An installment in our Blue Ridge Travel series Most places in the mountains reveal themselves slowly. A curve here, a drop in the ridge there. Burkes Garden Virginia works differently. You don’t stumble into it. You cross a boundary. You feel the climb, the narrowing road, the way the ridge draws close before it finally…
An installment in our Folklore & Legends series Windows as Vulnerable Thresholds When folks talk about old mountain cabins, they usually talk about the solid parts. Thick log walls. A stone chimney. A door you could shut and brace. Those are the features that suggest safety. What gets mentioned less often are the quieter details,…
An installment in our Appalachian History & Culture series If you grew up in the mountains, you’ve probably heard someone talk about “witching a well.” Before water lines reached the high ridges, families leaned on neighbors who claimed they could read the ground with a forked branch. Whether folks believed every detail or not, the…
An installment in our Blue Ridge Travel series. The Parkway Looks Natural, But It Isn’t Most travelers pull off at a Blue Ridge overlook, believing the scene has always looked that way. They take in the ridgeline, the sweep of open meadow, the clean line where the forest breaks, and they assume the mountains arranged…
An installment in our Blue Ridge Travel series. Travelers along the Blue Ridge Parkway pass old cabins without giving them much thought. The cabins stand close to the road with their porches weathered and their roofs settling a little. Most folks see them as scenery. Look long enough, though, and the details begin to talk….
An installment in our Appalachian Foodways series Step into an old mountain kitchen, and you notice the skillet before anything else. It sits on the stovetop or hangs near the range, ready for the next meal. Folks kept cast iron because it worked, and its steady heat helped shape the dishes that defined Appalachian cooking….
An installment in our Appalachian History and Culture series If you spend enough time with Appalachian family history, you notice the spaces where names should be. Old Bibles with half-filled pages. Photos with faces nobody can place. Stories that trail off when someone asks a question that a generation never answered. The gaps feel small…
An installment in our Appalachian Foodways series A strip of fatback in a hot pan offers a familiar scent. The sizzle settles into a steady rhythm, and the kitchen takes on a soft haze that Appalachian cooks knew well. Their gardens offered plenty of food but not much flavor. Beans carried their own comfort but…
An installment in our Blue Ridge Travel series. I love driving the Blue Ridge Parkway. Early on an autumn morning there’s a mist in the air and sunlight sparkles off the freshly mowed hayfields where round bales wait in the dew. Visitors congregate at the overlooks. They take in the horizon, nod at the quiet,…
An installment in our Appalachian Foodways series Daybreak is quiet and subdued. A lingering chill hangs in the air, and the rustling of leaves hints at something unseen nearby. An Appalachian hog steps out from a stand of young poplar, nose to the ground, as comfortable in the woods as any wild creature. It pauses…
An installment in our Appalachian History and Culture series Morning comes early because it has to. The stove takes time. In the quiet of Appalachian isolation, the path to the spring is slick with dew, and the cow bellows until the gate latch lifts. A wagon trip into town must wait for the creek to…
An installment in our Appalachian History and Culture series In the gray stillness before dawn, Mae pulled her daughter’s coat tighter and brushed snow from the girl’s cap. The chill settled in deep this far up the valley, where wind rolled off the ridges and cut through every layer of wool. Along the tracks, families…