As I explained a few week's back, Jim the Boy was presented to me by The Great Book Pile along with another book--Child of the Mountains. I am convinced that these two young adult novels are, in fact, companions.
Don't get me wrong. The authors and publishers probably had no connection, but the books themselves compliment one another so well. Both have Appalachian themes. Both are young adult novels with grown-up appeal. One focuses on a boy in the early 20th century and the other on a girl during the same timeframe.
I can take no credit. The Great Book Pile--my sentient mess of unread books--made the connection. It catapulted these two books up, overtop dozens of others, to the top of the cluttered shelf, insisting that I read them. Whats more, I think The Great Book Pile intended that I share them with you.
Please don't roll your eyes like an unwanted evangelist has shown at your door. I'm serious. The Great Book Pile has your interests at heart. It is a literary sage. It will deliver you from the doldrums of chick lit and Tolkien knock-offs if you let it.
Be brave. Have faith. The Great Book Pile loves you. It will be your guide.
All it asks is that your read, Read, READ!

*

Jim the Boy
In the book's first pages, we learn that a new school is opening in Aliceville, North Carolina. It will have electric lights, giant blackboards, and a principal, which is as foreign to Jim as the school's glowing bulbs. His old school just had two teachers. It didn't need an administration, but this school will be big. It has been under construction for as long as Jim can remember, and everyone will go there, even hillbilly kids from Lynn's Mountain, kids that Jim distrusts:
Jim had often seen hillbilly kids with their fathers at the store. They stared at Jim as if they hated him already; he didn't like them either. Jim's grandfather lived on Lynn's Mountain. Jim had never laid eyes on him, and did not think he ever would. Mama would not permit it. Jim was a little afraid of going to school with kids who might know his grandfather, but he had not told anyone that.
This short passage sets the stage for Jim the Boy, a beautiful and understated book. There are no mysteries or monsters, just a country boy who learns from his family--a single mother and a trio of uncles who raise him on their farm--and from his own fears.
Jim has reason to be weary of his grandfather. The man is, in fact, a scoundrel, a violent moonshiner who pulled a gun on Jim's daddy and terrorized his granny. His cruelty made him a family legend, a boogieman of sorts, and in Jim's young mind, he has tainted everyone and everything from Lynn's Mountain.
As unlikely as it sounds, Jim's fear and prejudice hold this book together...or rather, these books together. The author, Tony Early, has written Jim the Boy as a collection of books, Book I: Birthday Boy, Book II: Jim Leaves Home, Book III: Town Boys and Mountain Boys, and so on.
Each could stand on its own. They are simple, clear windows into this young man's life, but when linked together, they reveal something greater, an elegant narrative about a boy who faces his bias against mountain people.
Now, instilling prejudice in a protagonist is risky. It could ruin Jim, make him unlikeable. But Early shows this boy with bone bare honesty, and we can't help but care for him.
We see Jim's gratitude when he receives a baseball and glove as a gift. "Jim gazed up at his mother and the uncles as if he had a wonderful story to tell them but could not remember their language."
We hear him say with plain and true love that he doesn't need a Daddy because he has three of them--his mother's brothers.
We share his wonder when he sees the ocean for the first time. "Each wave when it crashed and broke sounded to Jim like the angry breath of God."
We learn that Jim is not extraordinarily bad or extraordinarily good. He is a regular boy, flawed, a bit short tempered, but striving to do right.
Doesn't that sound familiar? Doesn't it sound like all of us?
This is Tony Earley's gift. He can take his understated characters, his simple scenes, and fill them with humanity. Take this section for instance--Jim is with his mother, Cissy, who's temperament is usually even. They are looking at blackbirds that have gathered by their farmhouse. Jim is speculating on how many his uncle could kill with a shotgun:
"I bet he could kill a hundred," says the boy. "Maybe two hundred."
Cissy's eyes begin to fill. She doesn't know if the boy can even hear her; she doesn't know if she has spoken out loud. She blinks so that she can see clearly.
"What's wrong, Mama?" he asks. 
Cissy waves him away, doesn't dare look at him. She unties her apron and takes it off. She pushes her hair behind her ears. She takes a few hesitant steps toward the tree, then breaks into a run; she reaches down with one hand and pulls up her skirt so that she can run faster; she is surprised by how good running feels. 
The boy trots along behind her, his eyes wide. He has never seen her run before. She has not run a step in his lifetime. 
"Mama," he says, "Mama, where are you going?"
Cissy begins to wave the apron over her head.
"Shoo!" she yells. "Fly away! Leave!"
When she closes to within thirty yards of the tree, the flock lifts as one body with a percussive, ripping sounds, as if the air itself is tearing. It moves away from the tree, a creature with a single mind; it flattens and stretches out and winds fluidly across the field, like water seeking a low place.
Cissy runs a few more steps, still flapping the apron, then slows to a stop. Her heart throbs wildly inside her chest; her breath burns in her throat. She stares at the guant limbs of the walnut tree, the empty sky. She hears the birds shouting in the dark woods along the river. They sound angry, indignant, accusing. In the morning they would be gone. She wheels and stares down at the boy. He backs up a step. When she steps toward him, he backs up again. She points at the tree.
"There, Mr. Glass," she says. "It is winter now."
I nearly wept when I read this. I can't say why. I don't fully understand why Jim's talk upset Cissy so, but I was caught up in her reaction. I felt her sadness, her desperation to save the birds, and I think it's because Early felt it too. He conveys his characters' hurts and worries with such crystal clarity, I have to believe that he cares for them.
In this way, he reminds me of another young author, Josh Weil, whom I interviewed a couple of years back. Maybe this is an emerging vein with male Appalachian writers. These two--Earley and Weil--treat their characters with tenderness, with a sympathy that I don't see in the generation before them. Breece D'J Pancake, Pinckney Benedict, and Ron Rash are some of my favorites, but they have all written gritty, gothic stories full of drug addicts and low-downs who kill, connive, and harm.
Maybe this is something new. Maybe mountain men are developing a soft spot.
I guess it's too soon to say, but I do know that I admire Early. He finds beauty in the everyday. He honors the good hearts of country folk. He commits to loving his characters, and, for me, that counts more than all the trailer park murders and meth-induced rampages in the world.

It's Labor Day,  and we've scattered to the winds. Some of you might be at the beach, others at the lake. I'm in Savannah, marveling over Spanish moss and architecture.
I don't know about you, but when I'm gallivanting away from the mountains, I look for signs of home--a busker playing the banjo or sorghum cookies in a local bakery.
These Appalachian mainstays are like bits of meat on a long line. They pop up far from shore when I'm swimming in strange waters.
Once I was eavesdropping in a Lincoln, Nebraska coffee shop and heard people talking about the hammer dulcimer. Another trip, I saw country fried steak on a fancy menu in San Francisco. I felt a rush of warmth both times. Maybe it was pride, 'cause it made me want to jump up and holler, "Hey y'all, I'm a mountain man!"
And then I was ready to pack my car, hop a plane, stick out my thumb--find some way to get back home. It was like the mountains themselves were reeling me in.
I think that this is what today's poem is about-the things that draw us back, cultural constants that remind us of where we're from. These touchstones existed when we were born, and they will be there when we're gone. That's what makes them special.

*

Arborvitae
That tree was big enough for all of us–
Arborvitae arms spread wide to hold–
We swept your floors with branches, laughing.
I moved from child to teen, laughing
with my boyfriend; I did not see the space between us.
Your branches cracked and bowed under winter’s hold.
I came back, so my children could hold
your green rough shoots between fingers, laughing
As you kindly bend to us.
Earth-bound giant, you’ll hold our laughing, until there is not one
of us left.

*

Heather Day Gilbert wrote this poem. Reared in West Virginia, she left for fifteen years and recently returned with a sweet Yankee husband. She is shopping a norse-themed novel called God’s Daughter with publishers and contemplating a book series set in her home state.
Also, did you notice the poem's pattern? It's a tritina, which is built around a certain kind of repetition. Post a comment letting us know what you think, and keep your eyes open for signs of Appalachia while you're exploring the world.

Want to submit an Appalachian poem or short story for publication on The Revivalist? Just click the “contact me” link off to the right. Please paste the body of your work into the message.

Summer may be waning, but the sunglass season is hardly over. Around Labor Day, lakes and streams will bounce sunbeams into your eyes; you'll drive toward beautiful but blinding sunsets this fall; and in a few short months, the glare of snow will have you wincing like you've been sucking limes.
Truth is, you need shades year round, and I may have just found your new favorite pair. These timber adorned beauties are made by Tumbleweeds Handcraft in Chatanooga, Tennessee. They come in more than a dozen different styles--wayfarer, two tone, striped, heart shaped, etc.--and they all sport real wood veneer.
The couple behind the frames, Doug Switalski and Becca Skeels, make them in their historic St. Elmo neighborhood home. They start with a pre-manufactured frame and employ traditional veneering techniques to apply the wood. The veneer itself ranges from mahogany to walnut to teak, depending on the style.
It takes time and patience to adhere thin strips of wood to something as tiny as an ear piece, but it's well worth it when Doug and Becca are done. Their beautiful frames are handmade art pieces and--shhhhh, don't tell anyone--but they're also a bargain. I've seen solid wood frames that don't look nearly as good but cost hundreds of dollars more.
As if that's not nifty enough, this wood-working duo are also fun people. When they're not making glasses, he's snapping long exposure photos or skateboarding and she's out shooting arrows or baking at home. Becca likes to say that they spend their time doing "all the cool stuff every 12-year-old vows to do when they are all grown up and don’t have parents telling them what to do."
Lucky for us, that includes making the raddest, handmade shades in the Appalachian South.

Remember Old Crow Medicine Show's "tour of dreams?"
This is their ride in vintage train cars from San Francisco to New Orleans. With two other alt-folkish bands--Mumford & Sons and Edward Sharp & The Magnetic Zeroes--they played outdoor shows in train yards and fields. They jammed all night as they rode the rails. They stopped to swim. They drank a lot. They flirted with one another. And they invited a local high school band to play onstage.
I know all of this because the trip was filmed. The documentary Big Easy Express captured some of the ride's hijinks but mostly its music. I watched it last night. I thought it was beautifully shot. The music was incredible. I was singing to my dog and clapping along. (Did I mention that I also had a little bourbon?)
At points, I wished for a hint o' plot or real interviews, something that helped me understand why band members kept calling this the trip of a lifetime. Instead I got music--jams in fields; jams onstage; jams in a half a dozen beautiful train cars; jams with footage of western landscapes running overtop them, shot from the top of the train, making me feel like I was sitting up there with the arid wind in my face, the desert and sharp mountains around me lit by the setting sun.
Maybe that's answer enough--2800 miles of breathtaking scenery, a week and half of nonstop music--that would make any musician say that they felt like" a beam of light was shooting down on them," that they were "riding into the magic," that this beautiful old train was "bound for glory."
Now you can see if you agree. Big Easy Express is available on iTunes for just $3.99, and the clip below provides a sneak peak. It's one of my favorite scenes. It's quiet at the front end, but stick with it. There's a big reward right around the middle.
What do you think? Is Big Easy Express a documentary masterpiece or a glorified music video? Maybe a little of both?
Leave your cheers and jeers below.
[youtube]Gt8yv_Kja3Q[/youtube]

In my back room, I have a dozen long shelves. Most of them are reserved for neatly aligned books. These are books I’ve read. They stand upright, looking proud, looking important, looking like all books should.
On one side of one shelf, though, there's this mad jumble. This is the book pile. It consists of books I’ve not yet read. Some lie on their backs. Half are on their sides. Others are wedged in at awkward angles. It looks like they’re climbing overtop one another, trying to get my attention, clambering for the top.
This mess is not my fault. I swear. I’ve arranged the book pile many times, but somehow, it keeps ending up this way. Over the course of years, I have come to accept the one plausible explanation. I figured I was coocoo for thinking it at first, but now I know that this must be the truth:
My book pile is a sentient creature.
Before you close this post and delete all links to my blog, hear me out. I’ve not come to believe this just because of the spontaneous messes. Making those is not all the book pile does. It also picks out books for me, and it’s not indiscriminate about it. Whenever I’m ready to read something new, it’s like the book pile has already gauged my mood or emotions or life path or something, because the right book is always there on top, just like it has been hand picked and launched up at some crazy angle—one that is so eye catching, so unlike the rest of the clutter, I can’t miss it.
This has happened dozens, maybe hundreds of times now, and each time the book pile has been dead-on. Most recently, it surfaced two impossibly similar books. Both were young adult novels. Both had Appalachian themes. One was about a girl. The other was about a boy. They caught my eye back to back and turned out to be perfect compliments to one another.
The first, Child of the Mountains, was a suspenseful slice of mountain life, filled with the energy of a girl edging into adolescence under desperate conditions. The second, Jim the Boy, is quieter; the writing has an elegant simplicity. It is built around the truths that are found in country living and the common circumstances that turn a boy into a man.
Tell me that's a coincidence.
These stories are like matching bookends—some kind of literary set sent to me by the Great Book Pile, which warrants capitalization for it is now my guru, my swami, my sage.
Be warned. I’m recruiting converts. After reading today’s review of Child of the Mountains and the upcoming one on Jim the Boy, you might find yourself making a pilgrimage to my shelves and chanting right alongside me - “All hail The Great Book Pile!”

*

Child of the Mountains
When we meet Lydia Hawkins, she has been torn from Paradise, the aptly named hollow she calls home. There she churned apple butter with her beloved granny, played with her precocious younger brother BJ, and traded hugs with her loving momma. That is, until her whole world fell apart.
Lydia is on her own now. Her granny and BJ have both passed, and while her momma is alive, she is imprisoned, serving time for a crime she didn’t commit.
Lydia proves to be a pragmatic girl. She tries to make the best of things. She ignores bullies at school and steers clear of the aunt and uncle who have taken her in, observing that these relatives “ain’t got nary a clue about what to do with me.”
She's right. They treat her more like a boarder than a bereft child, so Lydia learns that she has to make it on her own, sometimes taking her independence to extremes. For instance, while Lydia is alone “the way of women” comes upon her. It's her first period, and she does not call for her aunt or seek help from any other woman. Her momma told her that this would happen before she was shipped off to prison, so Lydia takes matters into her own hands. She finds an old rag and safety pins. She hides in the bathroom, and she fashions a maxi-pad.
I'll admit it; I was taken aback when I read this scene. It's not because I'm squeamish about menstruation. I was raised around too many women for that. This is a transformative moment in a young woman's life, and I'm glad it's in the book. When I saw how Lydia handled it, though, I kept thinking man, this is one hardcore little girl!
As the book progressed, I was relieved to see that the main character is not all pluck and fortitude. She does feel overwhelmed by her horrific circumstances. She gets down. She is full of self-doubt. I like this. It makes Lydia more dynamic. It gives me, the reader, a chance to identify with her loneliness and worry, not just admire her bravery. When she asks God to send her baby brother back because she’d rather he be a ghost haunting her than just be dead, I hurt for Lydia. I want to reach into the book and hug this child who has lost so much.
We see pleas like this with complete clarity, because the author, Marilyn Sue Shank, has employed a common device. She has written each chapter as a journal entry from her protagonist. In lesser hands, this can become trite, over-emphasizing a character’s whims and weighing down the story’s action. Shank, however, keeps her plot moving. She starts with two great hooks—a girl trying to fend for her self and the mystery surrounding her mother’s incarceration—and she uses them to advances the storyline in every single chapter.
That's impressive, but what distinguishes Shank's book is its local flavor. Child of the Mountain is not just a young adult novel; it is also a study in Appalachian culture. Shank has crafted lovely descriptions of the land, and she has written Lydia with a distinct mountain accent. Through most of the novel, this is a delight—reading the twang and idioms that define our region, seeing a well-rounded character cut from the same cloth as the people I love—but at points, Lydia’s language becomes so archaic it verges on the unbelievable. The book is set in the 1950’s after all, the era of jet travel and frozen dinners. I question whether a preteen girl—even one who was raised in a secluded hollow and influenced by a grandmother who would have been born at the turn of the century—would use words like “nary” and “iffen.”
This reflects my one complaint about the book. Shank does a great job of showcasing mountain culture, but she does so bluntly. Lydia has well-formed opinions about unions and mine pay for a girl her age. Her granny touts the benefits of sassafras tea like she’s selling it. And her teacher, in the midst of an otherwise intimate conversation with Lydia, gets downright didactic when he explains the relationship between Appalachian English and Old English:
“Did you know Shakespeare loved to write double and even triple negatives? He used multiple negatives to emphasize a point, just as mountain people continue to do today…Mountain people are not ignorant. They’re merely using a way of speaking that other English-speaking cultures have forgotten.”
Could this be more artfully delivered?
Sure. But Lord forgive me, because I shouldn't be complaining. This book is a gem. I mean, how often do you see such reverence for mountain people?
Child of the Mountains is a solid novel that does more than entertain. It connects young readers to the Appalachian South. The ones who hail from elsewhere will learn to respect the region, and natives will swell with pride when they read it. The book reminds them that their hills and hollers aren't common. Like Lydia, they live someplace special.

One of our newish neighbors (Barbara Kingsolver) has a brand new novel (Flight Behavior) coming out in November, and I just received an advance copy (Thanks, HarperCollins!).
This novel is a homecoming of sorts. Like her first book, The Bean Tree, it pays homage to Kingsolver's rural roots. She was raised in Carlisle, a small town in eastern Kentucky, but in the 1970s, she moved to Arizona, where she spent nearly two decades. The desert inspired many of her subsequent books, but in 2004 Kingsolver returned east, settling in Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains.
Her Appalachian home was spotlighted three years later. The book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Lifeprovided a true account of her family's attempt to sustain themselves with food that was grown on their Southwest Virginia land or sourced locally. I've not read it, but it made Time's top ten list for the year. Rick Bass, a favorite writer of mine, said that "this text will fold quietly into the reader's consciousness, with affecting grace and dignity, because of its prose and sensibilities."
As I stare at the cover of Kingsolver's latest novel, I hope that her signature charm carries over to this book. Flight Behavior tackles the polarizing issue of climate change, but it does so from a fresh angle. The novelist illustrates how sudden upheaval in the natural world might impact ordinary, mountain people.
The book opens on Dellarobia Turnbow, a young mother with faded ambitions. She married at seventeen and has been raising babies and biting her tongue around her husband's antagonistic family ever since. Dellarobia is walking up a mountain side. She is beset by doubt and consternation, but nonetheless, she is headed toward an old turkey blind, the only place private enough to meet a younger man.
This is the first time Dellarobia has stepped out of her motherly role, the first self indulgent thing she's done in years. As she dodges briars, she considers the consequences of an affair. Her town will judge her. Her children will be branded. Still, she is marching forward when she comes upon a scene she cannot explain.
On the trees right around her, she see's brownish clumps. She wonders if they're a spreading fungus and, preoccupied, keeps walking. When she reaches an overlook, her view expands and Dellarobia sees that every single trunk and twig is covered. The color is not brown so much as red. She faces an entire valley blanketed with some strange smokeless fire. It moves in waves, releasing bits like sparks from a burning pine log, but it does not crackle. This is a silent miracle, and Dellarobia knows what it means. She must go back to her family, to her cluttered yard, and to an uncertain future.
I've skimmed this part, the beginning of the book, and after such a bold opening, I'm excited to read the rest. Watch for my review sometime between now and the book's release in November. In the meantime, folks who have read the book are leaving spirited comments all around the web. These come from the literary site Goodreads:

"As Kingsolver puts it, poor, rural, Southerners are the people in the United States most likely to be effected by climate change. Unfortunately, they are also the demographic least likely to have any accurate information about what it is, and what that means for them, and the world." Sara Beigle
If you've put your hands on a copy of Flight Behavior, please let us know what you think. If you'd like to reserve a copy, you can do so on Amazon and they will ship it to you after November 6, the day the book comes out.

 

I haven't published much poetry on The Revivalist, and there's no excuse for that. I'm a sucker for rhythm and imagery. In fact, I like poems a lot. When I see a good one, though, it has usually been published elsewhere, and it's some work to hunt down a poet and request reprint rights. We're talking pure laziness on my part, I know.

Lucky for me, Sarah Loudin Thomas made things easy. She ran the poem "Mountain Mama" on her own website where an email address was just a few pixels away. Even I could manage to copy, paste, and send a message, asking to share this piece with y'all.

I was thrilled when Sarah said, "Yes," because this poem is about as Appalachian as they come. It's all about fragile beauty and precarious lives. It's about grim reality getting entangled with false hope. It's about the unique losses that mountain people face every single day.

After reading it, please leave a comment telling Sarah what you think.

***

Mountain Mama

There is truth in the trailer park

and honesty in the car on blocks.

Starvin’ Marvin and “as seen on TV”

live cheek by jowl with the likes

of handmade quilts and apple butter;

old-time music and the oral tradition.

Some folks say it isn’t True,

isn’t the way things used to be.

But lose a grandfather to the mines,

an uncle to the war, your mother

to a cancer that gnaws at her soul—

lose a child for no reason you can see.

Then you’ll find the fragile beauty

in the never-ending yard sale.

You’ll learn to love the tourists

who buy corncob pipes, coonskin caps,

and lumps of coal carved like bears.

When the giant timber companies

run the local sawmill out of money

and Aunt Eunice can’t remember your name—

when your best friend moves to California

and minimum wage is doing alright, man.

Then you’ll find the potent wisdom

in workers’ compensation, food stamps

and tonight’s lotto number—

dear God let me win.

A one in a billion chance is better

than watching the land your ancestors

cleared wash away . .  . no wish away

on the promises of strip mines

and a future you can’t afford to wait.

At night, the lights from Wal-Mart glow

like the promise of a better tomorrow.

In addition to poems, Sarah Loudin Thomas writes books. In fact, she is seeking publication of her first novel. Originally from West Virginia, she writes pieces that reflect her love for Christ first and her Appalachian heritage second. She has previously published poetry and articles in magazines including Appalachian Heritage, The Pisgah Review and Now & Then: The Appalachian Magazine. You can learn more about Sarah on her website Sarah Anne Loudin Thomas: Everyday miracles happen every day.

If your pop is like mine, you can stop reading this now. It's easy to buy him a Father's Day gift. Any coffee mug or key chain with the Harley Davidson logo will do. Or one of those funny T-shirts for men will also be perfect.
I'm not kidding. For three decades, my Dad has gotten Harley gear. We give it him for every birthday, Christmas, and anniversary too.
I'd say that Harley has become a crutch for us gift-givers if Dad didn't seem to enjoy it so much. After receiving dozens of Harley hats, Harley books, Harley beer cozies, and at least one Harley stained glass window (which I am proud to have found), he still smiles like he's won the lottery and exclaims a big, "HOT DAMN," every time he opens a box and sees those iconic eagle wings.
For him, Harley stuff is like cupcakes or firewood. He really can't have too much.
For your dad, though, Harley might not be the way to go. If your father would rather hike the AT than roar down the road on a hog, then check out this list. These are the best Father's Day gifts that the Appalachian South has to offer.

*

Bamboo Fly Rod: Give your dad a gift that will last a lifetime. These exceptional rods are made by William S. Oyster and his team of craftsmen in Blue Ridge, Georgia. On his website, Oyster explains, "'We' are not a 'cyber-business'...I am a man in a workshop who splits cane, sands, planes, varnishes, sweats, bleeds, sweeps up and checks e-mails." He follows a rod design that originated in the 1800s, building each rod from a single culm of bamboo and finishing it with nickel, silk thread, and premium Portuguese cork. These distinctive rods are owned by luminaries, including President Jimmy Carter and perhaps soon your dad.

[caption id="attachment_5832" align="alignright" width="200"] Wood paddle from Fritz Orr Canoe[/caption]
Blood Feud, The Hatfields & The McCoys: The Epic Story of Murder & Vengeance: Following the hit Hatfields & McCoys mini-series on The History Channel, this historic account of the legendary feud has shot to the top of the charts. It is Amazon's #1 best seller in the category State and Local U.S. History; it's #10 in General History; and it's a thrilling #63 in all books on Amazon. Written by Appalachian native Lisa Alther, Blood Feud takes a deeper look at the violence, romance, and politics that linked these two famous families.
Uncle Buck's Gift Crate: If your dad is king of outdoor cooking, then he'll dig this trio of West Virginia-made condiments and sides. Mustard Relish, Rustic Pepper Sauce, and 14 Day Sweet Pickles are offered in both regular and hot varieties. They come packed in a manly wooden crate, ready to serve at your father's next grillside guyfest.
Wooden Whitewater Canoe Paddle:Expedited shipping isn't available so this one might arrive late. I can't image Dad will mind much when he opens his gift and finds a beautiful piece of functional art. Made of ash, aspen, black walnut, and cedar with a clear epoxy composite laminate finish, these paddles are sure to please any canoe enthusiast. Each is dated, numbered and signed by the craftsmen at Fritz Orr Canoe.
[caption id="attachment_5837" align="alignleft" width="139"] Rail spike knife from Tamarack[/caption]
Crooked Road CD Sampler: With this gift, your father can tour Virginia's legendary bluegrass heritage trail--The Crooked Road--from the comfort of his easy chair. This sampler is a a virtual "Who's Who" of the Blue Ridge. It features bluegrass legend Ralph Stanley, guitarist Wayne Henderson, gospel singers The Good Shepherd Quartet, and the popular band Lost & Found alongside many other mountain artists.
Rail Spike Knife: Hand-forged by craftsman Ronnie Hamrick, these knives start their lives as railroad spikes. With heat and pressure, each is transformed into something new but familiar, retaining the rough, dark look of the original spike with the addition of a gleaming blade. They make the perfect gift for a knife-collecting dad, an outdoorsman dad, or a railroad buff dad.

Now I wish I hadn't let go of cable TV. Last night Hatfields and McCoys premiered on The History Channel. This dramatic mini-series stars stars Kevin Costner as Devil Anse Hatfield, Bill Paxton as Randall McCoy, and Tom Berenger as the uncle of Devil Anse.
Nikki Bowman was lucky enough to attend the premiere. On WVLiving.com, she wrote...
"After I adjusted to the accents, rich in Shakespearean English, it immediately transported me to post-Civil War Appalachia, when the region was still trying to figure out its place in the country. The gothic scenery—unfortunately, it was filmed in Romania and not the Tug River Valley due to production costs—and the deftly portrayed characters capture an important time in West Virginian and American history by illustrating that the iconic feud was greater and much more involved than a simple dispute over a pig."
In addition to being a complex film that shows the depth of America's most famous feud, it also has interesting online extensions. You can find more videos, background on the two families' members, and a fun Hatfields and McCoys quiz on The History Channel website.
Unfortunately, the online features don't include the premiere episode, which aired last night. I've not been able to find it anywhere online, so for now, I'll have to rely on you for updates.
Part two airs tonight at 9/8c. If you watch it, please tell me what it's like!
[youtube]IYIWdXYm8bc[/youtube]

Y'all heard the news?
TV star and indie music darling Zooey Deschanel will be playing Loretta on Broadway. I got this story straight from the good folks at LorettaLynn.com.

*

Country Music Hall of Fame member Loretta Lynn is taking her life story to Broadway, and she has tapped film and TV actress Zooey Deschanel to play her on stage.
Lynn, 80, unveiled plans for a musical adaptation of “Coal Miner’s Daughter” during a Grand Ole Opry show at the Ryman Auditorium on Thursday night. Wearing one of her signature long sleeve, floor length dresses, the singer blew through four songs before bringing Deschanel onstage to sing the title tune.
The announcement mirrored the way Lynn invited actress Spacek on the Opry stage in 1979 to reveal that Spacek would play her in the upcoming film. Spacek later won an Academy Award for her portrayal of Lynn.
“I have a friend here tonight. I don’t know if ya’ll remember when Sissy Spacek was with me. I brought her out here with me. She about fainted. We both fainted,” Lynn said with a laugh. “She went on to do the ‘Coal Miner’s Daughter,’ and you know from there. Well, there’s a little girl back stage that’s going to do the play of ‘Coal Miner’s Daughter’ on Broadway,” Lynn continued. “Zooey, where you at honey?”
Deschanel, 32, the star and a producer of the Fox comedy “New Girl,” then emerged in a short, vintage-inspired white dress. She grabbed Lynn’s hand and flashed a dazzling smile.
“Are you going to help me sing ‘Coal Miner’s Daughter’?” asked Lynn. “I’m going to help you sing,” said Deschanel, who has been nominated for a Grammy Award. “This is a great honor for me. This is my hero.”
The two traded verses and they ended the song holding hands. “Coal Miner’s Daughter” was a No. 1 hit for Lynn in 1970 that she wrote about growing up as one of eight children in rural Kentucky. It became the title of her 1976 autobiography and the basis for the 1980 movie, starring Sissy Spacek, which traces Lynn’s rise from humble beginnings into one of country music’s most beloved singers.
In 1972, Lynn became the first woman to be named Entertainer of the Year by the Country Music Association. Among the songs performed in the film are “You Ain’t Woman Enough to Take My Man,” “You’re Looking at Country,” “I’m a Honky Tonk Girl,” and the title song.
Plans for a stage adaptation are still in the beginning stages, with no creative team attached or workshop dates announced. The producers – Fox Theatricals and Scott Sanders Productions – have been behind such Broadway hits as “Legally Blonde,” `’The Color Purple,” `’Red” and “Thoroughly Modern Millie.”
Deschanel has starred in such films as “Elf,” “(500) Days of Summer” and “Your Highness.” Producers of the musical said their schedule would not conflict with the actress “New Girl” commitments. Deschanel also has a musical side. She has appeared on some of her movie soundtracks and in a jazz cabaret act called If All the Stars Were Pretty Babies. She has also released three albums with M. Ward as the folk-rock duo She & Him, and she performed three songs for the recent animated film “Winnie the Pooh.” One of those songs, “So Long,” was nominated for a Grammy in the category of Best Song Written For Visual Media.
During the surprise duet Thursday as part of the Grand Ole Opry Country Classics, Deschanel sang her parts strong, with a convincing lilt in her voice. As the music faded out, Lynn said to the crowd, “Don’t forget her name. Her name is Zooey.”
And with that, another coal miner’s daughter was born.
[youtube]Ik-SmxpQtWk[/youtube]

Over the weekend, CNN posted controversial photos from Appalachia. The collection opened with KKK members surrounding a burning cross. It went on to show snake handlers, religious fundamentalists, and shirtless men who looked strung out.
Those of us from Appalachia know that these images are the exception and sensational, but CNN sure didn't play them that way. The news channel said that the photographer was capturing "the everyday lives of the people of Appalachia."
Appalachian locals posted comments in the hundreds, most of them outraged:
"I am from the Appalachians and this is not everyday life. This is akin to racist stereotypes of African Americans before the civil rights movement. Repulsive."
"I've lived in the South for four decades and have seen exactly zero robed Klansmen and pretty much the same number of snake handlers."
"These pictures appear to be the result of an immature photographer from LA out to reinforce her smug stereotypes about the South. CNN why are you promoting this?"
Reading the comments and reviewing the photos, I also wondered what was this photographer thinking. Was she really trying to propagate stereotypes about mountain people? Didn't she know how damaging this kind of photography can be?
Rather than speculate, I decided to ask her for a telephone interview. Her name is Stacy Kranitz, and she promptly replied to my email. The first thing she told me was that she felt burned by CNN.
"I admit that my experience with CNN was very upsetting and I am weary of the media right now," she said, "Even though I have great respect for alternative media sources I'm not sure how confident I feel about a phone conversation. Maybe we can begin the conversation via email."
So I emailed Stacy a couple of questions at a time, and she replied, providing me with the full story behind her hotly disputed photos. I've boiled our emails into a simple interview that shows what this unconventional artist was really thinking. Stacy's excerpts are unaltered, but I did edit my questions to give you, the reader, better context.
Also, while we were exchanging emails, CNN updated the photos, adding additional shots in an attempt to better represent Appalachian culture. Stacy and I talked about this too.

*

TR: Stacy, CNN originally published a portion of your shots from the Appalachians. That subset of your work lit a fire among people from the region. What do you think about the outrage? 
SC: I think people are rightfully angry. I am disgusted to see the words "the everyday lives of appalachian people" next to images of the KKK. That is a real insult to the region as is the reductive edit of my work and I understand why people are so offended by it.

TR: What would you like people to take away from your Appalachian photos?

TR: CNN has added more photos that represent a wider range of Appalachian experiences, but they didn't remove the words "everyday lives." Are you satisfied?
SC: Whaen I contacted them, the photo editors at CNN showed genuine concern for my desire to have the project presented in a way that was true to my intentions. While so much of the damage has already been done with so many people seeing the original sequence of images I appreciated that the editors where immediately responsive to my desires to change the edit to be more accurate to the project.
They did not want to change the text "everyday lives of appalachian people" because they feel that in the context of the article they are not saying that my images reflect the everyday lives of appalachian people but that the images were taken of people in their everyday lives. In the end I agreed that the text was accurate to the interview I gave and with the new edit I feel that the project is shown in a much less antagonistic way. At the end of the day I took these pictures and I have to reconcile with the fact that not everyone is going to take the time to understand what I am doing. Some people are going to be angry that a picture of a Klan rally exists in the edit at all even if it is there to reference an obvious stereotype instead of perpetuate it. I am not making a travel brochure of the area.
While CNN has made the changes i requested I still think it is valuable to continue the discussion about appalachia, representations and stereotypes.

*

What do you think? Do you look at the photos differently after reading this? What do you think of Stacy's work and CNN's handling of the situation?

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="282"] Photo Provided by Bill Meador[/caption]
I'm not going to lie. I have mixed feelings about Smith Mountain Lake. It's a 20,600 acre, man-made creation that engulfed towns, farms, and forests when it rose from the banks of the Roanoke River in 1963. Since then, it's generated miles of McMansions and attracted an influx of Jersey transplants.
It's not exactly the land of local culture or ecological responsibility, but still, it can be awfully pretty. A summertime sunset behind green mountains shimmering on the lake's still surface--it's a scene that melts away the tension. Toss in a cold beer and some grilled meat and you can see why Yankee's have bought every square foot of shoreline.
It's this side of Smith Mountain Lake--the slow moving, hammock loving, lake life--that inspired Sarah Elizabeth Timmins to make her indie film. "It all began three years ago, she says, "When a personal soul-searching journey and a reflective walk along Smith Mountain Lake awakened my soul."
Timmins, a long time film producer, didn't conceive the film Lake Effect around a plot line or character. She was inspired by a place, by the lake itself. "With simply an idea and location, yet neither script nor money, I committed to starting my own film company and jumped into Lake Effects."
[caption id="attachment_5601" align="alignright" width="240"] Vivian Tisdale played by Jane Seymour[/caption]
She shopped the film to hundreds of funders and with writer Scott Winters began crafting a family story that was as moving as its location. In the film, Los Angeles attorney, Sarah Tisdale (played by Richmond native Scottie Thompson), is called home to Virginia when her father dies in a sudden accident. In the midst of grief, she and her sister come to understand why their father thought it was so important for them to be raised on the lake.
Their mother, who goes through her own journey of loss and reflection, is played by Jane Seymour. The most notable name in the cast, Seymour brings seasoned acting chops and star power to the film, but if you ask Timmins, the real stars are area locals.
"From day one, over two years ago, Smith Mountain Lake residents and businesses embraced the film," Timmins explains in her press kit, "Individuals offered us the use of their boats, cars, trucks, and even a helicopter. Amazingly, these donations were made with sincere generosity, without any expectations of remuneration."
To express her gratitude, Timmins is donating a portion of the films proceeds to cleanup efforts at the lake. Having already won recognition at the Omaha and Appalachian Film Festival, Lake Effects premieres tonight on Hallmark Movie Channelat  8:00 PM eastern/7:00 central.
If you watch the movie, tell us what you think. If you live at the lake, did you have any celeb sightings while Lake Effectswas being filmed or did you help out with the movie?
We'd love to hear your stories.