Our Breathitt Summary Report

ideasxlab.com/ourbreathitt

Index Our Breathitt Overview (Pg 3) Our Breathitt - By The Numbers (Pg 4) What's Next? The Kentucky Wellbeing Challenge (Pg 5) Our Breathitt - Artists & Partners (Pg 6) Reflections and Grandmothers are Super-Heroes by artist Rae Goodwin (Pg 7-8) Overview: Poetry, Essays & Plays (Pg 9-13) Overview: Music & Our Breathitt Album (Pg 14-16) Graduation Embellishments (Pg 17-18) Believe in Breathitt Podcast (Pg 19) Our Breathitt Summit (Pg 20-21) Home Grown Health (Pg 22-23) Breathitt County Farms Photo-Essay (Pg 24-28) Poetry, Essays & Plays (Pg 29-92)

Cover photo: Kate Driskill performs during the Our Breathitt Summit. Photo by Horizon Media. Our Breathitt logo by Cas McGuffey.

Index photo: Graduation Embellishments worn at Breathitt High graduation 2019. Photo by Josh Miller.

Published by IDEAS xLab | ideasxlab.com/ourbreathitt

Our Breathitt was a multi-year community collaboration that centered on arts & culture, health, and education - the 3 pillars of focus identified by the community.

Our Breathitt launched in 2018 after initial collaborations with Breathitt Co. Academic Boosters and artist workshops during Breathitt County School's Heritage & Literacy day. From 2018 - 2020, the effort brought together multiple programmatic elements and artist-led engagements (poetry and writing workshops, music workshops, visual art, gardening, cooking, etc.) at various sites and events throughout Jackson (Breathitt Co.), Kentucky.

During COVID-19, artists created virtual content focused on heritage and health to be shared with teachers and community members, and photographer James Southard visited multiple farms in Breathitt County throughout 2020, creating a photo-essay of their lives during such a turbulent year.

The effort was coordinated by artists with local businesses, healthcare organizations, municipal government, local school systems and universities through IDEAS xLab’s HEAL Community Approach, with funding for parts of Our Breathitt from the National Endowment for the Arts.

"Our people are strong and we are proud of where we are from."

Photos by Josh Miller.

BY THE NUMBERS

20+

Artists Engaged

22

Original written pieces created and published

12

Original songs created and recorded

35+

Artist-led workshops with students and community members

450+

Pieces of visual art and writing created with community participants

4,200+ IN-PERSON TOUCHPOINTS WITH COMMUNITY MEMBERS Photo by James Southard.

What's next?

KENTUCKY WELLBEING CHALLENGE

Photo by Horizon Media.

Representatives from the Aspen Institute’s Aspen Challenge program attended the Our Breathitt Summit. And, from Our Breathitt’s emerging core pillars of education, health and arts & culture, came the idea for a collaboration between Breathitt County and Jefferson County Schools called the Kentucky Wellbeing Challenge.

The Kentucky Wellbeing Challenge (KWC) builds on Our Breathitt's multi-year collaboration and 2 years of work and best practices by the Aspen Challenge team in Louisville (Jefferson County). KWC joins together the UofL Center for Creative Placehealing in partnership with Kentucky educators, artists and health professionals to systematically build a statewide program across the Bluegrass that provides inspiration, tools, and a platform for high school students to design innovative solutions to improve their wellbeing in order to help them transition successfully between high school and college. UofL Center for Creative Placehealing and KWC schools will participate in the national network of researchers, educators and innovators as part of Aspen Challenge's work across the US. Some of the KWC features include:

Expanding opportunities for urban-rural collaboration, especially among participating young people and organizations.

Providing hands-on learning and leadership opportunities for solving critical issues.

Strengthening school-to-college pipeline for ST.E.A.M.-based growth in public schools while serving as a convener for cross-sector collaboration and thought leadership for Kentucky’s young leaders.

Building a new generation of innovative and inclusive leaders, effective storytellers, and creative problem solvers who have the tools (science, data, social/economic/cultural capital) and know-how (creativity, curiosity, inclusion, citizenship, commerce) to build the best Kentucky possible!

The Kentucky Wellbeing Challenge is lead by the UofL Center for Creative Placehealing with support from the Aspen Institute, Bezos Family Foundation, and CE&S Foundation.

Learn more about KWC at creativeplacehealing.com

ARTISTS & PARTNERS Our Breathitt includes artists living in Breathitt County, artists with roots in Breathitt County and now living in the region, and artists from the region who have all come together to collaborate.

Rae Goodwin - Lead Artist, Professor in the School of Art and Visual Studies at the University of Kentucky Pauletta Hansel Brent Watts Jay McCoy Tom Eblen Theo Edmonds Cheyenne Mize Scott Allen Jonathan Chapman Shaina Naillieux Kate Driskill Jackson Napier The Handshake Deals Kenneth Combs Cas McGuffey James Southard Partners include: Breathitt County Schools, Jackson City Independent Schools, Breathitt County Academic Boosters, Riverside Christian School, Breathitt County UK Extension Office, Kayla Watts, Reed Graham and their amazing staff, Robinson Experiment Station, Hazard Community and Technical College (HCTC) Lees College Campus, Ruschelle Hamilton, Willie Griffith, Arch Sebastian, Mayor Laura Thomas, Angie Raleigh, Steven Bowling, Director of Breathitt Co. Public Library, Clara Gabbard, Shaun and Crystal Thatcher, Jenny and Teddy Edmonds, Breathitt Advocate, Jackson TimesVoice.

Photo of HCTC President Jennifer Lindon by Horizon Media from Our Breathitt Summit.

Many who have lived in Breathitt County, Kentucky for generations have made me feel welcome and at home here, for this embrace I will be forever grateful.

Breathitt County came into my life from many directions, long before I ever came for a visit, all of them beautiful and profound. I am honored to have been selected as Lead Artist for this arts and health initiative. As an artist, I often work with the materials and intentions of intimacy and risk. As a social practice artist I am humbly aware that the precious stories I work with belong to other people. I know it is a risk for any community member to share with me. Sometimes in the making of this kind of art our stories meld and together we create new stories. Oftentimes community members hear one another share and learn about themselves through the words, images or music of each other. My goal is to encourage participants to take a risk, to recognize their power and agency, to share from their heart and their own experiences. As Our Breathitt has unfolded, I've asked many questions and listened respectfully to the goals and interests of the community. Then and only then can we collectively make art rooted in their joys, sorrows and hopes for their future.

It has been my great privilege to work with IDEAS xLab, along with artists who grew up in the area and moved away, community members, artists who live here now and others like me who enter the work with a respectful and collaborative spirit. All of us in this experience are getting to know the cultural heritage and current culture of Breathitt County. This is truly an enriching process. I have read many stories written from people living today and those who lived here decades past. I like to sit in one of the amazing local restaurants and chat with people nearby or wander into the UK Extension Office and talk to the agents and staff there. In talking and listening I learned about the importance of music, quilting, cooking, gardening and storytelling. These wonderful stories resonate with me and have been the backbone of Our Breathitt. The stories and artistic practices have become ways for us as artists to work together with community members towards understanding the hope and sense of belonging that already exists in this miraculous place.

- Lead Artist Rae Goodwin

I

I believe all grandmothers are super-heroes and we need to celebrate their strengths! In this Social Practice installation, I work with individuals to ascertain the Super-Powers of their Grandmother. We develop her Super-Hero name together and they draw a picture of her as a Super-Hero. This work has been installed at Utah State University, SUPERNOVA Performance Art Festival, Chicago State University, West Georgia University, SAIC and at Lees college during the OB creative summit with drawings from Highland turner elementary students. This project will expand in 2021 within Breathitt county Schools.

- Lead Artist Rae Goodwin

Photos by Josh Miller.

POETRY, ESSAYS & PLAYS Artist-led writing workshops based on Appalachian heritage and traditions took place in 2018 and 2019, and were used as forums for health promotion and education with a focus on Heritage and Hope.

Starting in August 2019, five collaborating writers - Pauletta Hansel, Brent Watts, Tom Eblen, Jay McCoy, and Theo Edmonds - each with their own perspectives and ties to the county, began offering weekly columns in the Breathitt Advocate and Jackson Times-Voice informed by the workshops.

Read "We are Breathitt County" on page 10, written by Pauletta Hansel and students from Breathitt High, and the Essays, Plays & Poems written by all five authors starting on page 26.

Above: Jay McCoy and Brent Watts read at the Our Breathitt Summit. Top Right: Pauletta Hansel during Writer's Retreat in Lexington, KY. Bottom Right: Tom Eblen during the Writer's Retreat in Lexington, KY.

"Working with the project has been an opportunity to re-engage with the 'Breathitt Countyness' embedded in my heart.

It's an opportunity to engage with home."

- Brent Watts Photos by Josh Miller and Horizon Media.

WE ARE BREATHITT COUNTY I am who I am; every piece of me was formed by a small town.

I have so many dreams, you may say I am a dream.

I am the roots of grass waiting to grow back. I am the road I walk upon, tough, but slowly cracking.

I am someone who refuses to change for anyone, except myself.

Though I’m not perfect and I’ve made many mistakes, I know I can come home whenever I break.

I love who I am.

I love myself for never letting anyone tear me down, and for believing in me.

My story is complex; it is broken, yet sewn together.

I am the youth of a small dying town.

I look for leaders and I see no one around. But I am also fire, forceful spirits igniting.

I am from the hills and mountains, the valleys and the fields, foggy mornings and muggy evenings.

Here is where I live, the place where I grew up, where most of my memories were made, surrounded by family, a small place between the mountains and the creek.

This holler will always be my home no matter how far I go.

The gushing river flows below my house, gently calling my name.

Here is where I live. In a good spot, but in a bad place in town.

Some don’t see the appeal, a comfortable, uncomfortable place I call home.

I love every aspect of all of these things— the good and the bad.

This is not done yet, but neither is my story.

By the Students of Breathitt High, with Pauletta Hansel, a poet, essayist and teacher from Jackson who was Cincinnati’s first Poet Laureate. Her parents cared for and educated Breathitt children and young adults for many years.

STUDENT WRITING SAMPLE February 2019

By Rachael Mullin My PaPaw took me for a four wheeler ride during the summer time. It was early in the morning. The birds were chirping and the sun was just starting to shine over the hills. It was a new trail that we had never took before. It was a logging trail. It was so beautiful and quiet and just really peaceful. Once we got to the top of the trail we just stopped and looked around at the trees and the waterfall that was up there and we listened to the leaves and branches being blown by the wind and the water falling from the waterfall. I will definitely never forget that day.

November 2018 By anonymous I live on a farm and at the foot of the hill where you can smell the fresh air and look up and see the mountains. And the air smells really good where I live. And I love this place…Proud to be a hillbilly…

November 2018 Ethan Lovely I’m proud to be able to live in the woods because we have privacy and a lot more freedom than city living.

December 2018 Shane Elliot Running from a bear the man keeps on running. He runs as fast and as long as he can. He can’t keep running like this but he has no other option. He trips over a rock, closing his eyes awaiting the massive bear, in fear, wondering if he’ll ever see his family again. A minute passes and he opens his eyes only to see his dog. No bear in sight..

STUDENT MAPS CREATED DURING PAULETTA HANSEL'S WRITING WORKSHOP AT BREATHITT HIGH

OUR BREATHITT MUSIC The lives, stories, and heritage of people in Breathitt Co. inspired new music from a series of musician-led workshops in the community.

Coordinated by musician & music therapist Cheyenne Mize, including musicians and community members Scott Allen, Jonathan Chapman, The Handshake Deals (depicted above), and Kate Driskill - who led workshops with community partners including Nim Henson’s Geriatric Center, The Sapling Center- Jackson, Breathitt County High School, Breathitt County Public Library, and Breathitt County Senior Citizens Center to inspire new and original music. The new songs were interwoven with written narratives from the workshops, and performed at the Honey Festival in September 2019, and Our Breathitt Summit on October 2019.

Released on February 27, 2020, the “Our Breathitt� album features original music and songs by artists Scott Allen, Jonathan Chapman, The Handshake Deals, and Kate Driskill.

It was recorded at Farm Hill Drive Studio in Jackson, KY by Jonathan Chapman (Lead Recording Engineer) and Scott Allen (Assistant Recording Engineer).

Jonathan Chapman Edited, Mixed and Mastered the album which is available for purchase at ideasxlab.bandcamp.com.

KEEP A TUNE Lyrics and Music by Kate Driskill Inspired by words of wisdom from community childhood memories

Hard times will come but don’t let them scare you away Don’t let them take you down a dark road on your own When the noise is overwhelming and your knees begin to shake Just take it in and let out the song you know to sing Honey, you be sure to keep a tune Stick to the music don’t let your voice fade out Pretty soon you’ll be on the mountaintop Hold on to what you know and see how far you’ll go Oh, you gotta keep a tune If I could say all the words that I’ve wanted to say to you The echoes would be boundless with me cheering you on Oh, I know you might feel weary and lost But hold on and just keep on playing our song Oh Oh Oh Oh

come come come come

sing sing sing sing

now now now now

sing sing sing sing

in in in in

the the the the

mountains valley silence crowd

"Working on this project taught me new ways to write songs and create music. It opened my eyes to the heart of my community and brought me to love where I am even more." - Kate Driskill Photo by Horizon Media.

GRADUATION EMBELLISHMENTS To recognize the achievements of the students of Breathitt County while celebrating the beauty surrounding the school, embellishments for their graduation outfits were created - where each graduate could wear a section of the quilt.

Quilter Shaina Naillieux, along with her mother Patricia Caudill, worked in collaboration with high school students from Breathitt County, and members of the Breathitt Homemakers Association to create the 30-foot quilt that was assembled piece by piece as graduates crossed the stage at Breathitt High School. This began a new tradition, that will continue year after year.

Photos by Josh Miller.

Photo by Horizon Media.

Believe in Breathitt Podcast Believe in Breathitt is a podcast created by O.H. Jackson Napier, developed to document the narratives of Breathitt Countians in their own words. With nominal narration, listeners are able to hear the grievances, victories and hopes of those who live in coal country. Ben Combs speaks to the hollowing out of Breathitt County with the collapse of coal jobs in the late 80s. Josephine Macintosh, recalls working hard with her sisters in their families garden, "Hoeing taters, hanging 'baccer in britches over top our dresses". Crystal Jones-Roberts, a local media producer, expresses her pride in being from such a unique region. Seldon Short, now in Dallas, TX, reflects on the intensity of meals as an expression of love from his grandparents and the education he received in a private K-12 setting at the Kentucky Mountain Holiness Association.

These interviews provide a vantage point into a popularly misunderstood region. Stereotypes vanish as interviewees discuss their hopes and fears for the future of Breathitt. As popular media continues to push harmful caricatures, we as a nation must begin to practice deep, loving, and patient listening in order to begin healing. We must humanize those we do not understand.

Napier invites listeners to begin that practice with Believe in Breathitt now. Visit ideasxlab.com/ourbreathitt to listen to the podcast.

Photo by Horizon Media.

OUR BREATHITT SUMMIT Over 80 community members came together through the Our Breathitt Summit on October 11-12, 2019.

Hosted by HCTC Lees College, the Summit featured keynote presentations by Dr. Derrick Hamilton of Juniper Health and HCTC President Jennifer Lindon, and a facilitated work session by Peter Hille of MACED. From Mayor Laura Thomas to Breathitt students, leaders and artists, the Summit attendees decided to focus on three pillars as they look toward the future: Education, Healthcare, and Arts & Culture.

Artist Rae Goodwin engaged participants through her interactive arts installation, Grandmothers are Super Heroes, and Our Breathitt artists shared original works created throughout the project.

Photos by Horizon Media.

HOME GROWN HEALTH Our Breathitt partnered with University of Kentucky Extension Service Office along with community members including Kenneth Combs, and the UK Landscape Architecture Program to conceptualize an artistically considered raised garden bed that would feature a “Cancer Prevention Cooking Garden.”

The collaboration was designed to contribute to the dialog and practice surrounding cancer prevention through cooking with and eating whole foods.

Building on the heritage of place and community sentiment that “food is love," artists Rae Goodwin, Pauletta Hansel, and Jay McCoy created artistic and educational videos during COVID-19 for community members and students celebrating these themes.

Students interviewed family members about memories of gardening and made artwork and poems about this practice.

Additionally, photographer James Southard created a photo-essay featuring families and farmers from Breathitt County during 2020.

BREATHITT COUNTY FARMS Photo-essay by James Southard

Johnson Farm.

Howard Farm.

Graham Farm.

Howard Farm.

Graham Farm.

Our Breathitt Poetry, Essays & Plays

Our Breathitt Authors Tom Eblen is a journalist, writer and photographer recently retired as metro/state columnist for the Lexington Herald-Leader. He is descended from Samuel Haddix, one of Breathitt County’s earliest settlers.

Theo “Alan” Edmonds, from Jackson Kentucky, is a faculty member at the University of Louisville School of Public Health & Information Sciences’ Center for Creative Placehealing and the co-founder of IDEAS xLab .

Pauletta Hansel is a poet, essayist and teacher from Jackson who was Cincinnati’s first Poet Laureate. Her parents cared for and educated Breathitt children and young adults for many years.

Jay McCoy is a Lexington-based poet and visual artist with deep roots in Eastern Kentucky. Currently, he fills his days as a contract editor, writer, bookseller, and writing instructor.

Brent Watts is a theatre artist and linguist from Breathitt County. He graduated from the University of Kentucky in 2018 and is enrolled in its Master of Arts in Linguistic Theory and Typology program.

WHAT WILL IT TAKE TO IMPROVE THE ECONOMY — TOM EBLEN The Jackson of my grandmother’s youth was a bustling town of ambition and possibility. Modern America arrived several times a day on steel rails, forever changing the Breathitt County five generations of her ancestors had known since arriving from North Carolina in the 1790s.

Doshia Margaret Haddix was born in 1897, the second of seven daughters and a son of William and Margaret Gabbard Haddix. They lived just over the bridge in South Jackson, then a place few people today can imagine, much less remember.

Coal and timber had been taken from Breathitt County’s hills since the early 1800s, but getting them to market was hard. The Kentucky River was an undependable highway to the Bluegrass — often too low, too high or too swift. There were no overland roads worthy of the name. Most people lived by growing or raising their own food.

All that changed when the Kentucky Union Railroad (soon renamed the Lexington & Eastern) was extended up the Red River Valley, reaching Elkatawa in 1890 and Jackson the next year. Until the Louisville & Nashville Railroad took over the line and extended it to Hazard and McRoberts in 1912, the tracks ended at Jackson, creating a regional center for commerce.

As terminus of the L&E, Jackson grew from a sleepy county seat of about 100 people into an incorporated city of nearly 1,500. There were department stores, banks, churches, hotels, a “magic-lantern” theater and even a rollerskating rink. Main Street and Broadway got sidewalks. Merchants put up street lamps.

W.J. Lampton, writing in The (Louisville) Courier-Journal in 1895, described Jackson as the “Atlanta of the Mountains.” Among other things, he reported that townspeople had six typewriters, a dozen pianos and more than 20 organs. Jackson was on the make. The first local newspaper, founded in 1888 as railroad construction began into Breathitt, was appropriately named The Jackson Hustler.

Even the accidentally set Halloween fire of 1913, which destroyed 36 buildings as it swept through town that night, couldn’t keep Jackson down. The city soon rebuilt, with many new structures of locally made brick replacing wood.

“Jackson was a ‘rip-snorting’ town for about two decades after the railroad reached it,” according to Breathitt: A Guide to the Feud Country, a history published in 1941 by the WPA Writer’s Program. “It had the virility of a boom town on a frontier. It was free, uncouth, unashamed and ambitious. Nearly every man went around armed, as was then the custom.”

Railroad branch lines collected coal and timber from the mines and sawmills that sprang up all over Breathitt County. Coal production grew to a crescendo during World War I and the Roaring ‘20s. Output in that era peaked in 1929, when more than 300 miners dug 208,656 tons of coal.

While some lumbermen continued floating logs to market, the railroad changed everything. The Eastern Kentucky Hardwood Co. built five sawmills on Quicksand Creek. Day Brothers Lumber Co. (later Swann-Day) had another large complex. The last of the big mills was E.O. Robinson’s at Quicksand. By the time Robinson’s men put down their axes and saws in 1925, they had denuded 15,000 acres in Breathitt, Perry and Knott counties.

South Jackson was a center of commerce. Across from the railroad’s passenger and freight depots, Sam Patton’s store anchored a bustling strip of merchants along Sewell Street (now Armory Drive). There were stores, a restaurant, an ice plant, an ice cream company and an “electric light” plant that provided occasionally reliable power to the town.

The Haddix home stood on Franklin (now Sewell) Street between the depots and the bridge into Jackson. Most people knew the large house with its two-story front porch as the Haddix Hotel — a boarding house for railroad men staffed by Margaret Haddix and her seven daughters. “Barber Bill” Haddix ran a two-chair barber shop next door.

His ledger for 1908-1910 shows that he and an assistant kept busy, averaging more than 150 customers a week.

When Doshia Haddix wasn’t working in the boarding house, or crossing the bridge to attend Lee’s College or worship at the Methodist Church, she crossed Cripple Creek to the Jackson Lumber and Supply Co. She worked in its office for eight years, using some of her earnings to buy a fancy bedroom suite now used by a greatgranddaughter in Philadelphia.

Not surprisingly, at least a couple of the seven sisters found husbands among the Haddix Hotel’s boarders. Doshia met R.D. Eblen, a railroad man. She moved away to marry him in August 1922 as Breathitt County’s flush times were nearing their peak.

Bill Haddix died in 1929; his wife a decade later. Their son died at 19; daughter Marie at 20. The six surviving sisters married and scattered, from as close as Hazard to as far away as Detroit, Atlanta and New Orleans.

Donald Eblen had a long career with the L&N, based in Irvine, Ravenna and Lexington. Doshia went back to secretarial work as soon as their two sons and two daughters were old enough. When the couple retired, he insisted on moving back to the Henderson County farmhouse where he was born. She hated it. Having grown up in the mountains, Doshia could never get used to the flat fields of Western Kentucky. Soon after his death in 1979, she moved to a suburban Lexington apartment near two of her sisters, who always called her “Dodie”.

My grandmother often reminisced about Breathitt County, but I don’t remember her going back. At least not until that warm May day in 1985 when we laid her to rest beside her parents in Jackson Cemetery. I always suspected Ma wanted to remember Jackson as it was when she was young — a bustling town of ambition and possibility.

What Jackson do you remember from your younger days? How does this compare to stories your elders tell? What is different—and the same—in the Jackson you know today?

OUTSIDERS’ VIEW OF BREATHITT COUNTY — TOM EBLEN J.D. Vance is hardly the first person to focus on Breathitt County when writing about what’s “wrong” with Appalachia. He follows a well-worn path of writers with more narrative and political agenda than local knowledge. They have shaped America’s perceptions of Breathitt County for a century and a half, and rarely for the better.

Many people now want to shape a new narrative for Breathitt County by creating a more healthy, prosperous and sustainable community. But envisioning a better future requires both coming to grips with the present and understanding the past — not only the realities of history, but the stories we tell ourselves and the stories others have told about us.

One good window into outsiders’ views of Breathitt County is the archive of The New York Times, long one of the nation’s most influential newspapers. Most of its reporting was based on actual events, but it offered readers little context, few Breathitt County voices and plenty of opinion that reinforced stereotypes of mountain people and their culture.

Times readers first heard about Breathitt County in September 1871. A oneparagraph story reported that Kentucky’s governor was sending troops to “clear the town of Jackson of outlaws.” The headline: “Lawlessness in Kentucky.”

Violence made headlines again in 1874 and 1878. An 1878 headline called it, “The War in Kentucky.” A story told how Jackson was “in possession of an armed mob, divided into factions, who are shooting and killing each other as opportunity offers.”

The county judge had been murdered, and the sheriff and Circuit Court judge were barricaded in the courthouse.

“There is very little hope that the murders and outlaws will be brought to justice in a regular way,” The Times’ correspondent proclaimed. “Not one man in 10 who commits murder in Kentucky is hanged.”

By December 1878, the headline above a lengthy and colorful Times story uses a word that would become synonymous with Breathitt County in the national imagination: “Kentucky’s Bloody Feuds.” A few days later, another story was headlined, “Breathitt County Lawlessness.”

“They are a class of men who think they have a right to settle all disputes with the bowie knife, the revolver, or the rifles, and they have supreme contempt for the officers of the law,” readers were told. The correspondent speculated that some of these feuds among families may have been sparked by events as trivial as a boy stealing a watermelon.

Feudists were described as being “armed to the teeth, and most of them were under the influence of whisky.” There was a second-hand “eye-witness” account that “bullets flew as thick as hailstones in the vicinity of the courthouse. … Men crazed with whiskey charged through the streets, afoot and on horseback, brandishing their revolvers and carbines, and threatening to kill every person who came in their path.

Women and children ran through the yards and gardens screaming with fear, and some of them fainted. Blood flowed freely.”

Breathitt makes The Times again in 1899 with a story about election fraud at gunpoint — “the worst blot on a county already stained with the blood of many feuds and murders.”

In May 1903, Breathitt County was back in the news. “Hunt for Kentucky Feudist,” the headline said, referring to a murder suspect as “one of the desperate characters who have terrorized Breathitt County.”

By 1909, The Times reported that Lexington’s Evening Gazette had proposed “wiping Breathitt County off the map” to “abolish bloody feuds in that state, to restore Kentucky’s good name, and establish brotherly affection and forbearance.”

The Lexington editor suggested dividing Breathitt’s land among six neighboring counties so “Breathitt would pass into history as a mere word, signifying bloody lawlessness.”

A 1936 story told how a “mountain woman” opened fire in a Jackson courtroom, killing a man about to stand trial for murdering her son. In the process, she wounded two bystanders. The story noted that other men had previously been tried there for “feud killings.” This was an Associated Press story, so it also would have appeared in hundreds of newspapers across the country.

By the 1970s, The New York Times narrative about Breathitt County had changed from violence to poverty. A Times’ correspondent wrote about how a religious organization was creating jobs in Breathitt, then the nation’s 17th poorest county.

By the 1990s, the narrative had shifted again, to drugs and corruption, as sheriffs in and around Breathitt were convicted of taking bribes to protect drug dealers.

Breathitt County received some positive national attention during World War I, when so many men volunteered for military service that nobody had to be drafted. Yet, a 1930 Times story about the courthouse monument honoring those men couldn’t help but refer to “Bloody Breathitt, Eastern Kentucky erstwhile feud county.”

Stereotypes are hard to overcome, because they often grow around and are nourished over time by kernels of truth. Breathitt County probably will always be associated with feuding. Maybe the best thing to do is capitalize on it as a tourist attraction the way Pike County, Kentucky, and Mingo County, West Virginia, have with the Hatfields and McCoys.

But, as the writer William Faulkner reminded us, “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” Unflattering aspects of Breathitt County’s history — and the stereotypes that have grown up around them — hold some important lessons for those willing to learn.

Only a handful of Breathitt County residents were ever outlaws or feudists or crooks; the percentage was probably no higher than in any other Kentucky county. So why Breathitt? Were its people more tolerant than those in other counties of lawlessness, corrupt politics and ineffective local government? If so, have those attitudes persisted in less-violent forms? Are those attitudes still at work today, and how might they stand in the way of creating a more healthy, prosperous and sustainable community?

A GREAT THING ABOUT TEENAGERS — TOM EBLEN A great thing about teenagers is that if you ask them an honest question, you’re likely to get an honest answer. Unless, of course, you are their parent, but that’s another issue.

As part of the “Our Breathitt” project, I taught a series of writing workshops to six classes at Jackson Independent and Breathitt County high schools. I didn’t know any of the students beforehand — although some of them are surely distant cousins.

In many cases, I found their writing honest, thoughtful and perceptive about a place they obviously love.

My last assignment for them was a “persuasive essay” or “argument piece.” I wanted the students to learn to express themselves by marshaling facts and well-reasoned opinions. I said I wanted them to write the kind of essay people would admire enough to share on social media. They could think of it as a “letter to the editor” or even as a newspaper column, like the kind I wrote for the Lexington Herald-Leader.

Everyone has opinions, I told them. But unless they are rich or powerful, nobody will pay much attention to their opinions unless they can express them well enough to make people think.

In previous assignments, the students interviewed elders about their memories of growing up in Breathitt County, and they reflected on positive qualities of their culture and heritage. Now, I wanted them to focus on a problem or challenge facing Breathitt County. I asked the students to choose a local issue they cared deeply about. Their essays were illuminating. I won’t name names, but I thought you might like to know what’s on their minds.

Several students wrote about things you would expect from teenagers. There were concerns about local “school choice” — who can go to Jackson, who can go to Breathitt, and the politics behind those rules and boundaries. Others complained that there wasn’t much for teenagers to do in their free time, a common complaint in small towns. They lamented that the theaters, the skating rink and the public pool were long-gone. Jackson is surrounded by beautiful mountains, one boy wrote, but there are few hiking trails.

Other students wrote about bullying, prejudice and discrimination against people who have different interests, religious beliefs, skin color or sexual orientation than most people in Breathitt County.

Some students wrote about wanting more local job opportunities beyond fast-food restaurants — both as part-time work for them now and for future careers that would keep them in Breathitt County. Many students wrote about poverty and the need for more economic development, especially more locally owned businesses.

“I believe that if Breathitt wants to keep most of its population,” one girl wrote, “then we need to have something here worth staying for.”

Many students were bothered by how Jackson looks — and smells, because of the sewage treatment plant. There were complaints about litter and junk and abandoned property. One boy lamented the beautiful old buildings that are being “left to fall apart.”

But the problem most students chose to write about was drug and alcohol abuse.

Some quoted research and statistics, showing they had taken my advice about how to find facts to support their opinions. Others wrote more from the heart — and painful experience.

Students reflected on the toll substance abuse is taking on Breathitt County’s families and children. They worried about drug-related crime, child abuse, domestic abuse and homelessness. “You can’t even go on a nice walk without coming across needles,” one girl wrote.

Some students argued for more law enforcement and stricter rules on prescribing narcotics; most suggested more treatment options. Many saw the connections between substance abuse, poverty and the lack of good jobs. They described grandparents raising grandchildren and children whose parents have overdosed or gone through withdrawal. “No kid deserves to watch their parents do that,” a girl wrote. “Breathitt County is slowly falling apart because of this opioid crisis.”

Several students noted the need for more adult leadership in the community.

“People have to work together but I don’t see it happening any time soon,” one boy wrote. “I hate to feel this way because I and my family live here, but it’s the truth.”

Is it the truth? How should adults work with engaged youth to make Breathitt County a better place to live? As one girl noted in her essay, “The youth today is tomorrow’s future.”

WHAT WILL IT TAKE TO IMPROVE THE ECONOMY — TOM EBLEN What will it take to improve Breathitt County’s economy? It is an old question, with no easy answers.

The economic troubles of Jackson and Breathitt County are similar to those being faced by thousands of small towns and rural areas across America. Appalachian communities face extra pressures because they often are isolated from metropolitan areas and carry the environmental scars of industries that were once their lifeblood.

Breathitt County’s decline may feel especially bad because, at the height of the lumber and coal booms a century ago, it had the strongest economy in Eastern Kentucky. A Courier-Journal writer in 1895 called Jackson the “Atlanta of the mountains.” That may have been a stretch, but for much of the 20th century Jackson was the Pikeville of the mountains. Jackson’s beautiful old buildings — both those restored, and those decaying — are daily reminders of that fact.

Before the railroad reached Breathitt County in 1890, coal and timber were relatively small industries because the only way to get goods to market was to float them down the always-fluctuating Kentucky River. Most Breathitt County residents were subsistence farmers. Jackson was a county seat of about 100 people. The closest thing the town had to an industrial plant was the grist mill my great-great grandfather, John Henry Haddix, ran at the Panhandle.

Railroads opened the region’s timber and coal to large-scale harvest. The sawmills at Quicksand were said to be the world’s largest hardwood lumber producer in the early 1900s. And in the three decades before the Great Depression, Breathitt had 30 coal camps employing between 20 and 125 miners each. Even into the 1950s, Island Creek Coal and Pond Creek Pocahontas employed as many as 800 men in their Breathitt County mines.

The railroad itself generated a lot of economic development, as did merchants who prospered by serving railroad, lumber and coal workers. As I wrote in an earlier column, they provided a good living for my great-grandparents and their eight children, who ran a barber shop and boarding house, the Haddix Hotel, in South Jackson.

Some of that wealth was created by outside interests, such Cincinnati businessmen E.O. Robinson and F.W. Mowbray. They harvested 15,000 acres of timber in Breathitt, Knott and Perry counties, some of which is now Robinson Forest. But unlike in many Eastern Kentucky counties, local entrepreneurs developed significant coal and timber resources in Breathitt. That kept more of the wealth in the mountains, rather than sending profits away to distant cities.

One good example was the Combs family, whose Lexington-based Combs Lumber Co. became one of Kentucky’s largest construction firms in the early 1900s. The Combs harvested Breathitt County timber for use in hundreds of Kentucky buildings, including many homes in Lexington. I live in a Combs Lumber Co. house, built in 1906 when company president Thomas Combs, who was born in Breathitt County, also served as Lexington’s mayor. Whenever I go to the basement or attic and see the hefty framing lumber, I think of the giant, old-growth trees that once covered Breathitt County’s hills.

Once all the virgin timber was cut, once the coal companies moved on to richer seams elsewhere in Eastern Kentucky after the railroad was extended, Breathitt Countians began looking for the next economic engine that could restore prosperity.

It has yet to be found.

Breathitt County’s economy has always depended on the land — crops that grow in it, animals that forage on it, trees that could be cut from atop it and coal that could be dug from beneath it. The next chapter of that economic history has been harder to write. Aside from some niche crops, the modern farm economy doesn’t favor landscapes like Breathitt’s. There appear to be few natural resources left that can be sold in great quantity outside the region.

Outside the region. That’s a key point. Small towns and rural areas have a big economic disadvantage compared with cities. They aren’t big enough for businesses to generate much wealth by simply serving the local market. They must produce goods that can be sold elsewhere to bring wealth into the community. For Breathitt County, that was once timber and coal. For many other small towns, it was manufacturing, which since the 1980s has increasingly left America’s shores because corporations can earn bigger profits by paying foreign workers less.

Kentucky has long courted outside corporations, throwing millions of dollars worth of incentives and tax breaks at them in return for creating jobs. Bragging about creating lots of jobs in one transaction makes politicians look good. Trouble is, often those jobs either don’t materialize or disappear when the corporations get a better offer elsewhere. For every long-term industrial recruiting success story in small-town Kentucky, there have been dozens of failures.

A more sensible, but less flashy method of economic development is training and investing in local, homegrown entrepreneurs.

Perhaps the best example of that philosophy is the work being done by Kentucky Highlands Investment Corp. in London, which over the past 50 years has created 25,000 jobs in Eastern Kentucky and helped more than 800 homegrown businesses secure more than $425 million in operating capital.

Other notable efforts include the Mountain Association for Community Economic Development, a 40-year-old organization based in Berea. It focuses not only on developing local entrepreneurs, but in improving local leadership and civic engagement to strengthen communities.

Breathitt County’s future likely will depend on the ingenuity and creativity of its people, rather than the abundance of its landscape. How can that ingenuity and creativity be developed and fostered? How can you help make it happen?

MY PEOPLE. MY HOPE. – REFLECTIONS ON GRATITUDE AND CONNECTION— THEO EDMONDS My firsts in life happened in Breathitt County My first laughter and first steps.

My first love and first tears.

My first and best friend. She now rests at peace in this place Breathitt County is where my people live.

Times have been and are tough. We have seen resources go down and workloads go up. We have seen uncertainty rise. I know that some of my people feel so overwhelmed and exhausted. Many may even want to give up.

And, if you just look at the statistics about Breathitt County, it is easy to understand why people are tired.

But when I think about who I am, I don’t think of statistics.

I think of the place and the people for which I am grateful.

I’m grateful for hand-sewn quilts and the memory of Ma hand-churning butter on her front porch on Shoulderblade.

I’m grateful for Moon Pies, the memory of creaking floorboards in a little country store, old men in overalls with whittling sticks philosophizing, laughing, and endless summer days following old wagon wheel tracks worn into the creek bed in front of the house where Granny was born over 100 years ago.

I’m grateful for the mountainside that rises behind the abandoned rock church at Highland. It’s where mommy and daddy, uncle Gordon and aunt Connie were all married. At the top of that mountain behind the church, surrounded by a chain link fence are gravestones with worn silk and plastic flowers where rests strong-faced ancestors who gave me my watery eyes and a servant’s heart.

I’m grateful for my first clogging lesson on the stage of the old Breathitt County High School. It was torn down to build the new one in the 1980s. I’m grateful for my last dance with Scarlet. For mountain music "unplugged" and made in the moment.

For shucky beans, green onions and sweet cream coffee that Papaw would pour into his saucer for me to drink. For the taste of salt, of lemons and of those little slightly burnt parts on the edge of an apple pie crust that has just been pulled from the oven.

I am grateful for the little scar on my lower lip, for it connects me to someone very important from my youth who is no longer here.

I am grateful for a partner that constantly reminds me that my heart is worthy of being loved... and worthy of being able to love in return.

I am grateful for the times in life when I have succeeded and even more for those times in life when I failed, for in adversity I have gained character and integrity.

For the way daddy's eyes look when he gets excited about something, how mommy sticks her hip out when she's trying to be cute.

I am grateful for pancakes, people who work for justice which knows compassion, nurses and caregivers and Breathitt County teachers who keep going even when they are tired, for the words and life of those whose leadership is moral and just.

For the grace I have experienced in always being able to get up one more time than the number of times I have fallen.

I am grateful for the sound of a train whistle, it brings me back to that room with the gold tinted windows and stories about Jesus sitting on Mrs. Johnson's lap in the little church by the railroad tracks.

I am grateful for the opportunity to be part of building communities where different kinds of people are respected and valued.

For fresh peaches, old time mountain songs, the ability to love with fierceness, to laugh with my whole body and to be awake in my journey as son, friend, artist and mountain boy.

I am grateful for the yellowing plastic piggy bank in the shape of a church where pennies were dropped on Sunday mornings by us kids during collection time at Elkatawa Methodist.

For being taught how to be kind and freely give that kindness to others.

I am grateful for butterflies, rocking chairs, and for a package of peanuts poured into an old fashioned, glass RC Cola bottle as a snack… for black skillet cornbread crumbled into buttermilk… for innovative friends, creative leaders, being born in Breathitt County.

Looking back over the generations… we all know too well that our people’s stories were stolen, our culture corrupted, and our mountains robbed.

Today, many of our people feel invisible. I see you my people.

I am grateful for this place. Our Breathitt.

One spirit. Connected. Inseparable.

Out of many, we are one.

While we breathe, we hope.

Our Breathitt connects us.

We are worthy. Worthy of everything.

What in your life fills you with gratitude? How did the gifts of your Breathitt childhood help form who you are today?

THE OLD FRONT PORCH — THEO EDMONDS We come like water, we go like wind.

Among the people, Among the pretend.

To love or to be loved, Is to be entwined.

Both water and wind, Can free and bind.

In a moment of beauty, In a moment of time Beauty becomes water, wind becomes rhyme.

Life is a love song, In soft need of a friend.

We come like water, we go like wind.

- “Water and Wind” by Theo Edmonds Granny cried the day I left home. Papaw sat their quiet, leaning on a prayer and a cheek of tobacco. As had happened on the love-worn valley ground for generations, we gathered on that old front porch. There was too much to speak, so no one said much of anything. The importance of it all rolled up the mountain just the same.

“Take good care of yourself honey. Remember that Granny and Papaw will keep those prayers coming. I’ll make sure they have strong wings so they can find you down there in that big city.”

It always seemed to me that the old front porch must have been there forever. Irene’s journey to California began there. Granny left from those uneven, strong steps on her way to finding a lifetime partner. His name was Ted. Hazel came up these same steps as the first degreed professional known to our Scotch-Irish and Cherokee mutt clan.

This place was a perfect concerto, played upon a perfect piano and placed upon a perfect stage. I often try to imaging the laughter and tears of thousands of conversations that happened here. Words carrying the history of our people into the heavens above and bringing meaning to children on their way to discovery. But no matter how far the we traveled, the most meaningful discovery would come when we would all gather tight again on this old front porch.

Our old front porch on Puncheon Creek was a launchpad for things not known before. These unknown things, would become things that we could not imagine ever having to be created. Family. Fortune. Falls from grace. Amazing grace redeemed. A glider rocker showing as many painted on colors through its chipped and banged up edges as the hills when Indian Summer takes hold of the valley and its treasure. We would go there to find peace. From the porch, we could see Pap’s Big Blue coal truck parked very hush-hush beside the rocket red tobacco barn. From the steps, we could smell Granny’s flowers in bloom. This place was our irrepressible truth. Inextinguishable in spirit, it held a simplicity so complex that its sound was silent and ancient.

Uneven steps. Propped up floorboards. When we asked it to do so, this old front porch evened out the boards that would pop up from our uneven lives. All that was beyond this place which was so desirable for us to acquire in our youth, now pales in comparison to the wisdom here. Here we found lessons. We learned to appreciate limits that could open up limitless possibilities. All things were both Alpha and Omega here.

We owe our story to the peaceful mornings here and to those hot days of summer when we sought shelter from the sun. Our heritage is found in the firefly-lit evenings here that beg minds to be still, to be like steel and to remember that we can always steal again here to safety when our souls call us back to this place. The old front porch on Puncheon Creek, where the cadence of ages beat as importantly as our very own hearts.

How have front porches, or other places, shaped who you are?

CAIN’T NEVER COULD DO NUTHIN’! ~ MOUNTAIN WISDOM — THEO EDMONDS I grew up in 1970s and 80s Appalachia. From an old Sylvania TV in Breathitt County, I watched the “culture wars” of the era play out on one of the three stations that we could reliably get. The news stories that I saw made me feel very scared and very alone. I could dance though. And so I clogged hundreds of hours every year to free my soul and to seek safety in dancing.

In 2017, I read a report that Breathitt County was one of 10 counties nationally where newborn children are expected to live less years than their parents. Three of the other 10 are the adjoining counties to Breathitt. During the past couple of years, there have been numerous negative news stories and lists of various kinds which focus on the challenges faced by young folks in Breathitt County.

In today’s hyper connected world, where media infiltrates all aspects of our lives, how do my people seek safety when others are telling their story for them?

Remembering my own childhood, I wondered how the young people in Breathitt today must feel when they are constantly bombarded with negative messaging about who others think them to be. Research shows that in the same way lead puts toxins into the environment, the constant drumbeat of negative messaging releases social toxins that impact our emotional and physical wellbeing.

As both an artist and health innovator and researcher, I’ve had the privilege of working with diverse groups and businesses across Appalachia and the South.

Though each is special and unique, one thing is consistent across them all: the story each believes about its culture either ignites wellbeing, opportunity and imagination among its participants, or hijacks it.

So, each time I begin working with a group, I focus on a series of questions that have the power to change what people think is possible.

Who tells your story?

What story do they tell?

Who benefits from your story being told a certain way?

What possibilities exist for a new story to be claimed and owned?

These are powerful questions for thinking about how culture and policy can become self-fulfilling negative outcomes, or they can become assets and tools for young people to use in in unlocking their creative potential.

All my family still lives in Breathitt County. My granny is 100 this year. Papaw died more than a decade ago. For 50+ years, they ran a little country store in a rural Breathitt community called Highland. The store was next door to a school, built not long after the civil war. It’s where granny went (1st-12th grade). Education was a value. The entire community took part in making sure it happened for young people.

Granny was postmistress and mentor to generations of kids who came to her for help with almost everything. If she didn’t know the answer, she would work with them to figure it out.

Papaw would regularly take people in our community the 15 or so miles back and forth to town for doctor’s appointments. He would haul coal to help people stay warm in winter. I never saw Papaw say no to anyone who needed help. Papaw himself had been raised by his grandmother. His mother died in childbirth and his father was not around much. In part, I am convinced this is where his deep humanity came from.

In this little mountain community, it was understood that we were all in this life together. If one family needed help, it wasn’t just their problem. Everyone had a role to play in helping to solve it. This is how granny and papaw lived their lives.

They were part of an informal community support network who worked together — farmers, teachers, preachers, artisans and the like — to reduce the impacts of poverty, improve health, and increase education and access to information.

Unlike Facebook, this was the type of connected social network that helped everyone to have MORE time and accomplish things in life that were meaningful because the work to be done was distributed.

As a result, generations of families in our poor Appalachian community were able to pursue dreams of every shape and size. And, everyone has dreams. Dreams are not a one size that fits all thing.

It’s expensive to be poor.

For all of our discussions about the effects of poverty, “time poverty” is one of the things that I believe we are not yet talking about in a meaningful way.

In an article from The Atlantic, Derek Thompson writes: “The world has its thesis on wealth inequality. But it lacks a comprehensive way to talk about something larger — the myriad forces that exacerbate inequality that have nothing to do with ‘capital.’

Let’s call it Total Inequality.

Total Inequality is not merely income inequality (although it matters) nor merely wealth inequality (although that matters, too). Total Inequality would refer to the sum of the financial, psychological, and cultural disadvantages that come with poverty.

Researchers cannot easily count up these disadvantages, and journalists cannot easily graph them. But they might be the most important stories about why poverty persists across time and generations.

It’s expensive to be poor — in ways that are often quantitatively invisible. Research on the psychology of poverty suggests that not having enough money changes the way that people think about time. It’s hard to prepare for the next decade when you’re worried about making it to next Monday.”

We all have 24 hours a day.

In poor communities, making healthy choices may be a luxury if a person is working two jobs, can’t find a job, is taking care of a sick parent, or is trying find ways to help a loved one in the grip of addiction.

Time poverty is further compounded in many Kentucky communities of due, in part, to any number of “isms”. Research shows that the cumulative effects of the “isms” in general (racism, sexism, classism, ableism, ageism, homophobia, etc.) are literally making us sicker and killing us sooner.

We all have a limited number of years in a lifetime. Access to medical services. Family and social support. Educational opportunity. Place-based jobs. These have been proven to increase both life expectancy and quality of life.

In Breathitt County, it is a statistical fact that the average life expectancy is about nine years less than the average American. There are roughly 13,000 people who live in Breathitt County. Just doing some basic math, this means that cumulatively, Breathitt County families have 42,705,000 fewer days than the average American community of a similar size.

42,705,000 fewer days to live, work, worship, learn and play.

42,705,000 fewer days to love and laugh.

42,705,000 fewer days.

But when I think about my home, I don’t think about statistics. I think about the people I love and the things I do in life that hold meaning for me.

The goal for most of us is doing things in life that have meaning. Health helps us do the things we care about or holds us back. Different things are meaningful to different people. One size does not fit all. Health, when combined with creativity and empowerment, transforms what a person can’t do into what a person (or community) can do.

This is why health justice should matter to us all. Business, health and cultural leaders working together, in a common cause.

Some people will always say we can’t change things. I call BS and remember the words of my mom’s late dad who I called Pa, a farmer and preacher, who would always remind me that “c’aint never could do nuthin.”

When business, education, faith and science work together, and are combined with the energy and power of arts and culture, a new way forward emerges: a way that supports the wellbeing of a community. A way of hope, trust, and belonging that is not small or isolated. A way that reveals “a bigger us.” As James Baldwin wrote, this is the precise role of the artist: “to illuminate that darkness, blaze roads through that vast forest, so that we will not, in all our doing, lose sight of its purpose, which is, after all, to make the world a more human dwelling place.”

We invite you to reflect on the questions I posed earlier in this piece and share your responses: Who tells your story? What story do they tell? Who benefits from your story being told a certain way? What possibilities exist for a new story to be claimed and owned?

MISS MYRTLE AND THE RAZZLE DAZZLE BELLE BANG BLUEGRASS BAND — THEO EDMONDS A story about the power of people who make music… together.

Dedicate to ALL the children of Kentucky, our greatest hope for the future.

Bedazzled, befuddled or haloed, The world holds so many different kinds of people You pass by so many, each day on the street.

There are all kinds of people, Who in your life you will meet But of all the people you’ve ever met Of all the folks I bet you can name There is not a one, quite like Miss Myrtle The singing saint of the town of Belle Bang Belle Bang is a fine mountain town With miles of smiles and a swell Bluegrass band And every day at noon Myrtle’s up there singing on stage Always wearing blue flowers in an old worn out hat Smiling and singing and waving big hands Miss Myrtle is the Razzle Dazzle In our Belle Bang Bluegrass Band Myrtle is the champion of Belle’s Everyday People The keeper of songs that rise up from our land Myrtle’s music whispers to giants, asleep in mountains Our town was even saved one time, by Miss Myrtle and the Belle band.

The story begins just over Mongerdoodle Mountain, Beyond the edge of Belle In a big place called Slick City.

Where some people known as Falootans live It’s where the Slick City Falootans do dwell

The Slick City Falootans… that is the name by which they are known And when our story begins, Slick City was growing too fast.

Slick City was nearly outgrown.

Senator Shriek, their slick ole leader had decided That he would take over Belle Bang He’d replace the town with factories, To support his Falootan gang.

The Falootans wanted more business for business sake.

They wanted more money They wanted more and more of all that greed-driven stuff.

But for those Falootans you see, such a sad strange thing, Enough was never enough.

They thought the most valuable things, were what money could buy High Falootan desire, driven by High Falootan greed.

That’s what Falootans thought everyone should want, That’s what they thought everyone should need.

So led by Senator Shriek and Governor Greed The Slick City Falootans, began setting their trap Belle Bang soon would be just one more pinpoint On the growing SlickCity map Belle’s teachers and schools were the first thing that, Slick City promptly shut down Governor Greed said, “The only learning that’s needed is to teach kids to work – They must earn their way in this town!”

But even to the workers of Belle, The Governor gave stern warning “You’re only as good as your contribution today You’re only as good as the place you are earning.”

“We have Slick City goals, we must always keep growing Value is measured in money. It is the best way of knowing Knowing who is valuable, and truly worth keeping We need less goats, and more people who’re sheeping. “

The Falootans stormed the BelleTower. Destroyed Belle Town Hall.

And, though they had been there for a thousand years, They cut and buzzed them right down to the ground – The lovely and green, town square Belle Oaks Everywhere they turned, Falootans shouted and yelled They snorted and snarled at all the Belle Bang sweet folks “Get out of this place, you should no longer be here!”

“We claim the town of Belle for Slick City!”

Grumbled Senator Shriek, the Highest-Falootan leader.

“And those of you who do stay “ he grimaced and frowned.

“Those of you who don’t have any where else to move your homes to, Those of you too... who just choose not to go, You will be put to work in our factories. You’ll do just as we say.

You’ll produce Slick City Steam, more and more every day That’s what we need to make SlickCity grow!

The Belle folks began to feel defeated, Slick City seemed just too strong Even Myrtle and the band had started to think That hope was all nearly gone.

Music and Happiness would soon, it seemed Be a forgotten thing of the past Belle Bang had nearly stopped dreaming Belle Dreams were fading fast.

Then Senator Shriek said something that made Miss Myrtle remember The power of song and rhyme, Shriek declared: “Music makers are foolish and useless!

Making music is just a waste, of MY PRECIOUS money-making time!”

Well right then, Miss Myrtle decided.

That enough was more than enough!

Myrtle began singing real loud to remind Belle’s Everyday People That nice folks could also be tough.

“Papaws reach back in your memory,” Myrtle sang, “To those times where we stood proud and strong

Grannies reach up to the ancestors They’ve been here all along Young folks know that within you Flickers the flame of centuries and dreams.

Let people and music become your guide It aint as hard as it seems Those who are hurting take hope Liberation is within our reach We are worthy, each and every This is the message we’ll preach Let us sing real loud and speak our truth To push out Shriek and Greed Us mountain folks stand On the shoulders of giants WE are the answer we need.”

The young folks were first, to join in singing Miss Myrtle’s sweet song of hope Then seeing this, the older folks too Began to get fully woke.

Then all of a sudden it happened, Just over the mountain from Belle The Everyday People who lived in Slick City, heard Myrtle’s song of freedom And started singing their own! They were songs of resistance as well !

From both sides of Mongerdoodle Mountain ALL the Everyday People joined in singing A song to push out Shriek and Greed.

All the Everyday People sang together “Each other is what we need.”

As sunrise came up over the mountain The Falootans found themselves trapped Shriek and Greed had forgotten that Everyday People… need people… everyday.

People are more than a map

The victory theirs, Myrtle and the kids, climbed the top of Mongerdoodle mountain, To sing and to dance and rejoice!

Their music had brought together people from everywhere!

ALL singing in one Everyday People voice.

Yes when Everyday People, together all sang, “Truth to Power!”

All the Everyday People of BOTH Slick City and Belle, All discovered that working together Caused Everyday Hope to swell.

As their togetherness grew, “United We Stand!”

Became their way of living each day.

Everyday People, everywhere, learned to lean on each other In that special everyday way.

But had it not been for Myrtle The keeper of our hopes in a song The stories of everyday folks today, might have turned out real different, Hallelujah! The arc of justice bends long.

As the years went by, the legend grew Myrtle’s name was often spoke, always with great love and caring Myrtle became a legend for bringing Everyday hope, in a everyday song, meant for everyday sharing.

Then one day, as all folks do, Myrtle did pass away.

Everyday People from both sides of the mountain sang to remember, The one whose music flowed like honey, all throughout the land They told the stories of Razzle Dazzle When Myrtle took to the stage with the Band If Miss Myrtle were still here today, I’m sure we would be reminded, To move on through every day of our lives, And to one thing -- never forget or be blinded… …Some folks are here, to teach us all lessons Some are here to help save our lives There are bullies and meanies, who live up in green, pampered places And secret angels living down in hollers and dives

Secret angels are all around us If we just look to see them there They don’t usually have wings…

They don’t need lots of money just to buy things They are wonderful secret angels, pretending to be music-making people Teaching us all how to be kind and show love Things every one of us, need every day, Like a cold hand needs a glove.

So next time you pass by, someone on street Be sure you see them for who they are Someone who needs you, like you need them That’s the way Everyday People are.

Some folks may start as a stranger, somewhere over a mountain Only to become a trusted, everyday friend And that is why you, should be a friend too Because when a story begins, you never really know How things will turn out in the end.

- END -

BEAUTY — PAULETTA HANSEL This week I am sharing one of my poems, originally published in Coal Town photograph, a book of poems about growing up in and leaving eastern Kentucky.

While some of the details are my imagination (Let me say for the record that I never visited any bootleggers!) the feeling is real. I started this poem in my head when I was driving down Route 15 on my way to a writers’ workshop in Hindman. It was high summer and much of what blooms on its own—the redbud, wild irises, and flowering bulbs—were long since spent, but all along the road were patches of intense color mixed in with the many shades of green. And I began thinking about how what people say about Appalachia, even what we sometimes say about ourselves, is so different than what my eyes were feasting on. And that thought brought me this poem: The Road Where I’m from, everybody had a flower garden, and I’m not talking about landscaping— those variegated grasses poking up between the yellow daylilies that bloom more than once.

Even the rusted-out trailer down in the green bottoms had snowball bushes that outlived the floods.

Even the bootlegger’s wife grew roses up the porch pillar still flecked with a little paint, and in the spring her purple irises rickracked the rutted gravel drive.

Even the grannies changed out of their housedresses to thin the sprouts of zinnias so come summer they’d bloom into muumuus of scarlet and coral down by the road.

Now driving that road that used to take me home, I think how maybe it’s still true.

Everybody says down here it’s nothing but burnt-out shake and bakes and skinny girls looking for a vein, but everywhere I look there’s mallows and glads, begonias in rubber tire planters painted to match, cannies red as the powder my mother would pat high on her cheekbones when she wanted to be noticed for more than her cobblers and beans.

Everywhere there’s some sort of beautiful somebody worked hard at, no matter how many times they were told nobody from here even tries.

Earlier this summer, almost a year after the poem was written, I read an article called “‘Don’t Forget the Beauty’: Appalachian Town Pushes Back Against National Narrative of Despair,” part of the series, 100 Days in Appalachia. The article was about Portsmouth, Ohio, an Appalachian river town sometimes considered the center of the nation’s opioid epidemic, and an event the town was having to offer another vision of themselves up to a media that, according to their press release, has “sensationally concluded that ‘hope has left Portsmouth.’” It’s a good article. You can find it here: https://www.100daysinappalachia.com/2019/05/31/dont-forget-thebeauty-appalachian-town-pushes-back-against-national-narrative-of-despair/. The title comes from a reminder a townsperson gave a filmmaker who was documenting how the football team was taking leadership in fighting the drug problem: “Don’t forget the beauty.”

I have seen so much beauty the last year or so working with the young people of Breathitt County. I have so many favorite moments that it’s hard to pick just a few: Was it walking into the theatre room with all those creative and passionate students and thinking, this is where I would have found myself, way back then when I lived here? Was it the poem reluctantly handed me by a burly sophomore: “I love football like a brother—you fight daily with it till 3.”? Was it exploring all the beautiful maps made by Ms. Raines’ and Ms. Coomer’s students, showing me the ways in which Breathitt County gave them strength? Was it reading the words written on my last day at Breathitt High in the spring, a letter from a young woman to her future self, which could have been a letter to me: “Never forget the land to which you first belonged, because it is your home.”?

I am thinking now about some words on the website of IDEAS xLab, the sponsor of Our Breathitt, whose vision is a healthy, just, and hopeful society. “Are you hopeful?” the web page asks. Have you set goals for yourself in the future, where the outcome is uncertain? Can you imagine many different ways to reach your goals? Do you have the grit and ability to rally what you will need to get there? When I think about the youth I have met, I want to say yes for them. Yes, I see you! I know you can! But I can’t, of course. I can’t speak for any of them, for any of you reading these columns we’ve been sharing these weeks. You can speak for yourself, though. How are you hopeful? And how can we—all of us: your neighbors, your leaders, your elders, your youth, your healthcare providers, your allies, your media —how can we leverage that hope for the benefit of “Our Breathitt”?

THE POST OFFICES OF BREATHITT COUNTY — PAULETTA HANSEL ALTRO: first established as Bush Branch. No, Bush Branch is the holler—you go up and cross the hill and come down to Altro. BARWICK: Coal camp the company abandoned in the early 1940s. The name may derive from the rock bar in the river above Whick Allen's place. BETSMANN: Could this have been named for a Betsy Mann, related to or living near Susie Minter? BOONE FORK OF FROZEN CREEK: So named because the name of “Daniel Boone” was found inscribed on a beech tree on Sand Creek by the early white settlers. Alleged. CALLA: Not named for Calla Pelphrey, local postmistress. Eric is not her son. Name changed to Vancleve. CANOE: A canoe was found by early settlers. It had took the Indians so long to make it, the water got too shallow, they could never get it out. CLAYHOLE: Named for the sticky blue clay in the creek bed. COCKRELL’S FORK OF COPES FORK: probably named for Simon Cockrell, one of 9 pioneer brothers of Virginia, by the late 1830s the county’s richest man. (See JACKSON); ELKATAWA: Named for the prophet brother of Tecumseh, the Shawnee chief. This contention is highly suspect but no one has yet come up with a better explanation. FROZEN CREEK: The account of Daniel Boone's refuge in the hollow sycamore tree rests upon insecure evidence; nonetheless, it was in winter a troublesome place to cross. GLEE: According to John S. Hollon, March 2, 1916, the proper name for this new post office was Hollon. No Glee families are listed in the 1920 Census. GOBELGAP: No Gobels either. GOMEZ: Postmaster Isaac Combs was a veteran of the Spanish American War; in short, the name was not a corruption of Combs. GAGE: It is not likely named for Guage Williams, allegedly killed there.

GUERRANT: Named for Dr. E.O. Guerrant. First called Highland and still is.

HARDSHELL: Named for the Baptists. HOLLY CREEK: Named for the trees.

HOUSTON: Allegedly named for a stranger who rode through on horseback. They apparently liked his name. ISOLATION: The upper end served by this post office is now called Smack 'em. JACKSON: Simon Cockrell gave 10 acres of his farm for the county seat began as Breathitt Town and renamed for Andrew Jackson in 1845.

JUAN: First called Pinegrove, renamed for the battle of Juan. Also Called Shoulder Blade, named for the creek which either looks pretty much like a man's shoulder, or near which the shoulder bone of a very large animal was once found. LIBERTY CHURCH: So called because preachers of all denominations were free to preach there. LONGS CREEK: Named from a rather a sad circumstance, as a Virginia hunter with the lengthy name of Long was killed there himself when the gun he’d used to kill a bear struck a bush and went off. LOST CREEK: Took its name from the fact that an Irishman by the name of Ned O'Grady went hunting in that region in early times and got lost, just as might be expected. Some old man in Beattyville told me that.

LUNAH: Named for Mahala (Miller) Ritchie (1837-1922), called "Lunah" for her eccentricities.

MARBLE: According to Lula Strong in 1897, the proposed name was Mable. No Lula or Mable was listed in any Strong family in the 1900 Census. MORRIS FORK: Once nicknamed "Hell's Corner," for its meanness and moonshine; by 1940 made more heavenly by a minister and his wife. NOCTOR: To be named for Governor Nocton, Republican, but it came back from the Postal Department as Noctor. QUICKSAND: Site of the largest hardwood lumber sawmill in the world, so named for its treacherous shifting sands. ROOSEVELT: According to William. H. Deaton, 1902, the proper name for this new post office was Deaton. ROUSSEAU: Named for a man named Rousseau who operated a windmill there. Was first named Days. No, never had another name. No, no Rousseau ever owned a mill there. Could have been named for General Lovell Harrison Rousseau, since some local men were Unionists.

SALDEE: It is said to have been named for the girlfriend of the postmaster, or maybe for the Salyers and Deatons. SEWELL: It may have been named for Sewell Benton who died in 1911 after having been kicked by a mule. SHOULDER BLADE: (See JUAN); SKY: So named for its beauty, especially at sunset. TALBERT: Serving Turners Creek where an awful lot of Turners still live. THE PANHANDLE: A narrow, 75-foothigh rocky ridge that forced the North Fork of the Kentucky River to flow four miles before coming back to within 40 feet of itself on the other side. TWOMILE BRANCH OF BIG CANEY CREEK: Two miles long. TWO MILE FORK OF SOUTH FORK: Not named for its length. VANCLEVE: (See CALLA); WAR CREEK: Said to have been named for the considerable fighting in the old days. WOLF COAL: At the mouth of Wolf Creek, named for its coal. WOLVERINE: Called Hays for the sawmill, then Gunn for the coal mine, bought out in 1926by a New York City man and named for the new proprietor. No, he was from Michigan and the Wolverine name is older than Gunn.

For space reasons, I have only touched on a fraction of the Breathitt names. Did you or a family member share any of these or other stories with Mr. Rennick? What tales do you have about the place names of Breathitt County? * Rennick, Robert M., "Breathitt County - Post Offices" (2000). County Histories of Kentucky. 159. https://scholarworks.moreheadstate.edu/kentucky_county_histories/159

SOLITUDE — PAULETTA HANSEL The year before we moved to Jackson, we lived in Hiner, in Perry County, now just off the Route 80 four-lane between Hazard and Hindman, but at the time it wasn’t just off anything. We moved there from Barbourville, where Dad was chaplain at Union, for a whole slew of convoluted reasons there’s no need to go into. The family story is that it was the worst year of our collective lives, except for my brother, not yet in school, who would head out each warm day having first secured Mom’s permission to come back filthy.

I started thinking about Hiner again when the students I wrote with at Breathitt High shared their maps of the special places in their lives, the places they felt most themselves. Last time I talked about those “third places” where people go to be with others outside of their family or work/school roles. But it’s important to say that many of the students didn’t name places for socializing with others at all, but rather focused on their “alone” places—their rooms, fishing holes, favorite trees, abandoned train tracks and dirt bike trails.

I remembered then that one impossibly long, luxurious summer out in the sticks, as we called it, the days that spiraled into night, the wide lush hollow—holler, we said— between the hills with a creek at the end that smelled inexplicably of mayonnaise; the rhubarb patch along the way, stalks red and tart with strings that caught between the too-wide gap of my front teeth; the lightening bugs that were everywhere at once no matter how many we caught in our jars; the smell of the screen door after the rain, the sun drying the metal to a pungency I could taste through my nostrils.

Perhaps that’s another reason why our first full summer in Jackson I’d bike out of town as far as I’d dare go out Quicksand Road, and stop along the curb not just to wipe the sweat away, but to smell the honeysuckle and admire the Queen Anne’s Lace, a weed I still can’t bear to pull from my city garden. There are some among you who might remember my family’s front yard on Washington Avenue was nothing but dirt—whatever grass had been there stood not a chance against the twenty-some kids my mother cared for in Larnie’s Daycare. (And it may surprise you that after my parents’ move to Somerset, Mom was known as “the flower lady,” with her extravagant blooms even coming up between the cracks in their driveway.)

There’s a Welsh word “hiraeth,” sometimes translated as a longing for an ancestral homeland which you have never known. I heard that longing expressed by some of the students I wrote with when they spoke of the Breathitt County that their parents and grandparents had experienced—safer, perhaps, with more opportunities for work. But many of the young people of Breathitt County know the gift of their places today. Here is a sampling of their writing:

“The perfect place to go riding is back on top of the hill near my house. It used to be an old strip job, so there are many logging roads. On the way to the cabin, there is a dip in the road where it is falling off and you have to drive through the field beside it.

There’s also a persimmon tree where we eat the fruits, although they are always bitter and not ripe. (Lydia White) “My favorite place is farther back into the Muddy Holler. There is a beautiful waterfall halfway through. There are two mini waterfalls and a natural spring in the back.

Where the spring is, are two paths. One is grassy and steep and the other is dirt and breaks into different paths. My favorite place in the holler is the spring. There are a few flat places to sit. I even do my homework there on warm, dry days. (Danielle Smith) “Here is where I live. Here is my homeland. Here is the only place I have ever known.

Creeks web through it. A forest hugs all around it. Many different paths, forged by many generations, crawl up the forested mountain face. One hundred acres of my Papaw’s land from mountain top to mountain top. I will stay. I will be buried here, in a garden holler. I owe this place a lot. It is a gift, not a possession.” (Dalton Holbrook) What are your favorite places, the ones that bring you pleasure or peace? The places that connect you to the generations before you? The places in “our Breathitt” that make you know that you are home?

THIRD PLACES — PAULETTA HANSEL My family moved to Jackson in 1970 because Mom forgot to turn off the coffee percolator. That’s the family story, anyway. Dad was desperate to get back into teaching, and the rest of us—Mom, my teenaged sister, preschool brother and 10year-old me—to get back to a real town, for heaven’s sake, after a year up a Perry County holler, a failed experiment in rural life. We were packed into the family Datsun for a trip to Lexington, already halfway out the drive, when Mom made Dad pull back in so she could check if she’d turned everything off. Sure enough, once in the kitchen that little red light was still on. Just as Mom unplugged the pot, the phone rang. It was Tom Noe at Lees Junior College offering my dad a job.

People say that the Jackson of the 1970s was not like Jackson today. And there surely were differences. Almost everything that used to be in town is now “out on the road.” Back then, north of the 15 stoplight was the Dairy Bar and Maloney’s (open on Sunday, which was a rarity), and to the south was The Teepee and the Alpine. But downtown had everything else: the Methodist Opportunity Store (my favorite!); Douthitt’s 5&10; Roses and a couple of other dry goods stores; TWO groceries (we went to Food Fair because they delivered, and Mom didn’t drive); Nim Henson’s Western Union hardware where Mom worked before she started her daycare center; a laundromat—even an ice cream parlor for a while.

In the summers and on Saturdays, I had a routine. Most of our Jackson years we lived on Washington Avenue and so I would cross through campus and walk down College Avenue to the library, the Opportunity Store and maybe through town to the Hope Store, down near the river. I was a weird kid—books and thrift stores were (and are) my thing! The summer between junior high at Little Red and Breathitt High I was trying to slim down, so I’d bike through town and out Quicksand Road, after a side trip across the bridge to South Jackson. That place fascinated me. There was still the shell of the old train station and houses with trees growing up through the fallen roofs. If the Jackson of now is not like the Jackson I knew, then that difference can’t be as vast as that between the 1970s and turn of the twentieth century Jacksons.

The center keeps shifting—from South Jackson to downtown to the strip out on 15 which is, some of the teens I have been writing with at Breathitt High tell me, where everybody hangs out.

I suspect, though, there is no one hangout place. There wasn’t when I was growing up. For adults, there would have been the lunch counter gang at the White Flash and at the Whiz, and some regulars at tables at the Cozy Corner. (Check name.)

College students hung out around the big tree on campus.

I had some friends who would congregate in the band room after school; I figure the sports teams had their own places too, but us chorus kids did not. The little kids had my mom’s daycare center. Teens with access to cars cruised the Dairy Bar at night.

Men and older boys hung out at the pool halls; I would skirt around them in my bellbottom jeans and not-yet-cool vintage tops on my way up or down Main Street.

When I was in junior high my mom and some others had the idea of starting a teen center in town. I’m not sure why it never took off; from my perspective it was because my mom was there, which hardly made it a place for me to explore who I was becoming away from home and school.

There’s a lot of talk now about “third places,” though the name was coined way back in 1989 by Ray Oldenburg in his book, The Great Good Place. If your home is your “first place” and your work or school is your “second place,” then your “third place” is where you can go to be with people not in your role as, for example, daughter or student, and maybe discover skills and interests you never knew you had. In my brief experience at the teen center I did discover I was pretty good at chess; I didn’t keep playing it as an adult, but the confidence I gained in my ability to think logically and several steps ahead has served me well these many years since.

I wasn’t really thinking about “third places” when I asked the students at Breathitt High to make personal maps, sketching out and writing about the locations they most called their own, but the maps they made pointed my thoughts in that direction. Here are some places they named: fast food spots on 15, Douthitt Park, the library, the drama room, the football field, the basketball court, the skate park, the gas station, and church.

So, what about you? Where are the places that you go to be in community with others? Why are they important to you? Are there places you used to go that are no longer available? What places are needed to make “Our Breathitt” a thriving community for folks of all ages?

THE LINE — JAY MCCOY I’m not from Breathitt County. I’m from Perry County, born and raised in Hazard. My people come from Pike County. Yes, I’m from those infamous feuding McCoys, sixth generation. Most folks from eastern Kentucky have a connection to one feud or another; it’s part of who we are. It’s part of the landscape. We made our homes somewhere in between, between the creeks, between the ridges. We find our place, find ourselves in these valleys, up the hollers, nestled in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.

I said I’m not from Breathitt County, but there was a place on the border between Perry County and Breathitt County that had an integral part in my upbringing. Set back off 15, you would catch the glow of this heavenly spot just above the treeline after you cleared the big curve and made that right turn onto the side road. The bright orange building came into view, bathed in a neon halo emanating from the flowing cursive logo sign next to the entrance.

Before Fugate’s was a waterpark or an entertainment center or a cinema complex, it was a roller rink. That orange building off 15, unassuming enough in the daylight, came to life when the sun went down. In the 80’s, Fugate’s Roller Rink was a beacon for kids in the area. As the gravel lot filled with cars and trucks of high school students, the line of mom and dad cars dropping off loads of middle schoolers grew.

At Fugate’s, my social circle expanded beyond Hazard High School; I soon had friends who attended Breathitt County, M. C. Napier, even Leslie County.

Skate Rental When you went through the double glass doors, as you adjusted to the inevitable temperature change, you would make your way to the lockers to stake out your space and find your friends or you would fall in line at the skate rental counter to get your wheels for the night.

When I first started skating, I didn’t have my own skates. I rented. I rented those worn brown high boot skates with the orange wheels and worn toe-stops. Some of my friends who didn’t own their skates tried to hide their rental status with skate covers.

You could keep it simple and cheap with the black ones that sufficiently disguised the tell-tale brown boot and usually sat at the low end of the cost spectrum. Or you could go fancy with sequins or paisleys or some other pattern and distract judgement with glittery distraction.

Free Skate

Early on, I often arrived before the DJ even dropped the first record and stayed until he spun the final tune. These decisions were out of my control when my parents dropped me off or I caught a ride with a friend. By my senior year, I could arrive after the lights lowered and the music started, but not as late as the first call change. You needed to be seen.

The night always began with a free skate. Everyone entered from the platform area.

You all went clockwise around the floor and kept pace with those around you. The refs and renegades would watch from the center, only entering the flow to help someone up or show off their skills.

Couples Skate Over the years, you made new friends and lost some old ones. Folks came and went.

Who you were would evolve every weekend. You pair up and skate with someone new or skate with who brought you. It could get complicated, but, most often, it came down to who was dating whom at the time or just who drove that night.

Speed Skate During the winter of my sophomore year, I got a pair of speed skates. I don’t recall if they were a birthday or Christmas gift. I only remember my excitement opening that package: pulling back the wisps of tissue paper to reveal those black low-tops with white stripes that suggested a popular athletic brand. This was the 80’s, so they were the quad-style, not your inline skates of today. My parents made sure they included an extra set of wheels and toe-stop. The ones that came with the skates were red as M. C. Napier. The extras were blue, a bright blue, more Breathitt County than Hazard.

They gave me options.

Reverse Skate The call for reverse skate was polarizing. Some people just couldn’t make the switch to go counterclockwise. Those folks took an opportunity to take a break at the food counter. Grab a fountain Coke and nachos or some candy. Others made it an event.

A group of us would try to skate backwards for the entire time. Sometimes you have to change your perspective.

Last Skate The night always ended the same, as expected as the recessional hymn. The flow returned to clockwise and to free skate. You may have gone to a corner for some circle spins or just to chat.

You might get up the courage to stop in the center and chat with the refs and renegades. Maybe you were a ref or renegade. You may have headed to the booths around the food counter and made plans with friends to meet at the upcoming basketball game or football game. Whatever you did for the first few songs after reverse skate, you knew that when you heard Donna Summers’ swirling vocals beginning “Last Dance,” you needed to get out there. It was your last chance, your last skate. At least for that night.

What did you enjoy doing when you were younger? What are some favorites places from your youth? How did those places help you define who you are today?

FOUND POEM [THE GRACE OF KENTUCKY] — JAY MCCOY A found poem is the literary equivalent of a visual collage made from existing text such as newspaper articles, letters, signs, stories, or other poems. The poet may choose to blackout or erase words from a single text or lift words, phrases, or sentences from a variety of sources and join them together. The newly-crafted poem takes on its own meaning. In these poems, I chose the erasure method, removing certain words to create a more appropriate representation of Breathitt County than what the original New York Times article suggested.

A BREATHITT COUNTY SONNET — JAY MCCOY North Fork Kentucky River, Wolverine, Hurricane Fork, Inverness, Paxton, Press, Shoulderblade, Elkatawa, Chenowee, Rousseau, Daisydell, Robinson Forest.

Flat Branch, Fivemile, Big Caney Creek, Lambric, L & N Railroad, Barwick, Ned, Gentry, Chesapeake & Ohio, Rye, Rock Lick, Macedonia, Altro, Keck, Saldee.

Widecreek, Stidham Fork, Orchard Branch, Wilhurst Portsmouth, Kragon, Gas Well Hollow, Taulbee, Jett’s Creek, Strong Branch, Deadening Hollow, Curt, Mountain Valley, Crocketsville, Vail, Vancleve.

Sewell, Sugar Camp Branch, Decoy, Roosevelt, Fletcher Fork, Hunting Creek, Haddix, Hardshell.

What are some of your favorite place names in Breathitt County? Do you have any information about how these names came to be?

FOUND POEM [GO ON, BREATHITT COUNTY] — JAY MCCOY A found poem is the literary equivalent of a visual collage made from existing text such as newspaper articles, letters, signs, stories, or other poems. The poet may choose to blackout or erase words from a single text or lift words, phrases, or sentences from a variety of sources and join them together. The newly-crafted poem takes on its own meaning. In these poems, I chose the erasure method, removing certain words to create a more appropriate representation of Breathitt County than what the original New York Times article suggested.

THE PROMISE — BRENT WATTS (Setting: the Appalachian dreamscape. If it matters, it exists here. ASH, a human has suddenly appeared next to VIRGIL, a kind man, shrouded in green.)

Where am I?

ASH

VIRGIL Don’t worry, Ash. You’re not far from home. You never are, really. Never will be, either.

Do I know you?

ASH

VIRGIL Do you know the ginkgo? The pine? The oak and the maple?

Yes?

ASH

VIRGIL Then you know me. For I am the trees, but I am also the grass, the kudzu, the flowers, and the fern. I am the corn and I am the tomato. When I am old, I am the coal that lights your home and keeps you warm.

Oh. Okay. What should I call you?

You may call me Virgil, if you like.

Is it just us then, Virgil?

ASH VIRGIL ASH

(ENTER SHRILDY. She is aloof, but not unkind. She wears cool, blue colors. At her side is a dog, a mutt of indeterminable breed.)

Not exactly. Do you know who I am?

I might. Is your name…Shrildy?

SHRILDY ASH

SHRILDY Indeed, it is. I was there with you, in the womb. I am the lakes, the river, the ponds and the creeks. I am the rain on the roof, the snow on the ground, and the sweat on your brow. I am the puddle, and I am the flood.

Is that your…. dog? That is a dog, right?

ASH

SHRILDY Yes. He doesn’t really have a name, but you can call him whatever you like, and he’ll respond.

Is he friendly?

Very.

He seems familiar

He should. He was your dog.

He was?

ASH

SHRILDY

ASH

VIRGIL

ASH

VIRGIL Well, yes, of course. He is every dog, and every creature.

(A beat. Petting the dog, ASH really begins to ponder the situation.)

So….am I dead, then?

Goodness, no!

Am I dying?

No, not that either.

ASH

VIRGIL

ASH

SHRILDY

We just wanted to talk to you.

Talk to me? About what?

VIRGIL

ASH

VIRGIL We wanted to, uh, check in with you, as it were.

Pardon?

ASH

SHRILDY Ash, please, try to remember. Someone made us a promise, a long time ago.

A promise?

ASH

SHRILDY Just try to remember. Like you did with my name. Think back. Think back as far as you can, then go further.

(A beat. The lighting should convey the seriousness and depth of thought required of the situation.)

I’m sorry, I can’t.

ASH

SHRILDY Hmm…I was afraid of this. Virgil, please go hunt down Mr. Leo. (VIRGIL leaves hurriedly.)

Who’s Mr. Leo?

ASH

SHRILDY He’s a, um, part of our family, you might say.

(VIRGIL returns with MR. LEO. A dapper, 1930s sort of guy who, despite all that, would habe no trouble fitting in with a more contemporary crowd. He wears gold, yellow, red, orange. )

You’re Mr. Leo?

ASH

MR. LEO Why yes! Yes, indeed I am. And you must be Ash! You might know me from my debut appearance as Fire? Or maybe my sophomore venture, as Lightning?

Your what?

ASH

MR. LEO Oh, you know what? I’m certain—certain—that you’ll remember me from my most popular performance, yet: stars!

You’re a star?

ASH

MR. LEO Why, yes, I am a star, thank you. But I was also the Stars. You see?

Oh okay. I get it.

ASH

MR. LEO So, Virgil tells me you’re having a little trouble remembering something, huh?

SHRILDY Yes, that’s right. Do you think you can help?

MR. LEO Help? Well of course I can help! As a professional performer, I have a range of memory recall techniques in my arsenal. Now, let’s see…some room, please, dear siblings.

(VIRGIL and SHRILDY give MR. LEO and ASH some space. After some gentle inspection of ASH’s person, MR. LEO pulls out an old-fashioned, ornate pocket watch and dangles it, pendulously, in front of ASH.) MR. LEO Now, breathe deeply and keep your eyes on this.

(ASH obeys.)

MR. LEO When I count to four, you will remember what you have forgotten. Ready? One… Two…Three…Four!

(At “Four,” the space goes completely dark. It sounds like all the air being sucked out of the space. After a moment, the lighting refocuses to only ASH.) ASH

(Straight out, to the audience.)

We made a promise once. A promise to the Mountains. A promise we failed to keep.

We have been given a second chance, and now, we must not fail. They are the Trees, the Creeks, the Beasts, the Stars—if we fail again, what are we? If we succeed, who can we become?

END PLAY

How far back can you remember? What can you remember from that far back? Is it a complete memory, or is it just a feeling?

If your ancestors made a promise, and expected you to keep it, is that fair? Do you have to keep it? Why or why not?

Do you believe in second chances?

What happens if you break a promise? What happens if you break that promise again? What happens if you don’t?

IN THE STARS — BRENT WATTS (The space is revealed to the audience. Three friends lay inclined on a hill, facing outwards and looking upwards. Setting: Breathitt County, Kentucky. 2019 CE or 2019 BCE. Either way, it’s the same beautiful summer night: frogs, lightning bugs, a gentle breeze.)

MAX You know, the sky is really beautiful at night.

SULLEY Yeah. It’s so clear. I love it here in the mountains.

MAX Why have we never looked up at it like this before?

I dunno.

I mean, I’ve looked at it before.

Well yeah, I have too.

SULLEY MAX SULLEY

MAX But like, I’ve never looked-looked at it before. Like I looked at it, but I didn’t see it.

Yeah.

SULLEY

ASTRID You guys wanna know something crazy?

What?

MAX

ASTRID Well, when I was little, I used to look up at the stars all the time.

Okay?

MAX

ASTRID And like, I would think that they were like pictures

Pictures?

MAX

ASTRID Yeah, like, if you look at a bunch of them in a row, if they’re like the same brightness, they make these like, lines. And if you get the right lines, they look like things.

I don’t get it.

MAX

ASTRID Like, okay. Hold on. You see that one star, right there? The really bright one like right above us?

Yeah. That one?

No, that one.

MAX

ASTRID

(She moves his arm, like you do to people when you’re stargazing. Against the broader field of stars, ASTRID’S STAR appears, where the audience can see it as well.)

Oh okay yeah that one.

Do you see it?

Yeah I got it.

MAX

ASTRID

SULLEY

ASTRID Okay, you see how there’s two other stars to the side, and another above it?

Uhhh….

MAX

Just take a second.

ASTRID

(A beat. As they look into the sky, trying to see, the three stars slowly come into focus for the audience as well. More or less, the three stars form a triangle around the first star.)

Okay, I’ve got it.

Me too.

MAX

SULLEY

ASTRID Well, when I was little, I’d usually fall asleep before my parents got home from working. I didn’t understand that, so I’d wait up as long as I could, but eventually I’d just give out and my grandma would carry me to bed. Anyway, whenever she would pick me up, I would open my eyes a little and look out, up at the sky and I’d see those stars. Maybe it’s where I was half asleep, but I would always imagine that those three stars were my grandma, my mom, and my dad. And that the one in the middle was me. And then I’d really fall asleep, like for good, and when I woke up, everyone was home, and the stars were gone, so it made sense to me.

SULLEY So the way the stars looked, like the way they were together, you thought that was like your family?

Yeah, I guess so.

That’s neat.

You think so?

Yeah, I like that

ASTRID

SULLEY

ASTRID

SULLEY

MAX I’ve never thought of them like that before.

ASTRID

Really?

MAX Yeah. Actually, hold on, let me see if I can get one.

Okay, but don’t use mine.

I didn’t plan on it.

ASTRID

MAX

(A beat. ASTRID’S CONSTELLATION fades, and the full sky of stars comes into focus.)

MAX Okay, I’ve got it. You see those three stars over there, above the trees?

Yeah?

ASTRID

MAX See how they form a line? It’s almost perfectly straight.

(The three stars slowly come into focus.)

Okay.

Yeah?

Yeah.

ASTRID

MAX

SULLEY

MAX Okay, the one on the right end. See how there’s two bright ones to the right of it?

One kind of on top and the other on the bottom?

(As he speaks, they come into existence.)

Yeah I see it.

SULLEY

Me too. But what is it?

Ready for it? It’s a fish!

Really? A fish?

ASTRID

MAX

ASTRID

MAX What’s wrong with a fish? Don’t you see it?

ASTRID Of course I see it. I just think it’s funny that you can’t think of anything besides fish.

Well, I like to fish.

Yeah, we know.

I think it’s nice. I like the fish stars.

You wanna try?

MAX

ASTRID

SULLEY

ASTRID

SULLEY Me? I dunno, I’m not really that creative.

So? it’s your turn. You find one.

Uh, okay, let’s see. There’s…a lot.

ASTRID

SULLEY

ASTRID I don’t think there’s any more than there usually are.

Good point.

SULLEY

(MAX’s CONSTELLATION fades, and the full sky of stars comes into focus. A long silence as SULLEY thinks.)

MAX Y’know, you don’t have to think that hard about it.

What? Oh…okay.

SULLEY

ASTRID Just look up there and make something up. It’s totally up to you.

(Another solid beat. Ambient noises come to the foreground of the soundscape, maybe some gentle piano music. SULLEY thinks for a moment. The field of stars fade away. Then, he smiles.)

SULLEY Ooh, okay, I got it. You guys are really gonna like this.

(A single star comes into focus: the beginning of SULLEY’S CONSTELLATION. Everything else fades to black, but the star remains; bright, beautiful, and new.)

END PLAY What kind of child were you? Did you look up at the stars? What did you think about them?

If you could make a new constellation, what would it be? What would it look like?

What kind of person are you now? Do you ever look up at the stars now? What do you think about them now?

If you could make a constellation for Breathitt County, what would it be? What would it look like?

THE BRIARHOPPER ATONES — BRENT WATTS (Setting: The place between the hills and the valleys.

Time: Right before you wake up, when the world is still a dream.)

THE MOUNTAINS It has been a while. The last time we spoke like this was many years ago.

THE BRIARHOPPER Yep. I reckon that’s true…How are you?

Spare me the niceties.

I’m sorry.

(A beat.)

THE MOUNTAINS THE BRIARHOPPER

THE MOUNTAINS No, I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to lash out like that. I often forget how you and your kind take pleasure in such formalities. Forgive me.

(A beat.)

Are you angry with me?

I was. For a long while.

Are you still?

THE MOUNTAINS THE BRIARHOPPER

THE MOUNTAINS No. Now, I’m just hurt. I’m still hurting. All of us are.

Yeah, well, you ain’t kidding.

What do you mean by that?

THE BRIARHOPPER THE MOUNTAINS

THE BRIARHOPPER Look, I know you’re hurting. I know your family and your friends, they’re hurting too.

And I know, in some ways I guess, that it’s my fault. Our fault. But I’m hurting too. My family, my friends, my neighbors—we’re all hurting.

THE MOUNTAINS I know this. But you speak the truth. In many ways, the blame falls to you and your kin. I entrusted you with my care, Briarhopper. I offered myself up to you. Allowed you to shape me as you saw fit. A great responsibility, to be sure, but I knew you were capable. I had confidence in you.

(A beat.)

I still think I was right to have such faith in you.

THE BRIARHOPPER I’m sorry I let you down. I—I don’t know what else to say.

THE MOUNTAINS Say nothing. I know too well the contents of your heart, so I know that what you say is true. But your words, your feelings—they are not enough. Nor will they ever be.

(THE BRIARHOPPER does not speak; their silence is enough of a reply.)

THE MOUNTAINS You feel guilty. As well you should, for not only have you mistreated me, but I hear the things you say. You and your kind speak of me with shame. You have no gratitude for all that I have done for you, no respect for the bond we once had. You take and take, but never give. You abandon me.

THE BRIARHOPPER Well, why shouldn’t we leave you? You’re the reason we’re like this. Isolated, distant —a hundred years behind the rest of the world. You have nothing for us now. The world is different. Where else are we supposed to go? What else can we do?

THE MOUNTAINS That’s truly what you think, isn’t it?

THE BRIARHOPPER You already know that it is. Your great geographies have protected us, shielded us from harm, yes—but they have smothered us, confined us just as much.

THE MOUNTAINS Perhaps you are right. Perhaps in seeking to protect you, I have made you isolated, and lonely. For that I apologize. But you are wrong to blame me entirely. You know that don’t you?

(A beat.)

I do. I know it.

THE BRIARHOPPER

THE MOUNTAINS What has happened to us is not entirely your fault, nor is it mine. The blame falls also to the Outsiders, who came like plagues of locusts with their ill intentions. They changed us both; manipulated you, fed you lies, led you astray. You turned your back on me, and on others of your kind; you allowed hate and fear to warp your mind. You grew selfish and cold, mistrustful and paranoid, and I became afraid. In your care, I became a victim, powerless to make a difference.

THE BRIARHOPPER I was wrong to let them lead me astray. I know that now.

THE MOUNTAINS You were, but I suppose that is the nature of the human heart; although fickle, its great capacity for change is part of what makes your kind so special.

THE BRIARHOPPER You’re preaching to the choir, buddy. It ain’t the least bit easy. Sometimes I even get mad at myself for being like I am. Truth is, I don’t even know what I’m after half the time. I don’t think anyone does. We’re all just trying to make it.

(A beat.)

THE MOUNTAINS Perhaps I have been too hard on you.

THE BRIARHOPPER Yeah, maybe a little. We did used to be friends, you know.

THE MOUNTAINS Forgive me. I know not the burden of a human heart, so at times I am as ignorant and inconsiderate as I am old. But do not let this guilt weigh too heavily upon you, my friend. I have lived many eons, so believe me when I tell you that guilt will only get you so far.

What should we do then?

THE BRIARHOPPER

THE MOUNTAINS I’m afraid there is no “we” this time. I will do what I can, but I am weak and frail. The responsibility is entirely yours.

THE BRIARHOPPER But what about what you just said? This isn’t entirely my fault. It can’t be.

THE MOUNTAINS That’s true. It isn’t. But fault and responsibility are two very different things. Unlike fault, responsibility is an honor and a privilege. I trust you know that by now.

THE BRIARHOPPER I do.

THE MOUNTANS (As THE MOUNTAINS talk, they move around the space. By the end of their speech, they should be making their exit.)

Good. Then listen well, before I go. Unkind forces, among you and elsewhere, are still at work. Many will stay and many more will come. You must fight now with your wit, your resilience. Survival is tough, but for you it comes natural. Yes, the world is different. To dwell too long on the past is to ignore the wolf at the door. But ou must not look to the past with shame or disdain; take what was good of the old and join it to the good of the new. Time marches on, steady and constant; a new world dawns not with every sunrise, but with every tick of the clock.

(A beat.)

Take care, old friend. Until we meet again.

(THE MOUNTAINS exit. THE BRIARHOPPER is left all alone as the sun begins to rise behind them, shining through the Appalachian foothills. A beautiful orange glow illuminates everything.)

END PLAY

What do you do when you’ve hurt someone you care about and how do you move forward afterwards? Who do you blame for your problems—yourself, or others? Are you ashamed of where you’re from?

Who/what are you responsible for? Who/what are you responsible to? What’s the difference between responsible for and responsible to?

KUDZU — BRENT WATTS (Early Summer, 2016. Two cousins, a young man and a slightly older young woman, walk through the campus of Lees College. They stop beneath the ginkgo tree.)

CRYSTAL Wait, wait, I think we’re getting closer.

Do you see it yet?

LUCAS

CRYSTAL No, not yet. Wait—there it is! It’s Snorlax!

LUCAS Crys, are you for real? A Snorlax in Jackson? There’s no way.

No, for real. Don’t you see it?

No! Look! I’m not lying!

(She shows him her phone.)

Aww, what! Come on!

CRYSTAL LUCAS CRYSTAL

LUCAS

(He begins to walk around frantically trying to get to the right spot for his phone to “find” the Snorlax.)

I got him!

I can’t find it!

Relax. It’ll come back again.

RYSTAL LUCAS CRYSTAL

Will it though? Do you really know?

LUCAS

CRYSTAL Well…no. But it’s not like it’ll never come back. Maybe if we keep walking around you’ll find one too?

LUCAS Yeah I guess so.

(They begin to walk. As they do, Lees College and the gingko tree slide into the distance, and Main Street comes into view.)

CRYSTAL Hey, do you remember when we were little, and we used to run up and down the streets playing Naruto?

LUCAS Yeah, and you always wanted to be Sasuke. Even though you should have been Sakura.

CRYSTAL Well yeah, no one liked Sakura. Plus, I was edgy like that. I was meant to play Sasuke.

You still got to be Naruto, though.

Yeah but I wanted to be Sasuke.

LUCAS

.

CRYSTAL Everyone wanted to be Sasuke. That’s the middle school dream LUCAS Remember how we’d ninja race down to South Jackson?

CRYSTAL Yeah that was so embarrassing. I can’t believe we did that.

(A beat.)

You wanna do it again?

Uh, no.

LUCAS

For old times’ sake?

What if someone sees us?

CRYSTAL

LUCAS

CRYSTAL So? Who cares? Please Lucas? For Sissy Cryssy? Your favorite cousin?

Uggghhhhokay I guess.

LUCAS

CRYSTAL

Okay, readysetgo!

(CRYSTAL takes off without a second thought.)

Wait!

LUCAS

(They ninja-run, leaning forward with their arms pulled back and stiff to their sides.

They race around the space, as fast as they can, once again kids who can’t be embarrassed and who wouldn’t care even if they were embarrassed. Main Street fades away and South Jackson comes into view. As they race, they cross the South Jackson bridge at the same time.)

No ties! Keep going!

No fair!

CRYSTAL

LUCAS

(They keep going, but they both stop at the base of Town Hill, too tired to keep going. No one kept track of who won, but no one cares either. Kudzu fills the space.)

(A beat. They both stare up at the kudzu, as if really noticing it for the first time.)

LUCAS Y’know, even though it’s invasive, it’s still kinda pretty.

What, the kudzu?

CRYSTAL

LUCAS Yeah. I don’t know what this place used to look like before, but I can’t really imagine anything else here.

Yeah, me neither.

CRYSTAL

LUCAS How long do you think something has to be somewhere before it’s not invasive?

Good question.

CRYSTAL

(A beat. They ponder. LUCAS pulls out his phone.)

Oh my gosh! Crystal! Another Snorlax!

Maybe it never was to begin with.

LUCAS

CRYSTAL

END PLAY.

What do you think about when you see kudzu? Do you know where it came from?

Why it’s here? What’s underneath? Can you imagine Breathitt County without it?

How long does something have to be here before we decide it belongs?

WHAT WE LOVE

— MR. HARRIS’ THIRD PERIOD THEATER CLASS, BREATHITT HIGH SCHOOL (WITH PAULETTA HANSEL, “OUR BREATHITT” ARTIST) I love love.

Love is all I got.

I love my cat, her pink toe beans and her tiny teeth.

I love my rabbit, for which it is so soft.

There are many things I love.

I love my parents and the roof they put over my head.

I love my friends, all giggly and funny, just talking about the future after school or about pointless topics.

I know it is not unrequited love, for they make it known.

I love the experiences I have with them, the lessons I learn from them.

What I love isn’t easy to say.

Love doesn’t simply go away, just changes in perspective.

I love the way he cares for his friends.

If they ever need them he is there.

Hand in hand we walk through this world.

I love this feeling.

I’m a simple man: I love potatoes.

That is all I love.

I love a world that comes into existence when you press a button: 2-D, 3-D! It may not be the same, but in this world I would like to remain.

Even though I say I love nothing, I love everything.

I love raisins, the voices in my head, how the cold weather touches my skin.

Yet at times my heart is filled with despair.

It confuses me.

Theater is a passion, my forever love.

I’ll never forget the moments from Beauty and the Beast and Little Shop.

I’m free to be me, crazy as a bat.

I love being alone to practice my craft, the pen in my hand as my messy scribbles turn to masterpieces.

I love myself for never letting anyone tear me down and for believing in myself.

I love myself; I love my emotions and my own love.

There is no one like me and that’s why I’m amazing.

I love every aspect of all of these things—the good and the bad.

So if you are confused about yourself and life, one word: Love.

Today’s question is a simple one, though your answer may be complex: What do you love?

DEAR FUTURE SELF,

— MS. COOMER’S SECOND PERIOD AP ENGLISH, BREATHITT HIGH SCHOOL (WITH PAULETTA HANSEL, “OUR BREATHITT” ARTIST) It’s hard to imagine a life that I may lead.

It’s hard to imagine the unknown.

Over time I’ve learned that you cannot grow a tree without knowing the roots.

Are you back to your old self?

Are you having fun like you used to?

I wonder every day how my life is going to turn out.

Does everything end up better or do things get worse?

I know how scared you were.

I hope you remember all the wild and crazy dreams you once had.

I hope that by some chance, one day I will stumble back onto this and see we have made it to our dreams and beyond.

We’ve made it through some pretty rough times.

At 15, you know we have been fighting for what we love.

Please don’t give up.

We’ve done that in the past but we better not do that again.

Fight until you can’t fight anymore and after that, fight harder.

Stay on that grind. You will succeed.

You will graduate.

You will go to college.

You will innovate, create a piece of the future.

Don’t overthink it.

Don’t be afraid.

Don’t be choosing clout.

Keep your real friends close and let the fake ones go.

I know you have a desire to be you, and speak out.

Be different, and be a light to others.

Always try your best and believe in you.

You’ll surely be the greatest.

Always stay strong and strive for the greatness you can achieve.

Dear future self, be better.

Focus on the things that are going to lead you to success.

Appreciate everything, never give up.

Learn from your mistakes.

Never stop doing what you love.

I know things might be difficult.

Don’t forget that it’s never too late.

Make your own choice in life; it’s yours, not theirs.

Don’t let people get to you.

Life can also get very aggravating.

Just take a deep breath and think of the positive things.

But most importantly, remember who you were and who you are and who you are to become.

Make sure to follow your dreams and when you achieve them,

dream even bigger.

Don’t let anyone distract you from that.

Don’t let your memes be dreams.

Keep your head held high for us.

We are strong.

We are smart.

We can do anything.

I know your younger self is a little shy.

Don’t forget me.

Never forget the land to which you first belonged, because it is your home.

It’s like a mother looking after her children, and she will always find you, even when you can’t find yourself.

I will catch up with you later.

Good luck, future self.

Sincerely, Your Past Self PS And maybe have a dog, but no rush.

What would you tell your future self?

What hopes and dreams do you not want to forget?

Conversely, if you could go back and give your younger self advice and encouragement for the future, what would it be?

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