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77*e Mountain Spirit The Magazine of the Christian Appalachian Project

The Mountain Spirit Contents From Our Vice President................................................... 3

The Magazine o f the Christian Appalachian Project March-April 1983 Volume II, N o. 2

Features: And God Created Family............................................... 6 Three Dog Alarm: Fiction............................................16 Blood and Family Pride: The Hatfields and M cCoys......................................22 Departments: Letters ............................................................................ 4 Around the P roject....................................................... 11 The CAP Closeup......................................................... 14 Appalachian Arts and Culture......................................20 Editorial........................................................................ 26

Editor-in-Chief..................................................Rev. Ralph Beiting E d ito r.................................................................. R. Kenton Craven Associate E d itor..................................................Margaret Gabriel Graphics Coordinator......................................Phyllis Underwood Advisory Board . . . Mike McLaughlin, Bill Begley, Ed Wardle Subscriptions.............................................................Kathy Stathers Typesetting.........................................................Phyllis Underwood

The Mountain Spirit is published six times a year. The annual subscription price is $5.00. Subscriptions and other correspon dence should be sent to The Mountain Spirit, Christian Ap palachian Project, 322 Crab Orchard Road, Lancaster, Ken tucky 40446. Copyright 1983, The Christian Appalachian Project, Inc. All rights reserved. Member, Catholic Press Assocation. The Christian Appalachian Project is a non-profit Christian service organization operation throughout Eastern Kentucky. We rely on private donations for over 99% o f our funding. The Project operates on the philosophy that “ helping people help themselves” is the best approach to Appalachian poverty.

The March-April Theme In this our annual issue devoted to the theme of family, we visit the Family Life Center of Appalachia, hear a yarn from Rockcastle County’s Beverly Carter Sexton, go back in time to see the Hatfield-McCoy feud on location, and, among other things, have a real mountain meal complete with biscuits. On the COVER, an Appalachian grandfather and child (photo by Beiting—CAP Archives). On the BACK COVER, ex-volunteer and Garrard County farmer Kevin Hennigan opens Spring with tried and true ways. BELOW, Springtime in Appalachia is on its way in Jackson County.

From

OurVice President

Michael C. McLaughlin

IViost of you, I feel sure, are familiar with the book of photo journalism entitled “ The Family of Man.” It’s been a popular book, and I see re-circulations of it on book counters at Christmas time. The book portrays people in all walks of life going about their daily fare with much editorial warmth, compassion, and love. We are all part of the human family. I like to think of our own Mountain Spirit as capturing that same sensitivity to people, and often compliment its staff—though not often enough, I suspect—on their excellent por trayal and capture of the human spirit and dignity they see in those they write about. CAP too is a family, an“ extended” family of sorts, of individuals working together to help solve some of the problems we see about us. We experience joy, when we see smiles of some of those we are able to help, and feel great anguish when we see others bearing grief so sad that it can no longer be borne. Ours is an exciting life here at CAP, a very rewarding one in terms of human service, and those of us who are lucky enough to number among its employees feel a great sense of family closeness. I feel a spirit of brotherly love is truly among us, though at times we admit to having many faults and problems. Most of all, however, when I think of family, quite naturally I think of my wife and children, and the life together that we share. It’s fun to have a family and see it grow, and to be a part of that growing too. Children reflect their parents, in both positive and negative aspects. Two years ago when my son Pat was four, he was seen in the parking lot of the CAP main office building, his hands in his pockets, attempting to March-April 1983

whistle. Someone said, “ There goes little Mike.” No one else goes around quite as much as I do, I have come to realize, with his hands in his trousers and whistling a tune in his head. And so Pat takes after me. I am afraid Pat is like me in other ways as well, ways that I wish I could change. He’s extremely sen sitive, easily hurt, wants too much to please, sets standards of perfec tion too high for himself, with con sequent pain and hurt when he falls short. In my own life some of those things that people regard as success have come easily. Scholastic achievements, job recognition, honors and awards, have often come to me without my really de serving them. But in terms of emotional growth and maturity, that I have not found so easy. I am very sensitive to others, because I have hurt a great deal inside myself, and have taken many a hard emotional knock since I was a four year old with a whistle on his lips. And I’m pretty sure that Pat may have some of this same rough road to hoe. But that’s the way it is. Part of me is in my son. As long as he lives, he will carry around “ part of me” in him as well. Good, bad, or indif ferent, he’s stuck with me. I would change parts of that if I could. But no such magical scapel exists that could surgically remove the hurt and suffering, leave joy and happiness, and yet leave the individual whole and healthy. So it is with families. We are all a part of each other. When one rejoices, all rejoice; when one suf fers, all suffer. But in that com munity of feeling, in that com monality of feeling, there is our strength as well. To be so together,

The McLaughlin Family, Allis, Mike, Pat and Kelly

even to the point of suffering with one another, that’s kind of nice! So nice in fact, that it’s worth pro tecting and developing. All too of ten, and for all too long, in cases of child and spouse abuse, in juvenile delinquency, and other social problems, we have tried to solve the problem by either removing the vic tim from his surroundings or by sending the offending party away to some never-never land. We have neglected to treat the family system as a whole. But like it or not, that “ family” will not go away. It will continue to influence each family member in many, many ways, whether physically still intact as a family unit or not. In this magazine, you read about families. We of the CAP family try to minister to those families who enter our sphere of activities, in ways sometimes psychological, sometimes spiritual, sometimes social or economic. All of our help we hope is personal, from caring human beings, one to the other. Let’s get off the “ blaming” band wagon. Let’s catch a train that’s got direction. Let’s get high on the family! Mike McLaughlin, Vice President o f the Christian Appalachian Project is fillin g in fo r the vacationing Father Beiting whose column regularly appears in this space. Father's editorial will return in the May-June issue. 3

Letters • I received my first issue of The Mountain Spirit and loved reading it very much. I am going to save every issue for myself and my grand daughter. The magazine is rightly named for you people are very warm and have a lot of spirit . . . . Father Beiting, you are truly a dedicated man of God and may He bless you with many years among the people of Eastern Kentucky.

I would like to ask if there is a radio program that comes from the Christian Appalachian Project area that could be heard in the Nashville area. Also what information I could get from the Renfro Valley area. I used to hear a radio program for Renfro Valley, and have also received some songs and poems from there. Is Mr. John Lair still living?

Rose Frangells Joliet, IL

I sure hope the M ountain Christian Academy will become a reality. Mrs. Clyde Richardson Nashville, 77V

I enjoy your magazine, The Mountain Spirit. The articles are very informative and interesting. I hope you have a good year. The outlook here is not very en couraging—lots of unemployment. We have people running our local government who I don’t think know enough to come in out of the rain. Edward E. Brown South Bend, IN The country seems to have been having a lot o f rain lately.—Ed.

I am just writing to tell you how much my family and I enjoy your publication, The Mountain Spirit, that you send every two months. Af ter I read it my mother always snaps it up quickly and reads it. It really blesses all of us, and the articles are getting better. We are blessed by the ecumenical spirit that the publication shows, and the testimonies and the articles on spirituality, as well as the news of what’s happening in Appalachia.

John Lair

There are several CBS network programs from Renfro Valley still syndicated in the U.S. Contact your CBS affiliate station fo r infor mation on your area. John Lair is alive and well in Renfro Valley. See “Where The Country Doesn’t Go Pop, ” The Mountain Spirit, September-October 1982, p. 13.—Ed.

I just thought I’d let you know as an encouragement.

As a former volunteer (1977) I really enjoy The Mountain Spirit. As I read it, I feel I’m back in Ken tucky with all those beautiful moun tain people. They helped open my eyes and my heart to what life really means, “ Love Thy Neighbor.”

Barbara Feinblum Quincy, CA

Taffy Gebbia Sag Harbor, N Y

Along with my first magazine, I wonder if one of you would take a moment to tell me if the boundaries of Appalachia are or ever have been defined. And where is the heart of Appalachia? I think your project is fascinating. Your scenery, as pic tured in my mind, stirs the imagination. I do hope to learn much more. Rudy Cote Prescott, A Z

Since others may have the same question, we thought it a good idea to answer this letter in print. The Appalachian Regional Commission officially designated areas in the Appalachian mountain chain as “Appalachia” by counties; this in cludes counties in thirteen states, in cluding New York, Ohio, and Penn sylvania, so chosen by the governors o f those states as representative o f Appalachian culture and problems. All the counties worked in by CAP are so designated. Usually, however, Appalachia is taken to refer to Southern Appalachia, a a broad chain extending from West Virginia into Georgia and Alabama which contains a remarkably homogeneous culture, despite dif ferences. Some think the “heart” is along the Cumberlands o f the Ken tucky- Virginia-Tennessee region. Some think o f the Appalachian Trail as the heart. Some the Smokies. We think it’s wherever the “mountain spirit” prevails. —Eds.

Yes, I for one remember the dear Old Golden Rule Days (see “ One Room Schoolhouse Days,” The Mountain Spirit, January-February 1983, p. 24) . . . . I remember my schooldays 65 years ago . . . . The school building north of Parksville, Mo., still stands, converted into The Mountain Spirit

residences. There was never any damage or busted sidings or writing on the building. My brother once cut gashes on his desk and received a whipping from our teacher for it. Our one teacher had no time for a coffee-break. The classes from eight grades alternated their turn to recite in front of the recitation bench. In favorable weather we piled on a large bobsled for a coast down a long h ill. . . . There was a bucket of water and pan awaiting by the old heating stove to wash our hands before class . . . . We would have a monthly spelling bee. In one session—I was in the 4th or 5th grade—I spelled down the school with the word “ peninsula.” I was floating on cloud #9, but scared and nervous. Our parents all warned us that if we needed discipline at school, we would be punished again at home, and we did not want the second punishment. Never a problem of drugs or alcohol. Children today miss the joy of the large family at school as one, even without an in door toilet and bus to carry them to school. Yes, women were looked down on then for riding astride a horse . . . . One trip from school, galloping the horse as kids will do, my brother was in the saddle and I behind him sideways. The girt broke—saddle and I went to the ground together, and the horse stepped on me. I passed out, had a badly broken arm, and a body injury. I have always wondered why the male race was free to take the sane and easy way and not be criticized . . . . I will end by saying that my an cestors, the Tucker Williams family, migrated here to Platte Co. in 1843 from Christian County, Kentucky. May God bless you in your Christian efforts! Marguerite Mosby Kansas City, MO March-April 1983

Thanks fo r memories!—Ed.

sharing

your

Seems like I’ve been getting small sheets for years about your work. We Methodists have some work up there, too. I began reading The Mountain Spirit Thanksgiving night with “ Three Stories of Faith” and read it all until after midnight. I usually get a nap along with my reading, but none last night. R. Kenton Craven, Editor, has the big smile I like, and he had a good editorial (see The Mountain Spirit, November-December 1982). Do men go to visit the nuns at the Benedictine convent at the “ Dwelling Place” ? I don’t guess the nuns work too hard, as they do it all in the Spirit of Christ. Let me hear more about your work . . . . Rev. Cecil Baker United Methodist Minister, Retired Memphis, 77V

Although the nuns at The Dwelling Place do not yet have the guest house they plan for, they say they would be able and willing to put up a male guest over night either there or with a nearby neigh bor—but they do ask fo r advance notice.—Ed.

I just had to write you. Would you believe my grandfather and Willis Brown Hutcherson, his wife Doshua Spratt Hutcherson, and three children . . . once lived in Lan caster, Kentucky. In the Spring of 1852, in two covered wagons, they left Lancaster for Nelsonville, Missouri. They brought two old colored people, the lady took care of the children, her husband was the yard and carriage man.

Most of my cousins have been back there (to Lancaster) trying to find relations and history. Grand father’s home place was also his father’s, the place where he was borned. It was called the Mansion House. John Hutcherson (English) was borned in Virginia, crossed over into Kentucky, and went on to Missouri. I am 88 years old now, a widow of 15 years. Thanks so much for listening. Druzilla Lake Hannibal, MO

I just finished reading a copy of your November-December 1982 issue of The Mountain Spirit which my sister shared with us. The ar ticles were tremendous, especially “ Borned Again in Clay County” by Craven! Praise God His Spirit is among all His children! Divine providence . . . yes indeed! We too had our “ rebirth in Jesus” when we lived in Birmingham, Alabama 5 years ago. Thank God, Jesus left the 99 and came and picked me up and saved me too! John and Lois Bryan Columbia, MO

Montgomery Hounchell

Letters to the editor are welcome.

They should not exceed 250 words in length, and we reserve the right to edit them fo r space. Address letters to The Mountain Spirit, Christian Appalachian Project, 322 Crab Or chard Road, Lancaster, Kentucky 40446. 5

A nd God Created Family

by Margaret Gabriel

ince 1978 the Christian Appalachian Project has taken very dramatic steps to assist families in Appalachia, both healthy families and families that may be in crisis, at the Family Life Center of Appalachia in Rock castle County. In exploring the Appalachian family, The Mountain Spirit chose to speak with the program directors at the Family Life Center to get their impressions of family as an institution, and how their involvement in FLC programs has affected their own family life.

The Mountain Spirit

Lyndon Wiggs has been the director of Rood House, the group home for 16-18 year old boys, for nearly two years. An outgoing person, with a very positive outlook on life, Lyndon’s own family in cludes three children.

God really knew what he was doing when he structured the family. Many o f our boys lack a father figure, and you can see such a difference in a boy when he has the stability o f a father's in fluence. I believe if we were able to measure the emotional scars o f unstable families it would really scare us. I think about it like tuberculosis. Once you get it, it’s always there. We work at arresting it, work around it, but you can’t take the reality away. You can only help them to deal with the scars. I think they ’re really better having been there, but it’s hard fo r the boys to go back home again. Back in their communities they don’t ex perience the same kind o f trust, the same kind o f fairness that we stress here. We see lots o f guys coming back fo r visits, and we got a lot o f calls at Christmas time. They need that encouragement, and to feel that someone understands them. For my own kids, there’s a real education for them here. For one thing, I think I can help them more than a normal daddy could. I feel more in tune to life itself here. Being around the boys here causes my kids to grow and look at people a little differently. I thank the Lord fo r giving me the op portunity to have my kids around the boys. They give each other so much. I consider it a privilege to work here. They do a heck o f a lot fo r me. I appreciate working with them.

Judy and Jody Harrison (See “ The True Philosophy: Love and the Harrisons” The Moun tain Spirit, July-August 1982) have been parents to dozens of handicapped children over the last ten years. They moved to the Family Life Center with their family, and began working in conjuntion with CAP in October of 1980. Judy and Jody are parents to 12 kids right now, and you can be sure that the Harrison household is an exciting place to be! The Mountain Spirit got in a few minutes with Judy before her older children got home from school and while the younger children were napping. This is an ideal place fo r handicapped kids. They get to meet all kinds o f different people. I t ’s been a learning experience to meet lots o f different people from different places. But, really we’re very sheltered here. We don’t have neighbors to worry about. We’ve lived in some places where people didn’t like having ‘those kids’ around. There are so many people right here, that I don’t have to go outside to find support. I t ’s encouraged me to be a loner, but that’s what I choose. I ’m tied down, but what mother o f 12 isn’t? Over the years I ’ve learned that unless a child, any child, has a permanent family, it won’t make it. You end up with a non-productive human March-April 1983

being. Life is your family. One o f the saddest things that we see is kids who’ve just laid in in stitutions fo r years. They have no concept o f mama or daddy. Without family yo u ’re hurting, and it’s useless to try and start anywhere else. I believe that when I was born, God looked at me and said, ‘this lady was born to be a mother, ’ and I ’m flattered by that. I ’ve never had am bitions to be anything else. I ’ve always wanted 12 kids and now I have them! Every one o f mine is perfect in the way it counts. What they need is the security o f having someone say to them, ‘look at me, now, I ’m your mama, ’ or ‘I ’m your daddy. ’ 7

R o b Evans has recently joined the CAP family, as director of Rockcastle House, the group home for 13-15 year old boys. Rob spent time with CAP as a temporary volunteer, and worked with a volunteer program in Texas. Because he hasn’t had any experience at the Family Life Center just yet, he comments on his experience in similar programs. Family is basic, it's the first unity that a person has. A person develops because o f their home life. You can watch some homes, and tell how the kids will turn out. They have their own personalities, o f course, but they're developed and molded by what they learn in the home.

K alp h and Frances Anderson are the host couple for the Family Life Retreat Center. In the three years or so that the center has been accepting groups for Marriage Enrichment, family retreats and group retreats, they have hosted hundreds of people and families. Ralph and Frances do more than just keep people warm and well fed (although they do a great job in both areas!). They see to it that people feel like family.

I like the setting at the Family Life Center. I like the country, I enjoy quiet time, and the grounds at the Family Life Center should give some oppor tunities to just walk and sit and listen. I want to work with teenagers. I feel I have a gift for working with people. God gave me the gift, and this work enables me to give that gift back to Him. Younger boys are so impressionable. My grand father told me once, when I was young, not to

/ want to work with teenagers. I feel I have a gift fo r working with people. God gave me the gift and this work enables me to give that gift back to Him. believe everything everyone was telling me about the teenage years being the best years o f your life. They’re not. You’re forming values during those years, values that will be with you fo r the rest o f your life. I f a boy is in trouble during those years it’s even more frustrating. I was sensitive and in troverted as a teenager, and I had a tendency to keep problems to myself, and not talk them over with anyone. I want to help kids through these years, help them with their struggle. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say.

Even though we don’t work with the families that are in crisis, like they do in the other programs, just being here has really broadened our horizons in terms o f the kind o f hurt that can exist in families. We were aware, but the personal knowledge makes you even more aware. This makes us more appreciative o f the closeness that we’ve always had in our own family on both sides. We get a lot o f correspondence from people who have been our guests here expressing ap preciation and what it has meant to them per sonally. Most have had great spiritual benefit. They’re thankful to God that they have a place to come and experience Him in such a beautiful place. We want to show the people who come here that people love them, that people really care and to build a desirable place through that love and concern.

The Mountain Spirit

IVlary Oakley, director of the Family Life Center’s spouse abuse shelter, known as Bethany House, has been with CAP for about a year and a half. At the time of the interview, Mary, and her husband Robert, were expecting their first child any day. Our family? It started here. Living here hasn’t changed us that much because we’ve lived here all o f our married lives. We were married up at the Retreat Center, had our reception there, and had our honeymoon on the Daniel Boone [CAP’s houseboat on Lake Cumberland]. So, CAP has been part o f our lives ever since we’ve been married. We’ve experienced the closeness o f families here, even in abusive situations. And it’s not just the immediate family. Lots o f times yo u ’ll see an entire family living in the same holler, they’re close emotionally as well as physically. I t ’s so dif ferent from living in the city. There, yo u ’re lucky if the family lives in the same town. You read about the extended family, but you don’t realize what it’s really like until you experience it. We see so many causes and effects in families. Then, when you see it, you know what things you

have to work on in your own family, what things to guard against. Family violence strikes families in every economic bracket, every social level. People have a tendency to think, ‘it’ll never hap pen to us, ’ but it can. We feel very lucky that we have so much, that we have an edge that we feel can help our marriage and our family work just a little bit better.

L afey and Evelyn Seals are the directors of CAP’s second home for handicapped foster children. Natives of Rockcastle County, Lafey and Evelyn began their work when they lived in Lincoln County. In December of 1982 they moved to the Family Life Center with their family. The Seals have four children of their own and two foster children. This kind o f work has brought our family closer together. Our older kids enjoy the work like we do, and help quite a bit when they can. I think we realize the needs that other families and other children have now. We didn’t know that so many families had these kinds o f special needs until we

One o f our children was born with a handicap. Once, when he was in the hospital at the University o f Kentucky fo r about two weeks, we began to see some o f these children who need special help.

children in any way we could, so we became foster parents. Then this job with CAP came open, and we were asked if we were interested. We were, because we saw that by joining CAP we could do even more. Also, being from this area helps us to understand some more about the families, and kinds o f background and problems they have, maybe a little more than a person who has moved here from outside Kentucky.

really got involved. One o f our children was born with a handicap. Once, when he was in the hospital at the University o f Kentucky fo r about two weeks, we began to see some o f these children who need special help. We wanted to help these

Here at the Family Life Center we have more contact with other people, and are becoming more aware o f other CAP programs. We’ve been doing more work with the Harrisons, and our children have had more contact with other children.

March-April 1983

I n a way, the individual families of the Family Life Center are like an extended family. Each has its own goals, philosophies, sorrows and joys, but all are agreed that the family is basic, fundamental, and essential to the well being of every human being, and is that one essential element in all our lives that can assure us o f our value and our own self worth. Through a strong loving family, human beings can have the guaran tee that we are truly loved by God, our Father.

Clockwise from top: Judy Harrison and her daughter, Tina; Mary Oakley counsels a resident o f Bethany House; the Seals’ son, Phillip, in a playful mood; Lyndon Wiggs and friend; the Harrison fam ily’s home.

The Mountain Spirit

around the project

by the CAP News Service

One Room Schoolhouse Helped Seals REN FRO VALLEY —Lafey Seals, that is. When the JanuaryFebruary issue of The Mountain Spirit appeared, Lafey Seals, direc tor of one of CAP’s two homes for handicapped children, was amazed to see himself in an old photo in “ One Room Schoolhouse Days” by Beverly Carter Sexton of Orlando, Ky. As a boy, he had attended the one room schoolhouse run by Ida McKinney Abney, who was featured in the story. Lafey identified himself as the boy on the far left, just in front of the teacher, his face half-hidden. He was, he says, probably in the sixth grade at the time of the photo, around 1956. He can still name everyone in the photo—“ all but one, and I mean to go see Miss Ida and ask her who that one is.” He recalls that Miss Ida was “ a good teacher, but pretty rough on us when she had to be.” For more on Lafey, see “ And God Created Family” in this issue.

Larry Moore inspects a new shipment of paper as Paul Shackleford looks on.

New Printer Keeps Presses Rolling LANCASTER—On July 31, 1982, Alton Bradley, CAP’s long time printer, friend, and senior em ployee passed away at his home in Crab Orchard, Ky. (see “ In Memoriam,” November-December, P- 21). CA P’s printing shop is now headed by Larry Moore, a native of nearby Casey County, who came to CAP from eighteen years experience as a printer. Larry has also taught printing at the Somerset VocationalTechnical School.

That’s Lafey on the left just in front of Miss Ida.

March-April 1983

Asked why he would leave a secure job with a major industrial firm to come to CAP for lower pay, Larry replied that “ the big reason was that it seems like a people 11

around the project. . . continued organization, and I’d rather deal with ‘people people.’ Money’s not everything. I’d rather be happy and poor.”

prospects for the future. Unless there is a dramatic upturn in the coal market, unemployment figures are likely to continue their ugly rise.

Larry has already purchased a new auxiliary press which will make it possible for CAP to do more of its own printing in-house and cut print ing costs by 50%. Larry has two children, Dustin (4), and Andrea (6), and attends the Methodist Church.

Massive Decline in Mining Areas

Mr. C.B. Ledford congratulating them on their achievement. Mr. Scott saluted the Ledfords on the show on the following day.

LEXIN GTON —The n a tio n ’s eyes turned again to the small towns and tiny hamlets of the Kentucky mountains’ coal mining regions as a steady wave of unemployment crumpled the economy of the highlands. According to figures, in the Lexington Herald-Leader, the increasing sag in the nation’s need for coal is causing miners to be laid off by the thousands. By January 3, the HeraldL eader’s figures showed five thousand miners laid off, or roughly one in four of the state’s mine work force. Earlier, the paper had report ed even grimmer figures for some mountain counties. In Letcher County, “ perhaps 90% of its miners are not working.” Shutdowns of mines, as usual, af fect the general economy of the area. Ben Gish, editor of the famous M ountain Eagle newspaper in W hitesburg, Letcher County, estimated that 50% of the total labor force of the county was out of work by October of 1982. State unemployment offices were so besieged that workers from other counties had to be imported to process the new applications. The Lexington newspaper, which continues to monitor the situation closely, remains gloomy about 12

Miners in Knott County.

Ledfords Celebrate 79th; Receive Greetings on NBC LANCASTER—C.B. and Addie Ledford, featured in The Mountain Spirit (see “ The Ledfords—A Family For All Seasons,” May-June 1982, p. 5), celebrated their 79th wedding anniversary on December 18, 1982. C.B., now 106 (he’ll be 107 in May)7-and Addie, 98, received a surprise call from weatherman Willard Scott of the NBC morning show, “ Today,”

C.B., who didn’t retire until he was 75, and didn’t stop milking the cow until he was 90, still lives in his home on the outskirts of Lancaster, Ky., with his wife Addie, and his daughter Tillie King (58). They con tinue to be honored by television shows, newspaper and magazine ar ticles, and to take a lively interest in the world around them over a big breakfast and daily newspaper. The Mountain Spirit joins Willard Scott in saluting Kentucky’s finest senior citizens!

Them Volunteers Keep Coming LANCASTER—CAP’s biannual volunteer orientation and assign ment sessions greeted new volun teers from around the country. New residents in our volunteer com munities are Debbie Brugato, from Toledo, Ohio, who will be working in child development; Sonya (Sun ny) Davis, from Oklahoma and West Virginia, also in child development; Judy Lee, from Connersville, Indiana, slated to work in the Attic stores; Linda Zimmerer, from Massillon, Ohio, child The Mountain Spirit

around the p ro ject... continued development; Tom Ossler, from Palatine, Illinois, assigned to a han dicapped workshop; Steve Watso from California, and Roslyn Crowell of Tipp City, Ohio, who will be working with the elderly. The new arrivals bring the CAP volunteer community to the level of 31 residents, still down slightly from its past population. CAP volunteers live in five communities—in Martin, Mount Vernon, Somerset, Lan caster, and Berea, and serve in many of CAP’S projects in seven moun tain counties. They receive room and board, used clothing, medical care, a monthly stipend, training, and spiritual direction. Commit ments are for one year, and may be renewed. For information, write Marie Vanasse, CAP, 322 Crab Or chard Road, Lancaster, Kentucky 40446.

Raining in the Mountains Rivers on the Rise

A few bears are stirring. The deer move down to the fields, alert for the first shoots of green. Life pushes its curious snout out of a thousand burrows, and the ghosts of the long hunters stand on the high peaks, smiling at another year. The creeks and branches swell from the rain, and here and there the hillsides spit green bursts and sprays. A mountain man in Georgia watches the Chattahoochee. A hill farmer in Tennessee gauges the Cumberland. Up in Kentucky, men eye the Licking, the Kentucky, and the Big Sandy. Through thousands of miles of hollow and gorge, the rivers rise from the million rivulets of rain. And in a thousand places, quiet, alone, children poke at the mud with sticks, make little dams in the yellow and red clay, and stare at the heavy skies. The seeds awaken and swell. The birds sing of the sodden glory. And Christ, in love with the world and the seed, spreads His hands over the Appalachian Spring.

A PPA LA C H IA —I t ’s getting warmer, though some days it’s hard to tell. That old grey winter sun that hangs like a dull ball over the ridges looks different somehow. A touch of gold. From Northern Alabama right up through the Cinch Valley in Virginia and the New River Gorge in West Virginia, it’s raining all through the hills. Now some light snow still in the highest country, frosting the limestone cliffs that hang out over the rhododendron. But mostly rain, slow, steady, and cold. And fog, fog in the valleys, fog rolling down the mountain meadows, fog on the roads, fog in the morning, fog in the evening, fog that pushes the smoke back down the woodstove pipe, fog that covers and muffles the sound. Foggy mountain mornings, the crack of kindling in the yard, the sizzle of fatback in the iron frying pan, and banjo music on the radio. Roosters crow louder now, it seems. March-April 1983

DO YOU KNOW . . . How To Write A Will That Works?

Surprising as it may sound, some Wills don’t “ work” very well, that is, they don’t produce the desired results. Send today for your free copy of “ How To Write A Will That W orks.” This booklet, in question and answer format will give you much to think about—and act on.

To: Mr. William A. Begley Director of Development Christian Appalachian Project 322 Crab Orchard Road Lancaster, Kentucky 40446

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Please send, without obliga tion, my free copy of “ How To Write A Will That Works.”

Name _______ Street _______ City, State, Zip Telephone (

)

Appalachia Awaits Spring

Since August of 1978 when he first came to serve the Christian Appalachian Project, the Reverend Jack Morris has fitted comfortably into the region, and has added his own genial spirit to CAP’s mission to Appalachia. Though he has lived in Kentucky since he came here 20 years ago to attend Lexington Theological Seminary, Jack was raised in the Ozarks of Missouri—a very suitable training ground for working in the hills of Eastern Kentucky.

The CAP Closeup

Gabriel

But before Jack came to CAP, he had already garnered considerable experience in the field he thinks of as his calling—“ the calling I had to people of special needs. That’s why I came to CAP. That’s always been the driving force in my life.’’ Previously he had pursued this ministry as a pastor of a rural congregation, as a minister of education in two suburban situations, and as the director of a community center in the inner city which served Appalachian emigrants.

w .* i

That same sense of calling led Jack into his or dained ministry in the Disciples of Christ which, as he points out with pride, developed as a church along the old Kentucky frontier following great waves of interdenom inational revivalism. “ Because of those roots,” he points out, “ the Disciples are particularly ecumenical in their outlook, very accepting of other denominations and outlooks—and I guess I’m an ecumanic!”

Jack Morris Spokesman for Family and Folks by the CAP News Service

smiling, gregarious man with time for everyone and their problems, Jack Morris came to CAP “just at the time when it was really begin ning to expand.” At first Director for Human Development for two years, Jack plunged into the long range planning for the Family Life Center of Appalachia. When the Center had been built, Father Beiting.then asked Jack to take over as the first Director, a post Jack administered with fidelity for two and one-half years—a yeoman’s task by any measure, given the size and complexity of CAP’s most ambitious project of the 70’s. While at the Family Life Center as director of its many programs, Jack was able to realize, in the words of the poet Robert Frost, the union of his “ avocation” and his “ vocation,” “ as two eyes see with one sight.” For the focus of both in Jack’s life is family, the unifying theme of his ministry at home and work. As head of the Family Enrich ment program at the Family Life Center, he began to develop programs centered on strengthening the lives of families—and soon found his own family involved as co-ministers. Now, several times a year, Jack, his wife Nancy, son Andy (15), and daughter Julianne (12) meet and pray together to prepare family enrichment retreats, which they conduct as a family. “ We wrap ourselves up in it a good deal,” Jack grins, and he observes that he The Mountain Spirit

and Nancy will complete their three year cer tification in May, when they will be fully ac credited as ACME Marriage Enrichment leaders. ACME (Association of Couples for Marriage Enrichment) is the Protestant counterpart of the Catholic Encounter (which also serves families at the Center). A t home, the Morris family lives as it prays and believes. A year ago, they met a family crisis in a new way. Rather than place his father-in-law in a nursing home when a stroke caused him to need total care, Jack sold his home, the family moved in with Nancy’s parents, and provided that care themselves. “ It’s a growing trend—the com bined family—and it worked very well. Nancy’s father spent his last two months in a hospital when he contracted pneumonia, but he never had to go to a nursing home.’’ And, having previously remodeled his own home, Jack has set to work remodeling his “ combined” home with the full ardor of the home hobbyist.

F ro m that stance, Jack sees the application to his new role in community relations. “ It is from the poor that we derive our commission of the work we need to do, not from consensus or from which way the wind is blowing. Jesus did not listen to public opinion, and neither can we—ministry by consensus is not our calling. Our mandate comes from God alone, so that my task in com munity relations is to find the people who have similar commitments, and work with them to serve the people who need help.” With that philosophy, CAP will be well served by its new spokesman. CAP-

Craven

In December, Jack left the Family Life Center to take up a new post for CAP in community relations, a task for which he is ideally suited through his general experience with all CAP’s programs and his extensive work with local ministerial associations. While he will continue to do three or four enrichment retreats a year at the Family Life Center, he also sees his new job as of a piece with his life’s work and vision. “ For as Christians, we have a definite call to the people who have special needs, the folks who are outcast or rejected, who for one reason or another cannot help themselves at this particular time. The goal is to get them to help themselves, of course, to help them mount on the wings of eagles, as Isaiah says. It is through the poor folks of the world that God often clobbers you right between the eyes and gets you to listen to Him.”

A bove, Jack explains his theology o f service; left, Jack, Andy, Julianne, Ruth Kennoy (Nancy’s mother), and Nancy en joy an evening meal together. March-April 1983

THREE DOG ALARM

FICTION

Story and Photos by Beverly Carter Sexton Art by Dale F. Carter I was brought up in the foothills of the Cumberlands in Eastern Kentucky. My inborn instinct for self-preservation was outweighed by a streak of curiosity that would make me do such things as sticking my finger in the mouth of a mud turtle just to see if it really would hold on ‘til it thun dered—which is how I lost the tip of my pointing finger. The date of my birth was duly recorded in the family Bible next to the words, live girl. So sure was my Ma and Pa that their first born would be a boy, that the only name ready for my emergence into the world was Joshua. One peek beneath the woolen linsey-jim quilt I was bundled in, on that cold November morning, told Pa that I was not a Joshua. So taken back were Ma and Pa that they just plain put off naming me until my first birth day. Seeing I had to be called something, they decided upon Gertrude, as Pa had owned a cow once by that name and it was a good cow. With this reasoning, I suppose he figured I’d turn out to be a good gal. Anyhow, I have always thought it a downright ugly name, mainly because I associate it with Pa’s darn cow. Who wants to admit being named after a cow? So at a very early age, I dubbed myself Trudy. I don’t think that sounds half bad. Ma has always held that I am a bright and in telligent child and at one time expressed a desire to send me to school, but Pa, who through the years saw his wife would be barren of any more children, planned to make the best of being deprived of a son, and set me to work on the farm when I was six. Without the benefit of formal schooling, my 16

The Mountain Spirit

mind was never bound by the logic of science nor confused about the origin of life, so I quickly adapted myself to the basic beliefs of magic, myths, miracles, and superstitions. When I found I was abundantly endowed with the gift of visions, what city folks call extrasensory perception, I neither doubted nor wondered about it. I accepted it as natural. My unwavering belief in God was bestowed upon me through the teachings of Pastor Elias Herring of the Pine Holler Holiness Church where Ma insisted I never miss a Sunday meeting. There, we all gather in the one little room, with its dirt floor and pot bellied stove. On cold winter nights, as snow covers the ground, the hills echo the reverberation of singing and shouting as the hand of God passes over that little congregation of red faced men in starched bib-overalls and plain dressed women with black cotton stockings and hand sewn bonnets. Religion is a way of life to us country folk, and even Pa, who has never set foot in the house of the Lord, gives thanks at the sup per table.

Country folk have been called hillbillies and briarhoppers and looked upon as a slightly stupid class of people, yet all those highly educated, supposedly in telligent men called revenuers have never succeeded in finding Pa’s still. Ma and Pa have never had much, in fact they have never wanted much in life except to be left alone. They are share-croppers on a ten acre farm that sprawls itself over the hillside above Pine Holler. The house is located at the foot of the ridge and on either side is tilled ground, one side for the garden stuff and the other for tobacco. We always have a good tobacco crop. We burn and sow the bed in early spring, setting out the young plants when they begin to push up the can vas. Tobacco will grow without much help and by mid-summer the plants will stand over six feet tall. Then it has to be topped, left to ripen a few weeks, cut and housed. We hang ours in a dilapidated old barn that was erected at a 45 degree angle on the hillside a ways from the house. It has a suitable roof and serves the purpose, as well as providing a place for old Jack, our plowing mule, to get in out of the rain. The tobacco ftangs in the barn until it reaches an exact cured stage, at which time it has to be stripped, graded, and tied. We do all this for a portion of the profits the tobacco brings when it is sold at market. The biggest part of the hard earn ed cash goes to the landlord.

In late summer we put up tomatoes, peas, and such. We fill stone crocks with cucumbers and cover them with brine. We do the same with chopped cabbage and then we store these in the coolness of a small dark cave that runs into the hillside not ten yards from our back door. There is nothing better than one of those cold, crisp pickles on a sultry day while resting under the shade of an old oak tree. On ten acres of Kentucky land a person can be lost for days, and if they have the misfortune to wander into one of the numerous caves or fall into a sink-hole, they may never be seen again. Eastern Kentucky terrain was created, I believe, for the sole purpose of hiding or concealing from revenuers those things which are best left un disturbed—which on these ten acres happened to be Pa’s still. It is located up the ridge behind an old split-rail fence, some twenty five feet down in the bottom of a large sink-hole that has a natural spring run ning through it. To provide easy access up and down from the still, Pa constructed a rope ladder. He easily packs it with him and hooks one end around stakes driven into the ground at the top of the sink-hole, then throws the other end of the ladder over the side. Standing at the top of the sink-hole, which spans twenty feet across at the widest point, looking directly down into it, it appears to contain nothing more than moss covered rock, decaying leaves, fallen branches and a clear stream running the width of the hole then disappearing abruptly into the ground. If you stand on the east side, however, and look toward the west wall, you can detect a dark crevice which stretches back into the side of the rock wall some twenty-five feet. It is from here the spring originates, coming straight up out of the ground, and it is here that Pa assem bled his still. Pa carries his mash from the house where the mash barrel is buried. Only about five inches of

Ma and I tend to the garden for the most part. March-April 1983

the barrel show above the ground. Covered with a heavy, wooden lid, it is hidden from sight by what appears to the unknowing eye as a pile of brush. The corn is placed in this barrel along with the sugar and a little water where it is left to ferment. When Pa runs off a batch of whiskey, he packs the mash up to the boiler and pours it into a kettle which rests inside. A fire is lit under the boiler and as the mash cooks down, the steam winds its way through a copper worm which leads to the thump keg. This is a wooden barrel filled with water. The steam passes through the thump keg and when it dribbles out of a spigot on the side, it is pure, clear, moonshine. It is caught in gallon stone jugs, corked and stored, right there in the sink-hole. Pa don’t run whiskey just for his own personal use. We share-crop corn, but Pa has discovered documentary proof that liquid corn is more profitable than corn on the cob. Besides, he believes with a fervent passion that every family needs a jug of corn liquor on hand at all times as a cure all for every ailment from the colic to heart dropsy. So Pa feels justified, and rightly so, in running whiskey. Country folk have been called hillbillies and briarhoppers and looked upon as a slightly stupid class of people, yet all those highly educated, sup posedly intelligent men called revenuers have never succeeded in finding Pa’s still. We were sub jected to some tom-foolery once, when some cityfolks came moseying up Pine Holler supposedly looking for timber to buy. We knew them to be revenuers trying to rob us of our bread and butter. So secure was Pa in his enterprise that he went so far as to escort them to the brink of the very sink hole where his still silently waited. All on the pretense of looking for hickory timber. I remem ber hiding in the bushes and thinking how green those high-and-mighty revenuers really were, when Pa showed them a dogwood and told them it was a sapling hickory. They never knew the dif ference. I got so tickled, I fell backwards into a cow pile and had to stay there for nearly half an hour before I could sneak away. So much for the revenuers. The main reason Pa’s still has never been discovered is because of our absolutely fool-proof alarm system—three old coon hounds: Bad Eye, Gimpy, and Aunt Flur. Bad Eye is a blue-tick with an expressive gravelly bay. His howl is a mournful bellow, as if being forced up deep from within the soul. When just learning to tree coons, his absur dity of knowing it all permitted an old female coon to lay his left eyeball out on his check. Since that time, his attention to honesty, decency, loyalty, and the love to fight and win any battle with any coon has been absolute. Old Gimp is a red bone, and has only three legs, 18

having lost his right front paw in a battle with a diamond-back rattler. He has a distinctive bark, in that he lets out three sharp yelps rapidly followed by a long drawn-out howl that must completely deflate his lungs. He is getting rather senile, spend ing most of his time scratching fleas. Aunt Flur is a white and black walker. She possesses a soprano voice that rings out like a gypsy queen’s. Aunt Flur and I share perceptive powers. Together we have a second sight as it is called. Ma, observing this psychic phenomenon which exists between her daughter and this lovely dog, refuses to accept my straightforwardness and the visions that we put before her. She claims it is a bunch of hog-wash and makes us stop. I believe she is secretly afraid of it. One of my jobs is to set the alarm system when Pa has a batch of mash to run. Together with the three dogs I walk down the holler toward the county road. Nearest the house I tie up old Gimp in due consideration of his physical condition and old age. Farther on, about a quarter of a mile, I tie Bad Eye. Almost at the end of the holler I leave

Looming above me, his worn, black coat and trousers gave me the impression of an undertaker. His thin dark hair was plastered to his forehead, the lower half of his face concealed behind a straggly black beard. He had the weathered, haggard look of a mountain man. Aunt Flur. Not a sound from Aunt Flur until something turns off the county road and heads our way. Then she sings out the true identity of whatever it is. The sorrowful bay of Bad Eye resounds up the holler in a deep throated wail when the intruder comes within some ten yards of him. Old Gimp sounds off his three short yelps, then starts his slow, unbroken howl when the in truder comes into his span of vision. The yelps, barks, and howls of the three dogs blend together into one harmonious concert. To stand at our log cabin, a mile up Pine Holler from the county road is like being in a large amphitheater; one can hear almost every noise that rises from within. So when those dogs start their song, it is enough to awaken the whole country side. And that is what makes our three-dog alarm system impregnable. I had been thirteen years of age for several months, this warm beautiful day. Our front yard, crowned in a lush growth of rhododendrons, gave a rainbow of color across the uneven growth of the green grass. I knelt down to pet Aunt Flur when the hair on her neck bristled and she froze. Instantly I closed my eyes and saw a rider on a The Mountain Spirit

horse turn off the county road and head up Pine Holler. Pa has just left the house with two large buckets of fermented mash, headed for duty on the ridge. I gathered the other two dogs and set off down the holler to place the watch. I didn’t see any real reason to alarm Ma with my vision. I was only faintly beginning to feel a twinge of danger. It was such a beautiful day. I reached the black walnut where I tied old Gimpy. A sweat had broke out on my brow. The sky was beginning to darken. By the time I left Bad Eye behind me, I was get ting strong feelings of danger. Aunt Flur was whining and kept close to my heels. I heard the rumble of distant thunder, one large raindrop splatted against my foot. It left a white spot in the dust that had gathered on my bare feet. An animal instinct kept telling me to turn back, to run. Whether it was childish curiosity or courageous determination, I went on toward Aunt Flur’s post. Suddenly with a loud growl, Aunt Flur headed back up the holler at a run. I knew she was going to fetch Pa.

planned . . . a wanderer . . . wanting to buy whis key . . . storm . . . shelter beneath the trees . . . he sees me, vulnerable, alone . . . wicked desire . . . I came out of the depth like an air bubble bursting above water. He hesitated, as if momentarily confused. I managed to get to my feet, I sensed Aunt Flur was close now. I started to run; he reached out for me and I stumbled. I felt myself falling backward over the steep, rocky bank. In my mind I saw Aunt Flur before she rounded the bend. He heard her just as her slender hind legs left the ground. He turned and met her huge bulk as she came crashing down upon him. He lashed out at her with a hunting knife he pulled skillfully from a sheath on his belt. It wedged between her ribs. She clamped her jaws into the fleshy part of his shoulder, just missing his throat. He screamed, wrenching her loose. Her large lanky form came tumbling down toward me.

I was at a bend in the path. One side was a steep enbankment with a dry creek bed at its bottom. The rain was coming down hard now. Just a few more yards would take me further enough around the bend to give me a clear view of what lay in my path. Cautiously I eased around the bend. I saw a red mare. A bolt of lightning zigzagged across the sky followed by a deafening crack of thunder. I sensed someone behind me. Before I could turn, a hand clasped around my mouth. A long hard arm wrapped itself around my neck and I was being dragged down. I managed to free the hand from my mouth and screamed once for Aunt Flur before a hoarse voice commanded me to be silent. An eternity of thought seemed to be passing through my mind in seconds. I was aware of the pungent smell of tobacco on the wide sweaty palm that pressed against my face. The arm, bronzed and leathery from too many years in the sun, tightened against my throat and caused me to gasp for air. The yellow fingernails were caked with black dirt. He threw me onto the wet ground and I saw him. Looming above me, his worn, black coat and trousers gave me the impression of an under taker. His thin dark hair was plastered to his forehead, the lower half of his face concealed behind a straggly black beard. He had the weathered, haggard look of a mountain man. His bloodshot eyes peered out of sunken sockets. I stared into the dilated pupils and was drawn into their depths. Deeper I went until his thoughts ex ploded in my mind in fragmented glimpses. He was scared—his attack upon me was un March-April 1983

Aunt Flur is by my side. I can hear her heavy, painful breathing. She is resting her head upon my breast. I am glad she is here. I can feel something warm running from the back of my head. I have tried to raise up, but I can’t seem to move. I look at Aunt Flur and her eyes meet mine. We see the stranger running to his horse. I see beyond, I see him hanging from a gallows. I don’t want to think of him. I see Pa, he is running down the path, he will be by my side in a moment. I look up and the sunlight is filtering through the tree tops. It has stopped raining. I can catch glimpses of the calm, blue sky. Aunt Flur sees too. We are drifting toward the light. I hear someone crying. It is too late, we are above the trees now. We are going toward the light . . . it looked to be a beautiful day. end 19

Appalachian Arts and Culture

A Real Art Form: Cooking by Margaret Gabriel

Book Review: Valeria S. Ison, Mountain Recipe Collection. Ison Collectibles, Inc. Hazard, Ky., 1981, 318 pp. $18.00. The usual modus operandi for The Mountain Spirit staff is, if you have the idea, you get to carry it out. Therefore, the simple statement, “ hey, we ought to do an article for Appalachian Arts and Culture about a real art form, cooking!” produced a copy of Mountain Recipe Collection by Valeria Ison, with a directive from my esteemed editor to review. At the beginning of the book, Ms. Ison states that she began collecting old time mountain recipes as a legacy for her children. Mountain Recipe Collection is the result of her efforts. Included are recipes for homemade wine, wild meat, and other very traditional mountain and southern dishes, as well as favorite dishes of modern mountain cooks. Here and there in the book you will see comments about Ms. Ison’s grandmother, Mam, and other 20

special notes about some of the recipes. However, the real joy of moun tain cooking comes in sharing good food with the family, so as Guinea Pigs for this great experiment we selected 12 members of our CAP family who are known far and wide for eating and enjoying food. We also knew prior to selection, that they weren’t terribly picky, and would eat just about anything. The selected recipes were prepared by myself (a pretty good cook) and Ric O’Connell, coordinator of CAP’S services to the deaf (my neighbor, a marvelous cook). In The Mountain Spirit test lab (Ric’s kitchen; it’s bigger than mine and he got a food processor for Christm as), we prepared lemonade, corn relish salad, spoon bread, fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, glazed carrots, pecan pie, carrot cake, and cream cheese fudge. I selected one recipe from each chapter, making sure that my selections were fairly traditional in country cooking. Our Guinea Pigs were extremely

happy with their lunch. The fried chicken was a big success (most of the G. Pigs were only able to com ment “ great chicken” because their mouths were full). We did have a lit tle trouble with the biscuits, however. Now, I must say that this is the first time I have ever seen a recipe for biscuits actually written down. Most of the really great biscuit-makers that I know do it by feel (“ this feels like it needs a little more lard” ). I was a little thrown by the name of the recipe, which was “ M other’s Biscuits.” My own mother had us all convinced when we were growing up that biscuit making was a top secret art form The Mountain Spirit

known only to the Pillsbury com pany. Anyway, when I was ready to put the biscuits in the oven I discovered that there was nothing in the recipe telling me how long to cook the biscuits. I see this as a serious omission in the recipe. Anyone who knows how to cook biscuits won’t be using a recipe, anyone who doesn’t surely needs to know how long to cook them. At any rate, they were reasonably tasty, both with the chicken gravy and with butter. Most of the luncheon discussion centered on the spoon bread. For readers not familiar with spoon bread, it is a very moist sort of a corn bread, made from meal, eggs, and milk. It is called spoon bread because it’s served with a spoon. Almost every Southerner makes or has tasted the greatest spoon bread in the world. Several of the G. Pigs said that while the taste was good, the bread was a little heavy. On the other hand, several liked it the best of anything, and saw to it that there were no leftovers, but that’s what happens when you have more than one Guinea Pig. The vegetables, corn relish salad, and glazed carrots, were very good, the corn relish getting several votes for “ Best Dish on the Table.” The glazed carrots were baked in brown

sugar and butter and were a good, light complement to the fried food. The carrot cake recipe was very distinctive, in that it called for dates and crushed pineapple. It was rich, sweet and quickly devoured. As the G. Pigs waddled back to work they suggested that this event become a regular feature of The Mountain Spirit work day. What better recommendation could you ask? In the interest of giving a truly fair presentation, I must say that many of the old stand-by southern or Appalachian recipes are not cooked by recipe. They are handed down from generation to generation in the manner of songs, stories and folk dances, Mam, Ms. Ison’s grand mother, contributes recipes that have been translated from the traditional recipe of “ oh, just a pinch of this and a pinch of that.” M ountain Recipe Collection would be a welcome addition to the library of a variety of cooks. The recipes range from very simple to more complex, and the book has a good balance of main dishes, vegetables and desserts. For the cook who likes specialized cook books, Mountain Recipe Collection has a wealth of insight into the way that mountain people cook and eat.

Bill Begley (Development), Kathy Jones (Personnel), Ann Hopkins (Recep tionist), and Ed Wardle (Personnel) dig into mountain cooking as reviewers.

March-April 1983

Ric O’Connell prepares goodies in The Mountain Spirit test lab.

Cooking and eating are distinctive features of any culture, and Moun tain Recipe Collection gives a very fine insight into this aspect of the Appalachian culture. There were two chapters that I did not get to try, “ Pickles” and “ Old Recipes.” The pickle chapter in cludes many different types of pickled vegetables and fruits, and also includes directions for drying fruits when they are in season, for use during different times of the year. The “ Old Recipes” chapter includes soap recipes (yes, that’s soap, not soup), and recipes for but ter, salt cured pork, pickled pigs’ feet, hominy, homemade sausage, soda molasses, and chocolate gravy. In some instances the recipe also in cludes directions on how the food is eaten, good news for those of us who have never had the pleasure of soda molasses or chocolate gravy! At the beginning of each chapter are sketches by Mike Creech of Frank fort, Kentucky, of Ms. Ison’s family “ landmarks.” Each is described, telling a little about its location and its importance. To obtain a copy of Mountain Recipe Collection, write the Appalachian Book and Record Shop, 104 Center St., Berea, Ken tucky 40403. The price of the book is $18.00 plus $1.80 for postage and handling. Kentucky residents are, unfortunately, saddled with a 5% sales tax, which is 90$. CAP. 21

BLOOD AND FAMILY PRIDE: THE HATFIELDS AND THE McCOYS

by the CAP News Service

Northern view of the Tug Fork River—the battle site for the feud between the Hatfields and the McCoys.

The Mountain Spirit

Appalachian Mountain N ew s March 6,1878

Vol. 38, No. 65

Hatfield Stands Trial for Stealing Hog STRINGTOWN, KENTUCKY—The home of the Reverend Anderson Hatfield, known to family and friends as “ Parson Anse,” was the site of the trial of Floyd Hatfield, accused by Randolph Mc Coy of stealing a razorback hog, said to belong to the McCoy family. Present at the trial were members of both the Hatfield and the McCoy families, and clans who are related both by blood and by marriage. Almost every man present carried a long barreled rifle and in their eyes was visible the will to use them. Exhibit 1 was the hog in question, bound at the feet, blinking around the room at the moun taineers, who were seated on the furniture, beds and doorstep. Rifles lined the walls, and am munition lined the pockets of the men as they listened to the testimony of witnesses whose stories differed depending upon which clan held their allegience. After several hours of hearing mostly divided testimony from the opposing sides, Parson Anse empowered a jury of 12 men to hear the case and make a decision about which man had actually branded the hog. In order to maintain balance and justice, Parson Anse selected 6 members of the McCoy family and 6 members of the Hatfield family to weigh the evidence. The balance was tipped in the favor of the defense by Bill Staton, a Hatfield by marriage, when the jury heard his testimony. Staton swore that he had personally witnessed Floyd Hatfield brand the hog in question. There were no eyewit nesses for the plantiff. Parson Anse was able to stem the shooting that was nearly set off by Staton’s testimony by im mediately asking the jury to begin deliberating on the statements of the witnesses who had been March-April 1983

The Hatfield family prepared for battle.

heard. After a few minutes, Parson Anse began to poll the jury individually. In the beginning, the voting went as expected, with Hatfield members of the jury voting their clansman innocent, and the McCoys voting guilty. The deadlock was broken by Selkirk McCoy, who is married to a Hatfield. Selkirk McCoy stated that there was no evidence to contradict any of the witnesses and that the testimony, to him, indicated that the hog belonged to Floyd Hatfield. When McCoy was asked if the fact that he is married to a Hatfield woman influenced his decision, he refused to comment. The trial ended with Floyd Hatfield’s release from custody. However, no-one in the holler ex pects that this will be the end of the incident. Before the factions separated, Randolph McCoy accused Staton, chief witness for the defense, of lying, and William Anderson Hatfield, or “ Devil Anse,” of influencing the jury through the presence of his large, well-armed, and triggerhappy family. At this time, though, an uneasy peace has settled over the Kentucky-West Virginia border. 23

Killing Ruled Self-Defense

Jury Picked by Hatfields

Paris McCoy Accused in the Murder o f Bill Staton

Sam McCoy Found Not Guilty in Staton Slaying

LOGAN, WEST VIRGINIA—After nearly two years, the vendetta of the Hatfield and McCoy clans, which started over the ruling of a jury com prised of six members of the Hatfield family and six members of the McCoy family, on the owner ship of a razorback hog, has been stirred up again by the death of Bill Staton and the subsequent arrest of Paris McCoy.

LOGAN, WEST VIRGINIA—Several weeks after charges against Paris McCoy for the murder of Bill Staton were dropped, McCoy’s brother Sam has been acquitted on the same charges.

Staton, who had been missing for several days after going out to hunt, was found dead and mangled in a heavily wooded area a mile below the Norfolk Tunnel and Western Railroad. Immediate suspects in the murder were Sam and Paris Mc Coy, who had also been away from home for several days. A search of the area by Sheriff Ellison Hatfield uncovered Paris McCoy, who had scars about his face and neck, and a bullet wound in his hip. McCoy recounted the struggle that he and his brother, Sam, had had with Staton, claiming that they had been walking through the brush when they were ambushed by Staton. Staton’s shot hit Paris in the hip, but the instantaneous, answering shot of the McCoy brothers caught Staton in the chest. At that point Paris McCoy and Bill Staton locked in hand-to-hand combat. Paris told Sheriff Hatfield that Staton had begun to strangle him and when Staton bit down on the jugular vein in McCoy’s neck, Sam McCoy, Paris’ brother, shot Staton in the head at point blank range. Accord ing to McCoy’s reports, Staton’s bite on his neck was so tight that his jaws had to be pried loose by his brother. McCoy was ordered to appear before Justice of the Peace, Wall Hatfield, who ruled that the killing was a clear cut case of self-defense. The Hatfield family continues to search for Sam McCoy, who has been at large since the incident occured. 24

McCoy was brought into West Virginia from Pike County, Kentucky by Deputy Sheriff Elias Hatfield one week after Hatfield began his search for McCoy in the more remote parts of eastern Kentucky. According to the deputy sheriff, he spotted McCoy early one afternoon near the entrance to a cave in Pike County. Hatfield wanted to avoid a shoot-out with McCoy, preferring to bring him to trial in West Virginia. To do so, he waited until dark in order to take the fugitive by surprise. Upon his arrival at the county jail in Logan, McCoy was handed over to the Grand Jury who promptly indicted him for murder. Confirmed reports state that at the time that Sam was in jail, the McCoy family was taking up arms to defend the family, in the event that a jury found Sam McCoy guilty of murder. Such measures proved to be unnecessary. The jury, which was hand picked by the Hatfield family, found McCoy not guilty, due to the fact that there were no eyewitnesses to the event, all of the evidence being being supplied by Paris and Sam McCoy. McCoy was later escorted, without incident, back across the Tug Fork River into Ken tucky. Asked how he thought it was that he had been acquitted, Sam McCoy replied, “ I done heard that Devil Anse Hatfield reckoned I was justified in killin’ to save my brother. Anse said if Bill wanted to do a little shootin’, he had no business missin’.” The Mountain Spirit

T hese incidents have presented as we imagine they would have been if the CAP News Service had been reporting from the scene. They are but a few of the battles of the “ Great Feud” which raged between the clans of Devil Anse Hatfield of West Virginia and Randolph McCoy of Kentucky. Little is known of the origins of the feud. The in cident over the razorback hog dates to around 1878, with the trials of Sam and Paris McCoy taking place about two years later, making it one of the earlier incidents. Some historians claim that the feud began when Devil Anse’s oldest son, Johnse, who was something of a cavalier, took up with Randolph’s daughter, Roseanne, and broke her heart. Others date ill-feelings to the times of the Civil War. In 1963 Devil Anse Hatfield was the captain of the Confederate militia on the West Virginia side of the Tug Fork River. Randolph McCoy fought for the Union Militia on the op posite side of the river. During one skirmish be tween 1863 and the end of the war, Randolph’s brother Harmon was shot and killed. Some historians claim that that shot was fired by Devil Anse Hatfield and that it was that incident which began to fuel the fire which lasted into the twen tieth century. Others claim that the two clans lived in harmony before and during the Civil War, and that the feud was begun by a series of small in cidents, including the problem with the pig, and Johnse Hatfield’s trifling with Roseanne McCoy. In any case, it is agreed that the feud was bloody and costly to both families. Father Ralph Beiting, founder and president of CAP, is working on a series of essays about the feud of the Hatfield and the McCoys. In one of the essays Father Beiting observes: When one reads the accounts given by many o f the historians o f the particular family feud one is amazed by the lack o f uniformity concerning the number o f people killed in the feud. Some estimates are as low as thirty. Some go over the hundred mark. Without a doubt it was the longest and most costly feud in American history.

Devil Anse Hatfield

The times themselves made the feud possible. The post-Civil War days were days o f violence all over the country. The mountains contributed their part. Roads were poor and transportation was dif ficult. The law was often helpless. It all con tributed to the feeling that a family had to take care o f its own trouble. There was an exaggerated sense o f family pride on both sides. Often both families were convinced that it was all a matter o f honor. The Hatfields and McCoys are often pic tured as dumb hillbillies who had no sense o f values and were rather primitive. This is not the case. Both families had the mark o f leadership stamped deeply into their makeup. In the years following the feud both families contributed greatly to the lives o f the people o f Kentucky, West Virginia, and the nation. Their members have been lawyers, doctors, ministers, governors, and congressmen. In the world o f business and finance, they are equally prominent. Many works o f charity and community develop ment are the result o f their generosity. As I recall the Hatfield man I met back in Wayland, Kentucky more than fifteen years ago, I remember the fright he expressed over one o f the early meetings between the two families he had witnessed. I could not help, however, but think that these days are gone forever. More peaceful times have come to our mountains. CAP.

March-April 1983

Editorial

A culture that cannot love beauty cannot love God . . .

Chastity. Purity. Virginity. Fidelity. Holy Marriage. There, I’ve said the words. Quaint, obscure, now unfamiliar words. How odd it is that these words, once so common in human speech, have become the objects of casual derision, the worn targets of a sour irony that eats us up. Words once so familiar—because they have to do with family. Now they stand out, and embarass or shock the or dinary reader. How queer. As a sometime teacher of English Literature, I have had the experi ence in recent years of meeting with total incomprehension from stu dents struggling their way through older poems, novels and plays. One class threw up their hands in despair at the notion of young men and women remaining virgins until marriage—and this class, by the way, was in a Christian college. They could not understand why the heros and heroines did not simply leap into bed in the first chapter as in modern novels unless, they opined, they were just stupid. As a result, much of Western literature was simply lost on them. They could not grasp that the words listed above have any meaning, that is, that the words point toward won derful realities worth possessing. To their minds, modern culture has progressed beyond all the nonsense of courtship, romantic love, marriage till death do us part, fidelity, and the duty of husband and wife to help each other grow in holiness. In their world, being real meant having all the experience life has to 26

offer, at once. Modern technology had made sex, like so many other things, convenient. Recently, as they saw it, science had liberated their bodies from sexual oppression, and government had endorsed new freedoms in a brave new world without children. All safe on the sexual front—or so it seemed. And as for grasping all experience at once, they could not conceive that they were clutching at fireflies and missing the starry universe. The irony is that, in the name of ex perience, they had renounced the general experience of the human race—the mysteries of hearth and kin, heart and sacrifice. The mystery of family. But their vision of a brave new world has not materialized. The sexual revolution has not freed the slaves, it has merely given them new masters in boredom and appetite, and led them into the prison of a spiritual death so powerful they can no longer imagine true freedom. The moral ugliness that now assaults the family on every front is married to an aesthetic ugliness that corrupts the heart and the spirit—aesthetic ugliness in the media, the marketplace, even in the churches. A culture that cannot love beauty cannot love God, for if man is made in His image, when the image of man is distorted, the telescopes to the heavens crack, warp, and fall into disuse. In short, an age of disbelief gives us not a vision of a brave new world, but a crazy house of mirrors returning only our confusions. And the children who do manage to get born are set to staring at those grotesque idols.

Courage. Devotion. Sacrifice. Discipline. Learning. Love. Another set of words, equally un familiar in an age of self gratification. So cornball, some say. So utterly old fashioned. But the realities that stand behind those words are the realities that must be restored if the first set of words —chastity, purity, and the rest—is to be restored to our culture. Notice, if you will, the last word in the second series. Love. If we follow the standards set by the society we now live in, we shall feel that it doesn’t belong with its neighbors. Nor, to be sure, should it be linked with the first set of words either. The modern notion of love has nothing to do with those difficult but beautiful realities and, as such, it cannot come to good or to God. Nor can it produce and nourish families that produce and nourish yet other families. Unless both sets of words are restored, the one as a way to the other, by the witness and work of Christipns, there will not be much joy on our earth. True joy comes from the Father through Christ crucified. Through Him, we know that the good things of life require sacrifice and suffering. In this world, the crown has thorns in deed, but thorns that presage the Rose of Love. It is in families that we must teach this truth, the truth that holiness costs. It will cost much to redeem and reclaim the first set of words and to make them again realities that young men and women can love as the beauties they are. But we must do it. Or there will be no families at all. —RKC The Mountain Spirit

Rugged Cedar Cross For Easter or Memorial Day

r ----- --------center < outer edge of each petal there will be nail prints, brown with rust and stained with red, and in the center of the flower will be a crown of thorns, and all who see it will remember.”

The Cross is 18 inches high and 12 inches wide. An arrangem ent of Dogwood blossoms which can withstand outdoor weather is attached to the front. A decorative pale green ribbon adds a touch of springtime to this simply crafted Rugged Cross. A tripod is included for display in your home or at the gravesite of a loved one. When you see the Cross, you will under stand why the Appalachian people who make these authentic crosses are proud of their work. We will be happy to ship you a Cross via UPS for $12 plus $1.50 for shipping costs. Just use the form on the envelope in the fold of the magazine to make your orders. Your support o f C A P ’s craft programs employs people who badly need work, and helps build pride and initiative. Thank you fo r your help!

The Mountain Spirit Christian Appalachian Project Lancaster, Kentucky 40446

NON-PROFIT ORGANIZATION U.S. POSTAGE PAID Christian Appalachian Project