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Category: Another Day in Appalachia
Stories that didn’t fit anywhere else.
By Angela Hardin, via text 4/20/24 9:53 am Imagine. A probably 68-70 year old man. Glasses. Waxed down wispy hair on top, and a narrow ring around the outside. Thin and upright. Wearing a black leather jacket zipped halfway over a starched white button up. Straight cut, fitted starched jeans. Tight but not too tight. Strutting into the grocery store like Tony Manero in his alligator boots on an apparent rebuilt heel. I presume all of his attire is original from the eighties and that he takes his jeans to the cleaners to have pressed. Nothing about him was slouchy. He rolls into the check out with a case of Guinness and asks for a pack of Camel! I thought to myself, “This’ll go quick with two items and I can get out too” so I get in line behind him. Nope. He pulls out HIS CHECKBOOK! I’m like…. Um…… but I said hi so I can’t back out now. I gotta stand there and wait for him to write it out and ask what the total was twice😵💫 I was done in less than 90 seconds and bop out to the car. I notice he is corralling his buggy. And then he gets into a jeep. Like old school jeep. Like he probably bought new in the seventies. No top. IT’S RAINING. It has been raining so it’s not like this should have…
There were no sunglasses in evidence Wednesday morning, April 3rd, 2024, when a group of students from the Culinary Arts Division of Walters State Community College met and traveled to a local beef producer’s farm just outside of Sevierville, Tennessee. The spring day was overcast, blustery, and thirty degrees cooler than it had been the two previous days. The old timers would label it “airish” but to the rest of us, it was strictly cold. But a cold day out in the field is still better than a warm day behind a desk, and we were all thankful it wasn’t raining. The landowner, Lynn McMahan, had taken the day off from trucking to host the group of students, together with organizer Mike Sharp, TN Beef Industry Council & Cattlemen’s Association; Dr. Katie Mason, a professor with the University of Tennessee; Mallory Fancher, a recent graduate student of ruminant nutrition; Sevier County Ag Extension director Adam Hopkins; and Amy Johnson, secretary for Sevier County Soil & Water Conservation District and Natural Resource Conservation Service (USDA-NRCS). Students were here to see firsthand where the beef they prepare comes from, starting with the calves born on site in October. We drove up the graveled lane to the large barn. We gathered inside, hunkered in clothes that proved inadequate against the wind that howled around the corners. From the front of the barn, the mountain was clearly visible and beginning to fill with vibrant greens as…
I had to give my dog one last pat And rub those velvet earsJust one final time before I left my sanctuary And I had to be extra careful walking down the pathAs it had rained last night and Jewel colored leaves were stuck making my way slickThen I stopped to have a discussion with my neighborAbout the woolyworm she found on her porchWhich of course led to talk of the impending winterAnd so then when I finally got in my carWithout my coffeeI had to find just the right song to start my dayAnd as I drove inI was mesmerized by the fog rolling steadily across the mountainIt wasn’t so much the colors that stopped meOn the side of the road to take a blurry picture As it was the way the light was sparkling so clear With the mist continuing on its journey Nothing delaying it Unlike myselfWho had been interrupted half a dozen times already It is Fall Break after allBut I didn’t go to the beachI stayed right hereWhere I belongAnd I thought of how some people get itAnd it’s second nature to use certain phrasesAnd it’s musical These mountain waysSo anywayThat’s why I’m lateAnd it didn’t help that I hit snooze twice…
My commute to work sucks. It doesn’t suck because of roadwork, or a road that NEEDS work. It doesn’t suck because it’s choked with air pollution or that it’s an exceedingly long drive. It doesn’t suck on account of the view or a particularly narrow and windy path. It sucks because people are in a hurry and there are way too many of them. I drive through school traffic the second I leave my driveway. There are four literally on top of me, and Kings Academy on one route I take to get to the highway. If I go Boyds Creek I contend with another school. There is no way to win. Every. Single. Day. I contend with tailgaters and road rage. I don’t care to tell you I travel 10 mph over the speed limit and I always have at least one car during my journey following so closely I cannot see their headlights. It’s often I’m not even the one holding up traffic; I’m in a long line of travelers just trying to get there. It gives me major anxiety and I honestly don’t know what to do about it. There are limited places to pull off the road and let them pass, but what good does that do when there’s another one blasting up through there to take their place? I don’t know…
I hope that my words never seem disrespectful. I usually feel the need to purge and sometimes it’s about sensitive subjects. I have been labeled a sensitive soul, because I tend to cry at the drop of a hat. But in the meantime, my smart mouth is forever earning me the label of…well, you know. You’ve heard. I AM strong-willed, I have no lies to tell. I say all this because I didn’t take a picture today. It would have been disrespectful to take out my phone and snap one, no matter how badly I wanted to remember the beauty of it. I have only my words. I go to a ton of funerals. I don’t see it as morbid. I was raised up in funeral homes like some kids are raised in church. Seems like somebody all the time was dying. Holly Hills, Berry’s, Atchley’s, Rawlings, McCammon-Ammons were the ones locally that we frequented. Once I started working at the Co-op, we occasionally branched out to Newport and Morristown. College friends laying their parents to rest were sometimes surprised to see me turn up, not understanding that I was raised to comfortably attend these events. It doesn’t matter if it’s Greeneville or Cookeville or Murfreesboro. I will come. People don’t seem to understand that you don’t have to know the person who passed, you…
You aren’t supposed to talk about your good deeds. And I know a man who didn’t. I once had a friend who was into saving dogs. She was a little overzealous about it, honestly, going without provisions herself just to help another dog. You have to draw the line somewhere, and that’s why I only have Chester. He’s all I can afford when I give him the life I feel like he deserves. I’m off track. So I had this friend. She was overrun with dogs and it got to where she couldn’t feed the ones she had. I put on here she was needing some help, she’d gotten in over her head, and she was having a yard sale if anybody had stuff to donate to go towards the care of the dogs she’d rescued. My friend and neighbor messaged me and said for me to bill him a bag of dog food to give to the lady the next time she came in. He couldn’t stand to see an animal hungry. There is a special place in Heaven for animal lovers, I feel sure. He fed me, too: bags of cucumbers, tomatoes, lettuce, and I don’t know what all from his garden. He was always friendly, encouraging me to come visit him and his wife, Mary, as they just lived over the hill. It was always a good…
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Those of you who know me well know how much I cry. I cry for little to no reason most of the time. Maybe I’m laughing so hard I cry. Maybe a song hits me just right. Maybe I’m mourning the Reese Cup I accidentally dropped on the floor. I suppose instead of Chester’s Chronicle I could do something called Amelia’s Emotions. Today, this brought me to tears. I couldn’t ask for better neighbors. They’re friendly, they’re respectful, they’re quiet. They wave at me if I’m sitting on the porch, they constantly consider me when it comes to the roaming of their chickens, they give me a heads up when they’re planning a get together so I’ll be prepared to party with them or leave the premises. They are entering their second harvest season and evidently their garden took on a life of its own this year. They had put a couple of containers out by the road when the squash started coming in. Today, it was a whole table. Now, it isn’t just their generous hearts that made me a little mushy. Scott & Chasity live in my great-grandparents house. My Papaw built that house, starting with just a few rooms, and built on as his family grew. It was a bit of a mish-mash of a house, as you would expect. When…
This is all my fault. It usually is, I don’t know why I’m surprised. See, I had been thinking I needed to write. My mind has been all jittery lately, which is a sure sign something needs to be cut loose. But I didn’t have anything I really wanted to expound upon. Until this morning. I had to meet my DC & company with a folder so they wouldn’t be late for a field visit. Since I was in my personal vehicle and wouldn’t be compensated for mileage, I figured I’d stop and wash Maggie on the way back. It surely wouldn’t be an issue if I were stopping for breakfast, what’s the difference? Ten miles for ten minutes, same thing. I was planning on cleaning her up at lunch today, anyway, so two birds with one stone and all that. Look how efficient I am. I stop over here at the carwash by Burger King. I like to hand wash, since I have a sunroof and I hear those automatic ones are hard on sunroofs, not to mention paint. Plus, I’m a pansy. I find them terrifying. Alright. So two of the wash bays are taped off when I pull in, which makes me a little apprehensive. I ease into the one on the end, noting it’s dry. I give myself a little optimistic word of encouragement. Maybe it…
When you’re seventeen, you don’t think about your best friend’s dad dying. When you’re seventeen, you don’t think about attending the funeral of your first boss. You don’t wonder whether the guy who owns the mountain where you ride horses is gonna die of cancer. When you’re seventeen, all you’re concerned with is boys, hair, and if you’ve got enough gas to run to Wendy’s. You worry about how you look in your swimsuit, and who is going to prom with whom. When you’re seventeen, you’re self involved with your own problems…and too young to realize they’re not problems at all, because they have zero bearing on the rest of your life. But when you’re forty-one, you smile through tears as your best friend delivers her father’s eulogy. You remember the times spent with him as he patiently taught the two of you how to drive in their subdivision. The silver van with the emergency brake lever in the console. You think about how many times he drove you to Walmart because there was nothing else to do…sometimes twice in one day! You recall him helping move furniture and building bookshelves and baking cheesecakes. You realize how much he loved his daughter and how he impacted your life, too. When you’re forty-one, you dress in black on a dreary Saturday and drive to a nearby church to pay…
