Southern Appalachian Storytellers--Charlotte Ross

McFarland Publishers released my book, Southern Appalachian Storytellers: Interviews with Sixteen Keepers of the Oral Tradition in 2011. Collecting oral histories from those folks took me all over the mountains of the southern highlands, including Boone, North Carolina. That's where the Legend Lady lives. She and her husband oriented their home to ensure a prime view of Grandfather Mountain. The ancient mountain's profile is stunning in every season and a wonder to behold. The first time I consciously saw it, I had to find the likeness; now I see it and know it for what it is--part of my personal landscape--a place marker.

Charlotte, born to an Appalachian family in north Georgia, learned to find her way home using the peaks, ridges and valleys as her guide. Taught the skill by her grandfather, she stores the mountain-scape in an ancestral memory bank that goes clear back to the famous Native American, Nancy Ward.

On my last visit to Charlotte's home, we sat in her cozy den surrounded by objects collected throughout a life-time dedicated to all things Appalachian. Each piece held a precious bit of story within.  The Legend Lady spun stories from them all afternoon in a rich, low voice--a whisper touched by the ancestral memories of general stores, pot-bellied stoves, corn pipes, long-houses and music made from mysterious flutes.

This remarkable storyteller, the repository of several thousand stories collected throughout her lifetime, came to my attention through Dot Jackson, storyteller, and former investigative reporter from Pickens, South Carolina. Friends for decades, Ross, Jackson and their friend Betty Smith, a revered ballad singer and teacher now living in Black Mountain, North Carolina, enjoy a friendship filled with the memories only long-term acquaintance can bring.

You can find Southern Appalachian Storytellers: Interviews with Sixteen Keepers of the Oral Tradition at www.mcfarlandpublishers.com, or Amazon.com.

Heartbreak in a Little Red Truck

I told stories in a small town near here last night, and noticed that while some folks still shoot little jokes out about the election, others fail to respond. It's a "let's get on with life," attitude that I can live with.

Things are beginning to settle down a bit, and it looks as though there is sincere interest on both sides of the field in helping Americans, instead of fighting over us. Florida's votes finally came in and the president won a tidy victory there, avoiding the dreaded re-count of the past; that's a profound relief to this native-born Floridian.

Speaking of living with something, I very much fear I saw death last night and it was more than a ghostly specter. Anticipating directions from my GPS, I turned too soon and had to take an alternate route or turn around. Tooling along on the highway, my destination almost in sight, a white truck blinked its lights at me.

"Oh, great... radar ahead," I thought, and slowed down.  Well, law enforcement was indeed in the vicinity, but it appeared to have just arrived and they weren't trying to slow us down; they wanted us to stop. Just ahead was a dull red truck, nose down in a ditch, its rear end pitched high in the air. I could plainly see it was crushed into the passenger compartment. Something in my heart constricted when I saw it: someone's day had altered critically in only a moment's time.

As we waited, two cars drew up, doors slammed and several people rushed towards the crash. "Oh, no!" cried one. Another, her voice sucking inward on the words, said, "Oh, my God--no!" Panicked, they ran towards the truck, heedless of those trying to stop them. We watched from our cars, knowing heartbreak lay just ahead. I have no idea what happened or if the occupants lived or died, but pain was there and yes, the potential for death. It rides with us every time we enter our cars and take to the road, no matter how defensively we may attempt to drive.

Some time ago, I drove home in snow, making it up my hill with no problem. I couldn't, however, maintain a steady speed to access my sloping driveway and slid backwards, narrowly missing the ravine. There being two access points, I tried the other one. There was no way at all to get up enough speed to make that one, with the result that I slid sideways down the hill. Landing on a Confederate Rose and the light pole I came to a stop, but couldn't get out. I stayed there, trapped and cold, but unharmed until help arrived. I can only imagine what could have happened had I really lost control, missed the pole and the bush and careered down into a big tree at a greater rate of speed. Blessings come in interesting ways.

Take care out there, wherever you are. We've got to watch after one another--life, each moment of it, is precious to us all.

It's a great day for America--hooray for President Obama!

November 6--such a day it was. My candidate for president won and I couldn't be happier. One dark spot or blemish is Florida, my home state. I worry that what was once a forward-looking place has become a drudge filled with trickery and misdeeds in the world of politics. I was there when George Bush slid into office, and remember the sickened feeling in my belly; its one of the reasons I finally left the place of my birth and have been reluctant to return.  There is no excuse of any kind for our voting conditions to be anything but as honest, professional and mechanically up-to-date as possible.  This is not the America of the thirties, folks--it's 2012!

 I voted early this year, enjoying the camaraderie of my fellow Americans in the basement of our old courthouse. The line was long, but it was busy and felt almost like a party. In a way it was a party--a joyous occasion in which we had the opportunity to have our say.  Several children were there with their parents, eagerly asking questions about the process, while some voters were quiet and pensive. Some chatted all the way to the voting box, but once in, their voices still in concentration.  I had the feeling I was in a nest of Republicans, but I didn't care--we were there to exercise our rights as citizens. I believe the best man won, but many others were downcast this morning.   I feel for them because I know they believe their path to be the right one. I don't know that mine is right, but I believe it is best.

I would have supported Romney had he won, but I'm glad he didn't.  No matter what he said or did, or perhaps because of what he said and did...I couldn't identify with him. There was a strong feeling that he was just a party animal, and some things he said didn't seem as though they belonged in his mouth. I couldn't understand why the man who got healthcare reform passed in Massachusetts refused it for the rest of us...and why some folks couldn't see that corporations like his are so far removed from ordinary people (and no, corporations are not a person--they are composed of many, many people who usually have no idea what they own, and are directed by those who do) that we are faceless beings--the masses of humanity. How else could the atrocities of the big-business Bush administration have occurred?

The next four years won't be a picnic I'm sure. We need a saint with wisdom and a big stick to meld the drastic differences of opinion that exist among us. I don't know that President Obama is a saint, but I believe in him and support him all the way. He's started too many good things to stop them mid-stream. Join me now, and let's move forward to make our America the place of unity and good will.