I should be writing about the dire state of the country since it appears our old America is lost, even as a cohesive resistance begins to coalesce and get its act together. Or maybe I should go touch grass. (Or snow, depending.) A soul just needs to depart Dodge and try to find real, touchable things to look at, ponder or admire before returning to the exhausting front-line fray.
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GUEST POST: Weeping, Wailing & Wonder
TODAY'S GUEST POST BEGINS: This is about us, not me, but let me begin precisely here: I am an old white guy who is sick and tired of other old white guys telling everyone what to do, how to live, who to love and where to go.
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GLORY DAYS and POETRY
Remembering a longtime colleague on the long and crazy march through a newsroom career — one who brought the poetry to the frontlines while on deadline, as we sought to reinvent the American newspaper feature section at the outset of the 21st century.
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WEST VIRGINIA in COLOR | Series 1
Take a breather from political anxiety. And for those of us who dearly love this place called West Virginia — and for out-of-staters willing to be swayed from tired cliches — let's color outside the lines for a few minutes. Please consider the debut of 'West Virginia In Color,' a new, occasional series on people and places in the towns, hollers and hills of the Mountain State which feature a blast, a blaze, or notable burst of color.
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BLACK-AND-WHITE REFLECTIONS: Where will it all end in the end of it all?
In times like these, especially in times like these, when words are just upchucked by annihilationists, institutional arsonists and a world-historic, nihilist-narcissist whose much-kissed ring gleams with saliva, only poetry makes sense. And a few well-chosen images, quotes, and quatrains.
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8 DAYS AFTER 9-11: At a Buddhist Retreat in the West Virginia Hills
Eight days after the frightening, world-shaking events of 9-11 in the year 2001, I was at a long-scheduled retreat at a Buddhist monastery deep in the West Virginia hills. Osama bin Laden was there, also.
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FIRST/PERSON: Prostitute Pasta & Way-Out Family Restaurants in West Virginia
'I am dreaming of a plate full of fluffy, cheesy scrambled eggs, streaked with a couple of red skid marks of Tabasco and a side plate of triangles of buttered toast. Preferably, wheat. But I will take white, if it is all Minney has got ...'
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QUOTABLES: Luminous skies, mucky alleys & chiaroscuro evenings
Photographs from around the neighborhood, allied with some quotations worth quoting and notations that may or may not align, but it's all good.
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Saying Goodbye to Bill | In 3 Parts
Bill Hart, a dear traveling companion through this vale and holler of light and darkness, passed from this mysterious world on Friday evening, on Feb. 9, 2024. Here are some thoughts and images about a notable human being, artist, and world-class craftsman. And, to be sure, a genuinely offbeat, unconventional, and bohemian soul.
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One night, out strolling in the cool, high air of Appalachia
Take a break from worrying about the fate of the Republic, beyond the locked gates of a forested park where the pine trees offer fine company and conversation and the view from on high poses some good questions.
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Where Walden meets West Virginia
Recently inducted into the West Virginia Music Hall of Fame, Barbara Nissman has a story to tell about how her globetrotting career as an acclaimed pianist landed her deep in the West Virginia hills, where she faced deep loss and artistic renewal.
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GUEST ESSAY: Sermonizing on what Joni Mitchell said
Spinning up a sermon from how Joni Mitchell's song “Passion Play (When All the Slaves are Free)" speaks to the mandate to reach out to those the powerful and mighty consign to huddling in the darkness—just as stories of the life of Jesus show him doing constantly.
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GUEST ESSAY: ‘Dad, Donald Trump and My Mountain Mama’
"As limited as his formal education was, dad was a smart and insightful person. I think he would have seen through Trump’s use and manipulation of a religious faith that was the sustaining factor in my dad’s life ..."
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FIRST/PERSON: Finding Yo-Yo Ma playing cello in the West Virginia hills
Who was that man bowing a cello against a tree in the New River Gorge? Why, it's none other than one of the world's best known and loved instrumental maestros. And he has something to say as well as to play.
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READINGS: “THE OUTHOUSE: When you have to go, you have to go”
Over there sits a narrow, tiny, upright building of loosely-fitted, weathered boards painted Theravada Buddhist orange. It has a peaked roof covered with black shingles. It is a monk’s outhouse in the Appalachian hills. I know who built it. He’s a friend of mine.
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FIRST/PERSON: Why I Have Four First Names
"They were both the most cussed, stubborn people you’d ever meet, my Dad and Mom, when they come together over something that stood them apart. “Both would not give up their position on the proper naming of you,” said K. “So, they agreed to disagree. And gave you all four names.”
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FIRST/PERSON: ‘A Wild Woman Love Story’
Once upon a time, a round-faced girl with curly hair and identity issues was told by someone (that genuinely loved her) that she was not "model pretty" like her sister but that she could be "mother pretty" ...
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FIRST/PERSON: A Turtle Rescue Out on Pluto Road
"The first time I tried to save a turtle on the move it peed — or pooped, I’m not sure which — in my truck. I had stopped when I saw a box turtle in the middle of Pluto Road one afternoon maybe ten years ago. I hit my brakes right there in traffic ....
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FIRST/PERSON: A few highly personal words on choice
"Three pregnancies. No choice in any of them. I have never chosen to get pregnant. I was foolish, I was sucker-punched, I was surprised. I was naïve, I was savvy. I wasn’t ready, I was ready. Such a basic right that everyone deserves. CHOICE."
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MEMOIR: Why ginseng hunters & trappers bearing bloody hides wanted in my house
One morning, I stumbled down to the kitchen when I heard a noise. There standing was an unkempt man holding bloody hides and smoking a cigarette. "Excuse me?"
