Culture
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 drop and the sky to clear. Until then, work…
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 waited in silence, boots crunching against the snow. Down…
Mount Airy NC: A Town That Feels Like Mayberry The bronze statue outside the Andy Griffith Playhouse catches the last light of day. Sheriff Andy Taylor holds Opie’s hand, fishing poles slung over their shoulders, just as they did in the opening credits of The Andy Griffith Show. You half expect to hear that familiar…
A baby born blue was nothing new on Troublesome Creek. Neighbors had seen it before. The midwife knew the color would fade in a few days for some, but not for others. For certain families in this corner of eastern Kentucky, blue skin wasn’t a sign of sickness. It was a sign of kinship. The…
Before there was a workshop, there was a pocketknife. And before there was a years-long waitlist, there was a teenage boy on a porch in Grayson County, Virginia, scraping curls of wood off a slab of spruce. Wayne Henderson didn’t have a band saw or a luthier’s bench, just a pocket knife and good instincts….
You might not recognize the Mennonite family that lives a few blocks over. The clothes are modest, sure, but not old-fashioned. The car’s parked in the driveway. The kids play outside after supper. Like other Mennonites in Appalachia, their lifestyle isn’t what sets them apart. Lifestyle is simply a reflection of their convictions. They’ve been…
It’s native. It’s sweet. It grows along half the rivers in Appalachia. And still, most folks in pawpaw country have never tasted one. Maybe you’ve passed it a hundred times: growing low along a creek, hidden beneath the canopy. Or maybe you’ve caught a whiff in late September: something tropical and overripe, like banana pudding…
You can still hear them sometimes—those old voices. They live in stories passed across porches, handed from generation to generation, without being written down. Before people thought to call themselves storytellers, they just told. And someone else remembered. Back in Gaelic lands, those voices had a name: Shanachie. Shanachie was the memory-keeper of the clan….
Chef Jacques Pépin said that our food reflects our history. Around here, that’s not theory—it’s fact. Southern cooking isn’t just something passed down. It’s something that kept folks alive. It remembers what people went through, and it doesn’t let much go to waste. If you want to know who someone is, ask what they put…
It’s a quiet morning in Fries, Virginia, and the New River is doing what it’s always done—slipping past the banks with ageless calm. The cotton mill that gave the town its name and purpose is long gone, but you’d swear you can still hear the echoes. Not of the looms—they stopped decades ago—but of something…