, I surely wanted to keep both of my eyes. But there were a lot of others that made no sense to me then, and some of them even less now. You’ll see what I mean.

There were a lot of sayings about food, such as “Don’t ever eat fish and drink milk at the same meal”. Maybe someone died once before refrigerators were invented, after eating those two items, one or both of which may have been spoiled. Or it could have been something he ate the day before that killed him, or an infection or appendicitis. Maybe he drank all the darn milk and his survivors blamed it on the milk he drank with the fish, silently glad he didn’t leave any for them. Mama also warned us not to follow each bite of food with a drink of water during meals. Otherwise, we would end up with a swallowing disorder, for which the treatment was to swallow a string that reached all the way down to our stomachs. At first I was afraid to try it, but after that first time, I felt compelled to take a drink of water after each and every bite of food for years afterward.

There was an interesting challenge that involved boiling an egg, cutting it in half, removing the yellow, and filling the holes with salt. If you ate the egg with the salt before going to bed, you were supposed to dream of the one you would eventually marry. My sister Eva tried this, and nearly choked to death. She does not remember who she dreamed of that night, but accused Daddy of trying to kill her.

Probably everyone has heard the old one about putting someone’s fingers in a bowl of warm water while they are sleeping, and making them pee the bed. That one didn’t get too much play at our house, because all three of us girls slept in the same bed. As the littlest, I always got stuck in the middle, and would have gotten it from either side.

Snakes and cucumbers were the subjects of quite a few stories. When planting or tending cucumbers in our garden, if a woman was in her monthly cycle, she was not permitted in the cucumber patch because it was said that the blooms would all fall off. We never knew for sure, and would not have wanted to find out. Another story that I’ve heard many times is that just before a rattlesnake strikes, you smell a strong odor of cucumbers. I don’t know anyone who can verify that story, and don’t want to test it for myself. One story about snakes, with which I do have some experience, is that no matter what time or how they are killed, snakes do not die until sundown. Having witnessed the death of many snakes, and taken part in several, I can assure you that no matter how many pieces a snake is cut into, each of those pieces keeps on wiggling for hours afterward. Is the snake alive or is it only nerves reacting? I don’t know, but it certainly is creepy.

When we were growing up, if any barbering was done in our home, whether on an adult or child, the hair had to be disposed of by burying, and a rock placed atop the buried hair. It could not be burnt or otherwise left in a place where birds or other varmints could make off with it, otherwise the unfortunate individual to whom the hair belonged would suffer from a headache that would last the rest of his or her life. I guess people took it pretty seriously, because I never met an individual that complained of headache every day. However, there might be a few husbands that disagree.

There were some predictors of weather that we were all familiar with, such as a ring around the moon foretelling rain. My husband had a good laugh at my expense the first few times I predicted rain because all the leaves in our neighborhood were turning up, but has since accepted that it is at least as accurate as the weather forecast on TV. We don’t live around too many cows, but sometimes on an outing when I see cows lying down I remember that is also a pretty reliable sign of rain. In a herd of five cows with two of them are lying down, I will drill it down even further and say there’s a 40% chance of rain – again, at least as accurate as the TV weatherman.

There were a lot of old sayings that seemed to be based in religion. You could wear red anytime and anywhere, but only women of loose morals wore red shoes, or wore red to church. Neither of my older sisters has ever owned a pair of red shoes. I did and wore them completely out.

Women who were expecting when we were growing up were constantly warned not to look upon anything unusual, scary or horrible because they would “mark” the baby, and this never made any sense to me at the time. Whether or not it is true, there is some biblical background in Genesis 30, when Jacob “marked” cattle at conception.
We were all familiar with the old saying “A whistling woman and a crowing hen are neither good for God nor men”, and in our family that meant when a hen started to crow, she ended up in the pot with dumplings pretty quickly. Thankfully, the whistling part was pretty much ignored, because I have always loved to whistle, and anyone who ever heard me sing is pretty glad of that.

For some reason women were never supposed to sew on Sunday. My mother loved to sew, and made beautiful quilts almost until the day she died a couple of years ago. Sometimes when she was caught up in a beautiful quilt, she would sew on Sunday, but I could tell she felt guilty about it. There are some who say it is work, and therefore should not be done on Sunday, but for Mama it was pleasure to sew, and it kept her active mentally as well as physically. And those same individuals who might have criticized her would not have blinked if, on Sunday morning, the old hen started crowing and had to be killed, plucked, and cooked!

There was one saying of my dad’s that we heard pretty often, and found out that he was never wrong. Like most children who are close in age, we sometimes picked on one another. We would start out tickling, pinching and laughing, and we could get pretty loud, especially if we were inside the house. When the noise began to get out of hand, we would hear Daddy say “That laughing is going to turn to crying in about five minutes”. Sure enough, if we continued on in the same course of action, we could count on it.

Shirley Wood
Copyright 2010

Words You May Never Have Uttered

Today's guest post is by Brandi Creasman Watkins, aka Bonnie Sherrill. Brandi was born and raised in the mountains of western NC. After being away for nearly a decade, she returned to her hometown and spent the next decade working in victim services and social work. She retired so that she could focus on her family, Thirty-One Gifts Business and her writing. She started blogging, writing & even published her first book, Mountain Notes to Grant-Writing in 2016. She is now working on the 2nd book in this series, Mountain Notes to Parenting, while she homeschools both of her youngest children. You can find more of Brandi's writings at her blog, A Country Girl Surviving.

Words You May Never Have Uttered

You may need a passport to enter another country, but you just need an open mind and some gas to reach the South. However, you may experience the same culture shock that you would endure in the Congo or African Sahara – we have similar language barriers and mating habits. You will certainly encounter those that think you should just turn around and head back where you came from. But…just maybe, if you are in the right frame of mind, you will find us just as fascinating as the Amish, the Cherokee, New Yorkers or the Mormons.

The single defining characteristic of any foreign culture is language and for real, the Southern language should count for a language in college prep. For example:

Befuddled. Definition: confused with a hint of ignorance to the reasoning that X topic is even being discussed. Like…why do you have to discuss ear wax when you could instead discuss the ramifications of Billy Bob thinking that he could fix the leak in his house with anything other than duct tape? This word MUST accompany the gesture of scratching your head at least one time during the conversation.

Flabbergasted. Definition: shocked with a hint of anger. You may hear this when a redneck stubs his toe and blames the wife for placing the incriminating obstacle in his path. Apparently, the wife thinks that if something is static for 50 years, her husband should learn to walk around it. Whatever!

Spirits. In the south, we refer to all alcoholic beverages as ‘spirits’ because it lifts our spirits to partake. Very simple. However, southerners don’t get the whole wine connoisseur mess….we make our own wine from the fruit that God gave us…right here in our backyards. The idea that ‘wine tastings’ happen, definitely befuddle us.

Tattoos. We all run into people and ask them about their tattoos and some get very upset if we insinuate that they had a personal experience with image that they later marked themselves with because they just get tattoos. BUT, in the South, our tattoos mean something. Period. Most may say MOM, some may say F-Obama, but they all mean something to us that will still mean it tomorrow (unless we were drunk.)

Mountains. Some may believe that this is a geographical distinction or even a place where they “vacation.” This couldn’t be further from the truth. ‘Mountains’ is a way of life. It’s a religion. It’s a people.

Helldamn. Although Webster does not recognize this as a compound word, it is the only compound word that can succinctly describe something that went wrong. This something could have been intentional, stupid or just plain fate.

Waterlogged. Definition: a state of being after too many hours in the water. In the olden days, logs were transported via the rivers and they stayed in these rivers for quite some time before they reached their destination. See, our words make sense to us!

Church. Definition: The single reason to defuse any argument under the sun. This word is synonymous with the Good Book, the people attending or the very argument that you can’t win. Church is the end all, be-all in the South. You don’t wear jeans to church….ever….under any circumstances. TV Shows do not have any place in a Southern Church – no divorce, no Modern Family, no Law & Order, no Teletubbies. Criminal Minds and other murder shows would be acceptable.

Caddywompus. Definition: describes when something is askew or off-centered. For example, I have this retarded tree in my yard that has limbs that are caddywompus and drives me to the brink of a misdemeanor. I would include a picture, but I don’t want to ensue riots, because we don’t have the parking space.

Oh Fresh Hell. Definition: A new ‘alternative’ way of thinking, acting or being. A southern woman might exclaim this after seeing her teenager come downstairs in all black attire and make-up or maybe hearing her son exclaim about the newest way to talk to his girlfriend. ‘Oh Fresh Hell’ may be timeless, but the shit it explains is not – just grab a homemade wine, get flabbergasted, drag them to church in the mountains and scream a Helldamn to those that are caddywompus.

This post is brought to you by the my personal friends on Facebook! I hope you enjoyed and please let me know if you have some Southern Terms that weren’t included!

I hope you enjoyed this guest post as much as I did! Brandi and I grew up in the same small town in western NC. I tried to think back to when I first met her but if you were from Andrews, NC everybody just always knew each other. She is still just as funny as ever! She reached out to me during my last hospital stay and decided that we need to team up to share some of our posts with us both being "small town Appalachian bloggers". I look forward to working with her again and sharing more of her hilarious posts in the future

This is a pic from the area where Brandi & I grew up. Pretty, huh? 

This was taken by my friend and fellow Andrews girl, Tammy West McCoy. 

Family Heirlooms: Granny's Biscuit Cutter

Granny has been on my mind a lot lately. Most of you that read this blog via Facebook know that she passed away on April 25th. I feel like there just wasn't enough time for me to ask all the questions that I had about her life. Out of all of us, I believe I'm the one who was always probing for stories about what life was like when she was growing up and everything should could tell me about the rest of the family. 

When I was little, I always watched her flit around the kitchen as she prepared meals for us. When she'd make biscuits she'd use this little metal cutout that had a wooden handle. I thought that it was fascinating that she had a special tool just for cutting out biscuits because I remember my mom using just whatever she could find & it was usually the opening of a cup.

I don't know what prompted me to ask Granny where she got it but she told me that it had belonged to her mother-in-law, my great-granny Fannie. I always thought that was a funny name. She passed when I was around four or so and I remember being confused when she wasn't around. My Dad told me that they took her up to heaven. In my four year old mind, I pictured them packing her up in our big yellow Chevy Malibu and them driving up like Danny and Sandy did at the end of Grease! Ha! 

I asked Granny if I could have it some day. My Uncle Doug (my dad's youngest brother who is more like a brother than an uncle) overheard the conversation and told me that HE was getting it. Now, why in the world would a feller who never made biscuits want with an old biscuit cutter? From that point on, me & Uncle Doug would go back and forth over who was going to end up with Granny's biscuit cutter and Granny would just laugh and wink at me. 

Last week when the family was reading over Granny's will and wishes for her funeral, they came to a section written out for me. She left me a few things but the best part said, "I want Kim to have my biscuit cutter (ha ha, Doug)." She always had a great sense of humor! 

The Saturday following my discharge from the hospital, my stomach was still kind of queasy but I got to craving biscuits close to lunchtime. I got out Granny's biscuit cutter and got a little emotional using it. It has been used by three generations of Appalachian women (although I'm the fourth generation to own it) to make biscuits for their families. No amount of money could persuade me to give it up. 

I decided to send a message to my Uncle Doug to let him know that I was enjoying it. Here it is: 

Granny would've gotten a kick out of this!

The biscuits were good but the memories are better. I will think of her every single time I use it. My priceless family heirloom. 

Memories Of Home

Today's guest post is by Jequeta Mullins Briskey. Jequeta was the youngest of 11 children and she grew up in Clintwood, Virginia. She didn't start writing until after she was married and most of her short stories and poems are centered around growing up in southwestern Virginia. She currently lives in northwestern Ohio with her husband, John, and they have 3 children, 8 grandchildren, and 5 great-grandchildren.  

Jequeta's parents at their 50th Anniversary, 1979.

Memories of Home

I went back once more to the home of my birth, 

That's when I realized how much memories are worth.

The home that my father had built with his hands

had lost all it's luster, but serenely stands. 

The kitchen was downstairs, the bedrooms above.

The living room, the "can house"; they were all built with love.

The front porch, so big, was adorned with two swings.

Relived in my memory, how much pleasure it brings.

I remember the river once so clear, flowing free.

I remember every rock, every bush, every tree. 

The animals we had both for food and for fun. 

The strawberries we picked in the hot blazing sun. 

The meals my mom cooked on the ancient old stove.

We walked to the store 'cause nobody drove.

My dad told us stories of when he was a boy.

We kids played for hours with our handmade toys.

When winter winds came and the world seemed at rest, 

it was time to do quilting and mom was the best.

Her fingers would fly making stitch after stitch,

and when it was needed, she could yield a mean switch.

My dad was a giant, both gentle and kind.

His voice was enough to make us kids mind.

I remember him plowing and clearing the land

to start a new garden to feed all his clan.

My mind overflowing with memories of home, 

as I stand there staring at the life I had known.

There were no flowers in the yard anymore. 

The little creek was gone. It had been there before.

As I relived the memories of my childhood years,

I couldn't stop my eyes from filling with tears.

I couldn't believe, but I should have known

how time changes things after you've grown.

So, I vowed then and there to never return.

I would never go back, though my heart it would yearn.

If I ever feel the need to return back home, 

I would do it in my memory because memories live on. 

I hope you enjoy Jequeta's poem as much as I did. I shared one of her short stories, Summer In The Mountains, last month. If you missed it, you can find it HERE.

Summer In The Mountains

Today's guest post is by Jequeta Mullins Briskey. Jequeta was the youngest of 11 children and she grew up in Clintwood, Virginia. She didn't start writing until after she was married and most of her short stories are centered around growing up in southwestern Virginia. She currently lives in northwestern Ohio with her husband, John, and they have 3 children, 8 grandchildren, and 5 great-grandchildren.  

Jequeta's childhood home in Clintwood, VA.

Summer In The Mountains

By the time the morning sun topped the tree line on the ridge by our mountain home, everyone in our family had finished breakfast and moved on to their specific chores for the day. Breakfast came early at our house. We were to be up and ready to eat breakfast by 6:00 a.m. every day. Cows were waiting to be milked, hogs waiting to be slopped, chickens waiting to be fed, eggs waiting to be gathered and the family dog Rookie waiting for another adventure with my brother Johnnie. The girls had the inside chores like making beds, washing dishes and sweeping floors right after breakfast. Mom would usually be in the kitchen preparing to cook, can, freeze or bake anything that had been harvested from our gardens. Dad would be out on the mountainside working to keep down the weeds or burning off the trees, twigs, weeds or bushes as a way of strengthening up the soil to start yet another garden spot for more crops. We raised all the usual, including corn, beans, peas, lettuce, carrots, onions, beets, squash, pumpkins, watermelon, and okra (my least favorite). We also had fruit trees which included apple, pear, peach and papaw (which was dad's favorite). Growing wild in the area was blackberries, raspberries, gooseberries and ground cherries. Of course, my dad had his well known strawberry patch which I am sure helped clothe us and keep shoes on our feet throughout the year.
After all our chores were done, we could run wild in the mountains as we pleased. Johnnie would take the dog Rookie and play his games of Cowboys and Indians. Joyce, Marline and I would never venture far from the house. We spent a lot of our time on the big front porch swinging and dreaming through the Sears and Roebuck catalog, planning our future. Many times there were interruptions of Mom calling us to come wash up some canning jars or churn up some buttermilk or help string some beans, or hang some clothes on the line. It seemed there was always something to do especially in the summer.
The mountains held all the entertainment we needed. All around us were a multitude of lessons to be learned from experience. We learned early what was safe and what was not. Swinging on the wild grape vines that intertwined thorough the expanse of trees surrounding our home was something we could not resist, even with the warnings from our Mom that they were unsafe. We could always find something to snack on throughout the hillside. Mountain Teaberry is an experience that is beyond belief. Though the berries are hard to find and as hard to see, the taste is worth the effort of the search. If you have never heard of this treat, just imagine Teaberry Gum in its true organic form. We also could chew on birch bark from young birch trees. And though we had a huge strawberry patch at our disposal, we would gladly forego those to have strawberries growing wild in the mountains. And a cool mountain stream was never far away if we were thirsty.
Rookie was our faithful watch dog and we could always tell by his bark whether there was an intrusive animal about or if a stranger was lurking around, or even if he had roused up a copperhead. The air in the mountains was clear and refreshing. The sounds of critters and crickets were always present. During the day, we could hear all kinds of birds including the woodpecker, the bob white and the ever present crow raiding our corn patch. Sometimes Mom would allow us the take out the old .22 rifle and shoot a warning shot to scare them away. However I am sure they ate more in corn than the cost of the shells we wasted. As dusk fell, we would watch and listen for the elusive whippoorwill. As night time grew we would all gather on the front porch and share the quiet of the evening with a chorus of croaking frogs in the nearby river. Two swings and many chairs, most likely home made, offered us comfort as we rested our bodies from the days work. In the cooler evenings. we would have a quilt to work on instead of sitting outside. I have spent many hours sitting with my dad on that front porch watching a thunder storm move into the area or move off into another direction as the rain fell and serenade us with the gentle sound of nature.
As summer drew to a close we would find a new crop of treats out in the mountains. Chinquapins, beech nuts, butternuts as well as black walnuts were plentiful. The cooler autumn days drew us deep into the mountains searching for ginseng which we dug, brought home to dry and sold for a nice price. We never knew for sure where this ginseng ended up but we sure enjoyed the search for the big red berries that honed us in to that much sought after treasure. As the days marched on and the winter winds blew, we could bring summer time back again by opening up a quart of green beans or corn from our can house or a pint of frozen strawberry jam from the freezer. We knew the mountains awaited us for yet another year of work and pleasure as we enjoyed summer in our Appalachian Mountains.

I hope you enjoy this short story as much as I did! I look forward to sharing more from Jequeta in the future. 

An Outsider's Guide To Appalachian Directions

No Fool
This city fellow was driving down through the mountains when he got lost. He saw a farmer standing near the road behind his pasture fence. He stopped his car and asked, "How far to Knoxville?" "Don't know." "Well, how far is it to Chattanooga?" "Don't know." "You don't know much, do you?" "Well, I ain't lost." This angered the city man, and he said, "There isn't much between you and a fool, is there?" "No, sir, just a fence," the farmer said. 
-Jim Ralston, Paint Lick, KY Curing the Cross-Eyed Mule

Before I even begin to explain how directions are given in my area of Appalachia, let me say that these may apply to other parts of the country (specifically the south) and may not apply to other parts of Appalachia (specifically the north). I'm going to explain how it is done in MY neck of the woods, western North Carolina. 

There are countless back country roads throughout the many rural areas that make up Appalachia. Many of the roads aren't even marked which can render your GPS completely useless. Think you can do a Google search to find out where you are and to help you get where you're wanting to go? Don't count on it. Cell phone service isn't always available in these areas. So what's a person to do??? Something that most men have avoided since the beginning of time. ASK FOR DIRECTIONS. 

Once you find a road side produce stand or gas station, don't expect a quick exchange. We don't get in a hurry for much and giving directions isn't going to be the exception. We also tend to be pretty friendly and don't pass up an opportunity to get to know someone. The conversation will probably go something like this:
"Well, how are y'all a doing? That's good. Where are y'all from? Miami? Gracious, y'all are a good ways from home, ain't ya? Oh sure, I can help you get to where you're aiming to go. You have people in these parts or are y'all just out loafering?"

After a little small talk, you'll soon find out that people around here don't bother giving road names or numbers. We prefer something a little more colorful...like landmarks. So instead of simply telling you to turn left on Main Street and go 15 miles until you reach Walnut Lane, you'll hear: "Alright, you're going to go back out the way you came in but this time you're going to take a left at that pretty little Missionary Baptist Church. You know, my momma and daddy were married at that church back in '67. It's the truth! They'll be celebrating their 50th anniversary in June. Folks just don't stay together like the used to, do they? Now when you get to the fork in the road where that chicken truck turned over, you're going to want to go right. It'll seem like you're just going straight but you're really going right."

I should also let you know that we use certain directional phrases to explain how far you need to go. 

• Down the road a piece. Translation: About a mile or two.  
• Just a hop, skip, and jump. Translation: About 15-30 minutes.
• A little ways. Translation: Usually less than 5 miles. 
• Just up the road. Translation: Less than a mile.
• Over yonder. Translation: Sorry, this could mean anywhere from 5 feet away to the next county over. 

Now that you can somewhat translate our directional phrases, be prepared for a little more friendly conversation. It may take a little while but we will almost always get you where you're wanting to go. The best advice I can give an "outsider" would be to simply slow down and don't be rude or try to rush whomever is taking the time to help you. People from these parts will not be disrespected or rushed. You've been warned. 

I hope you'll find these tips helpful if you ever decide to visit the beautiful area that I call home. You won't regret it! 

Appalachia:The Land of Self-Sufficiency

"Use it up, wear it out, make do, or do without." - Medal Bryson

This quote is from a friend of mine's Granny. What a perfect way to describe how the people of Appalachia have lived for hundreds of years. Mountain folk have done what needed to be done to survive long before "green" living and self-sufficiency were trendy. 

The isolation that comes with mountain living didn't give residents any choice. It was do or die. The only way people got around in early Appalachia was by foot or horse and wagon. The roads were steep and narrow but even if they could have gotten to town easily and often, there was little money to be spent for the things they needed. When a family did have money, it was spent on necessities that they couldn't find or make such as coffee, sugar, lamp oil, and shoes. 

The mountain people depended on what could be found in nature and hard work to get what they needed. In the book Dorie: Woman of the Mountains by Florence Cope Bush, Florence tells the story of what rural mountain life was like for her mother (Dorie) and her family. She gives great examples of how they provided for many of their needs, one being clothing. 

Dorie mentions that early settlers had brought flax seed from Scotland and Ireland when they came to America. They used the stalks to make clothes. "Ma was an expert at spinning, weaving, and dying material for our clothing. The stalks were spread out on the ground where rain and dew would cause the outer skin to rot, separating the fibers from the woody portions outside. The long, straight fibers were twisted together to make thread, which was wound on spindles and later woven into material for dresses, underwear, and linens for the house. It became the "linsey" part of the linsey-woolsey - so well known from the Western frontier days." 

Her family also raised sheep for wool. "In the late spring or early summer, Pa, Uncle Julius and Uncle Aden sheared the sheep. They had to wait until the weather was warm because the fleece is cut close to the skin, leaving the sheep almost bare. If they sheared the sheep before Dogwood winter (usually in May), it was likely some of the sheep would die from exposure. Wool from the shoulders of the sheep is better than that taken from other parts. Ma used the shoulder wool for dresses. The stiffer wool made heavy coats that were rainproof. Ma would card the wool- straightening our the curly-kinky hair so that it could be spun into thread. A small loom stood by the corner window for the needed sunlight. Ma would weave the yarn into cloth." 

Dorie went on to explain that they would make their dresses in dark colors because they usually only had a couple of dresses and darker colors were less likely to show dirt by the end of the week. They would use things such as onion skins, hickory bark, and dandelion flowers to dye the yarn into pretty colors. 

Making clothes wasn't the only way they provided for themselves. They built their own homes and furniture.They grew, raised, and foraged for their own food. Doctors were few and far between so the mountain folk relied on plants to cure their ailments. 

These families didn't let things go to waste either. A family could re-purpose just about anything. Empty jars and cans became a place to store seeds and sewing notions. Newspapers were used to paper the walls to help keep out the cold. Clothes that were outgrown were passed down to the next sibling until it couldn't be repaired any longer but the mountain people wouldn't just throw out the rags. They would turn the scraps of material into beautiful quilts, rugs, and baskets. 

Mountain people developed a strong craft tradition based on need. My friend, Stephanie, picked up some of these traditions from her grandmother (the lady I quoted at the beginning of this post) and mother. She owns a shop, Burnt Branch Creations in Andrews, NC where she teaches, makes, and sells some of the things that can be made from repurposed materials and much more. Here is some of her work & you can click here if you would like to purchase some for your home.

 

 I'm thankful that these skills have been passed down in Appalachia and I think it is something that we must encourage the younger generations to keep up. You never know when the day may come when we'll need these skills to survive. 

Do you know and use any of these mountain skills? If the need arose, do you think you have the "know how" to survive like the mountain folk of early Appalachia? 

A Step Back In Time: Unusual Names

My Dad recently shared some old family pictures with me. I love genealogy, old pictures, and stories so I was tickled pink! I decided to do a "Great Great Grandparent Collage" and it got me thinking about unusual names. 

The majority of the people in these pictures have common names such as John, Martha, Warren, etc. but the mother in the top picture is my great great grandmother, Narcissus Whilhemina Bonnine Norvell. Now ain't that a mouthful? Of course I never had the chance to meet most of the people in this collage but I did get to meet the little girl that is to the right of Narcissus. She was my great grandma, Alice Annalou Norvell Roberts. She and my great grandpa, Fred, lived on the reservation in Cherokee, N.C. until they died.

I didn't get to meet my grandmother, Alice and Fred's daughter, but my mom did give me something of hers...my middle name, Loadeema. I didn't really like the name when I was younger but grew to appreciate always having a link to the grandmother I never knew and our Cherokee heritage.

Do you happen to have an unusual name or know of one in your family? I would love to hear them! Please share them in the comment section below. 

What would you like the world to know about the REAL Appalachia?

If possible, what one thing would your want the world to know about the REAL Appalachia as opposed to what the media chooses to portray about the area?

I would like everyone to know that having a slow, southern Appalachian accent does not mean the speaker is automatically ignorant or uneducated. Making fun of the way I speak is a surefire way of getting my dander up. I don't think there is many things more beautiful than hearing an educated southerner speak.

What would you like the world to know? Please let me know in the comment section below. I'm working on a future blog post and would love to share some of your responses!

A Candle In The Window

The tradition of placing burning candles in the windows during Christmas has its roots in Irish culture. Many people, including myself, still practice this custom and the history behind it is very interesting.

During the British persecution, religion was suppressed throughout Ireland and the people had no churches. Priests were known to hide in forests and caves and they would secretly visit homes to say Mass during the night. 

Every Irish Catholic family hoped to have a priest come to their home so they could receive sacraments and offer hospitality. When Christmas came around, the Irish families would leave their doors unlocked and would place a lit candle in the window. This was a sort of signal to let any priests who happened to be in the area know they were welcome and to let the candles guide them to the homes during the dark night.

The priest would enter silently through the unlocked door and was welcomed by those who were grateful that their home would be used to worship and celebrate Jesus' birth. 

Over time, the British persecutors became suspicious and asked what the lit candles were all about. The faithful Irish explained that they burn the candles and keep the door unlocked so that Mary and Joseph, who searched for a place to stay, could find their way to our homes and be welcomed with open doors and open hearts. The British soldiers thought that it was a harmless superstition and didn't bother suppressing it.

I didn't know the history behind the candle until recently. I just thought that the battery operated candles looked pretty in my windows. Now, they mean much more. I want them to represent John 8:12 - "Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world; he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life."

Do you leave a burning candle in your window during Christmas? 

Appalachian Traditions: Christmas Plays and Treat Bags

Very few things say "It's Christmas" to me like going to a church Christmas play and getting a treat bag. My church had our play this past Sunday evening and everyone was gifted a treat bag as they left. This has been a part of Christmas my entire life and there are still many churches who practice this tradition throughout Appalachia.

I believe this started as a way to ensure that the children throughout the communities would at least get one treat during the Christmas season. For a lot of children who grew up in the mountains, this may have been the only gift that they could expect. While the bags were initially intended for the children, they are now given to folks of all ages. I'm sure this still stirs up some sweet memories for all generations.

What could you find in a Christmas treat bag? There almost always was an apple, orange, candy cane, a pack of chewing gum, and a few chocolates. Some things never change and why would we want them to? 

Do you remember getting Christmas treat bags at church? Do the churches in your area still practice this tradition? What kinds of things did you find in your bags? I would love to hear from you...let me know in the comments!

Christmas Oranges

When I was growing up, we rarely got anything in our stockings. My parents had a hard enough time being able to put a few gifts under the tree. They didn't see the point of wasting money on little things that ended up getting broke or lost within a week. On the rare occasions that we did have something in them, we would find an orange, apple, or candy cane. I can remember not being very impressed because we had access to fresh fruit all year but that wasn't always the case for people in Appalachia.

Money wasn't something that could easily be found in early Appalachia. Things like candies, toys, and fresh fruit were hard to come by. An orange would have been an enormous gift at that time. Once I started researching the history behind this tradition, I recalled a book that helped explain how rare an orange was in 1850's Appalachia:

I remember trying to return the favor by giving him one of a pair of oranges that the teamsters had left as a treat. Bear had not experienced oranges before, and he watched me eat mine before he started on his own.

It took him an hour to finish. He peeled it slowly and studied the differing sides of the peels and smelled them and smelled his fingers. Then he ate each section very slowly, sniffing each one before he put it in his mouth. He savored every moment of his consumption of that orange. When he was done he collected all the pieces of peel and dried them in the sun like deer jerky. A month later, they had lost most of their color, but they still held the ghost of the orange's aroma, and Bear kept them in a gourd sealed with a wooden stopper to hold in the scent that would have to do him until another orange made its way into the mountains. 

- Thirteen Moons by Charles Frazier

There is some history behind Christmas oranges. St. Nicholas was a bishop before he became a saint. The story says that he rode through a town where a storekeeper had three beautiful daughters and couldn't afford to offer a dowry for them. This meant that the girls would become destitute once their father passed away.

Bishop Nicholas knew that the father was a proud man so he tossed three sacks of gold through an open window (or chimney depending on who is telling the story) while the family was sleeping. One of the bags landed in the toe of a stocking that was hanging by the fire to dry. When the family got up the next morning, they found the gold, including the one in the stocking which had turned into a ball overnight. 

Giving an orange today is a way to celebrate generosity without expecting anything in return. It symbolizes that gold ball and is a reminder to care for those in need.

Who knew there was so much behind a piece of fruit in a Christmas stocking? Did you get an orange in your stocking?

Christmas Superstitions & Folklore In Appalachia

Christmas is a magical time not only in Appalachia but throughout the world. There are more traditions associated with this holiday than any other. With Appalachia being rich in superstitions and folklore, I thought it would fun to find a few centered around Christmas to share with you. 

• Eating an apple on Christmas Eve will bring you good luck during the next year.
• Ghosts will never appear to their family on Christmas Day.
• Listen closely to a bee hive on Christmas Eve and you will hear bees humming the Psalms. It is also believed that bees hum the hundredth Psalm from dusk until dawn on Old Christmas (January 6).
• Children who are born on Christmas Day will not be troubled by ghosts and do not have to fear hanging or drowning.
• Water is said to turn to wine at midnight on Christmas Eve but it is bad luck to taste it. 
• A rooster crowing on Christmas Eve scares away evil spirits. Shooting off fireworks or guns works too.
• Christmas Day weather forecasts the weather for the coming year: a warm Christmas foretells a cold Easter; a green Christmas, a white Easter; a windy Christmas will bring a good corn crop.
• It is bad luck for a cat to meow on Christmas Day. If it does, you will be visited by evil spirits every day during the coming year.
• Children born on January 6th (Old Christmas) often develop the powers for healing the sick.
• If you sit under a pine tree on Christmas Day, you can hear angels sing but if you hear them, you'll be on your way to heaven before the next Christmas.

Have you heard any Christmas superstitions or folklore? I'd love to hear them so please let me know in the comments. 

December Appalachian Book Giveaway

I can't believe that it's already December, can you? I also can't believe that it has been almost 4 months since I started this little blog. Time just keeps flying by! As a way to say thank you to those of you who have taken time out of your busy days to allow me to share a little of what I love with you, I am going to be giving away some books! Mrs. Barbara Taylor Woodall was kind enough to give me two signed copies of her books to share with y'all. Today, I'm going to offer the first one: It's Not My Mountain Anymore.

Before I get in to all of the giveaway details, let me tell you a little bit about Mrs. Woodall. She was born and raised in the Appalachian Mountains of North Georgia and is a veteran of the Foxfire books. FOXFIRE, Y'ALL! I can't tell you how excited I was to be talking (via instant messenger) to someone that had a part in such an iconic series. I love those books! Her authentic, Appalachian voice moves throughout these stories of what it was like to grow up in the mountains. A book that can make you laugh and cry is a sure sign of a great writer. You can find this book and the one that I'll be giving away next week here.

All you need to do is click on the Rafflecopter link below and follow the directions. This giveaway will run until 12AM on 12/16/16. You can come back daily to invite one friend to like the Appalachian Mountain Roots Facebook page and will receive 1 entry for each friend that you invite. You can also subscribe to receive my blog posts by email by entering your email address right here on  the website. That isn't included in the Rafflecopter entries but will get you an extra entry! Be sure to check back for next week's giveaway as well. :)

*I will announce the winner of this giveaway on Friday, 12/16/16 at 7PM (EST) on the Appalachian Mountain Roots Facebook page. You will have until 7PM on 12/20/16 to message me your mailing information. If I do not hear from you by then, a new winner will be chosen. I really don't want to have to do that so be sure to like and follow the Facebook page to receive all winner updates.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

In Every Thing Give Thanks

I decided to share a special guest post from Tennessee poet and pastor, Robert Fultz, in honor of Thanksgiving. Robert shares many of his beautiful poems over on Facebook at PreacherPoems and at his blog. 

Every day I think about

How good God is to me

A healthy body, thankful heart

My loving family.

I wake up thankful each new day

For blessings I've received

And every night when I lie down

Thank God I'm not deceived.

I know the Bible is God's Word

No longer I'm a slave

Through faith in Jesus I have hope

That goes beyond the grave.

Thank God for those who taught me well

This truth I can't deny

That Jesus died for sinful men

For such a worm as I.

I'm saved by grace through faith alone

His blood now covers all

What Jesus did on Calvary

Redeemed me from the fall.

So yes I'm thankful to the Lord

And thankful I'll remain

Until my last breath I shall draw

You'll not hear me complain.

~Robert Fultz, 12/15/15

Thank you, Robert, for allowing me to share your beautiful poem with my friends. I hope you and your's have a very Happy Thanksgiving! 

Phrases Of Appalachia: You're just like a fart in a hot skillet!

When it comes to funny southern sayings, my family is well versed. Out of all of them, "You're just like a fart in hot skillet" is my favorite. This was a common phrase used by my Granny and Pa Holloway. My Granny would probably skin me if she knew that I was writing about such, but she doesn't know anything about the internet or blogs so I think I'm in the clear. 

I remember asking her where she had heard it and what it meant. She told me that she had always heard her dad say it as she was growing up and it meant that a person couldn't make up their mind or they didn't know if they were coming or going. Her dad probably heard his dad say it too. I'm sure they would laugh if they knew their  great or great great granddaughter now finds herself using the phrase fairly often! 

This saying fits me well. My decision making skills resemble that of a squirrel when crossing the street. It takes me forever to make up my mind about anything! I let my mind fill up with too many "what if" scenarios. I'm working on that. I usually don't know if I'm coming or going either! I don't know if I'll ever be able to fix that one. 

Have you ever heard of this saying? What are some funny sayings that you've heard growing up? I'd love to hear them!