Podcast-Part 2

The second part of the podcast about the Massacre is up now  HERE.  I was pleased that they chose to end with my reading from the prologue of Crows.

If you missed the first part, find it OVER HERE.

                   

Long Time Gone

Leave it be, she said when Corley went to haul it off,
Thinking to spare his mama some pain.
Directly after the snow melted,  he'd brought his team around,
Hooked the big gray mules to the front bumper.
It ain't no trouble, Mama. I kin haul it down to Allen's-

Leave it be, she said, I told you, Leave it be. 

Over fifty years ago, that was, the March that big snow came.
She'd waded at sun up through the high-piled drifts
To find her man laying across the seat, 
An empty jar of white likker on the floor board,
And him, her man, frosted with rime ice.. 
Dead as a hammer. 

He always was bad to drink, or so the neighbors said,
But she pretended not to know and he wouldn't bring it in the house.
That last night, in all that snow, he'd stepped out to his car for a little sup,
Turned on the engine  to get the warmth of the heater . . .
Another sup, and another. . .
Inside the house, she blew out the last lamp.
And all the while the wind blew and the snow fell . . .

Smothered to death, is what the neighbors said,
Once snow covered up the tail pipe and the motor still running . . .
They shook their heads, whispering,
And her in the house, not but a few steps away. . .

She lived another twenty-some years, watching that car rust,

While the house fell to pieces around her.

Corley tried his best to keep the place up but she'd have none of it,

Leave it be,  she'd say. I told you, Leave it be.

This was inspired by an incident from Sheila Kay Adams's book Come Go Home With Me...  I'm not done with it -- it may need to be a short story.

More About Sodom

  The Church of the Little Flower sits catty-cornered across the road from a Baptist church. Jane, a Sodom-raised acquaintance of mine told me her memory of how the young people there at the Catholic church for mass would hear the Baptist congregation begin to sing and would squirm on the hard benches, eager for the Latin service to be over so they could dart across the road and join in the Baptist singing.

Singing's important in Sodom. This little community is the home place of ballad singers who preserve the old songs their forebears brought over from England, Scotland, and Ireland.

Sheila Kay Adams is one of the seventh generation to sing  those stories of love and death.  She's a talented musician and storyteller and her "Come Go Home with Me" is a series of charming vignettes, from funny to heart breaking,  about growing up in Sodom back in the Sixties.

Sheila tells a delightful story about religion in Sodom.  First she and all the other kids would go to the Church of the Little Flower, where the service was all incomprehensible Latin. As soon as that was over, on to the Baptist Church where, though the service was in English, the pastor had no teeth, which made his words equally unintelligible.

"We all grew up, " says Sheila, " thinking that religion was one of the great mysteries of life that we mere mortals weren't supposed to understand."

 

Our Movie Star Cow

This is Poco, the Jersey cow that wanted to be a star.

 

The movie SONGCATCHER (2000)  was being filmed in our neck of the woods and they were looking for a milk cow to decorate the set and be part of a scene with Aidan Quinn. One day we got a call from the person in charge of such things, saying that they'd heard we had an attractive milk cow and they'd like to rent her for two or three weeks.

We weren't milking her at the time -- she was just lounging about the pasture -- so we were quick to agree. The money they offered made it well worth our while to put her on a trailer and haul her to where they were shooting. 

But they didn't want her yet,

'We'll give you a call when we need her,' said the people who came out to look her over. (They readily agreed that she was the best looking of the several milk cows they'd auditioned.

A few days, maybe a week, went by. Then, quite early one morning, the call came. They wanted her on set in about an hour. 

'On set' was about an hour away and we hadn't even eaten breakfast.  Plus, Poco was in the pasture and would have to be rounded up and loaded on the trailer.

But in record time, we were on our way to the base camp of the secluded location where they were shooting that day. As we pulled in, several harried-looking people  greeted us, helped unload the cow, and quickly switched her nylon halter for a leather one.
 
The animal wrangler took hold of her halter and they started up the road. The odd thing was that Poco was pulling him along as if she know just where she was going.

We were told that we'd get a call in a couple of weeks when they were done shooting and we could come get pick her up then.  (We were not invited to meet Mr. Quinn.)

Imagine our surprise when a day later we got a call. 'Come get your cow -- this isn't working out.'

Back we went, imagining the worst. But there was Poco, serenely chewing her cud in the ramshackle little stall they had for her at base camp. What happened to the two to three weeks? we wanted to know.

Well, they said, they had trouble keeping her down at base camp when she wasn't needed up on the set. Seems like she kept breaking loose and running back up the road to where they were shooting.

And even worse, our cow was a scene stealer. Her big moment was a scene where she was being milked while Aidan Quinn and his leading lady were having an argument of sorts. Evidently, rather than standing there cow-like and inconspicuous as the argument went on, Poco kept swiveling her head back and forth between the two stars as they spoke -- ludicrously like a fan at a tennis match..

As I imagine it, Aidan Quinn, in a fit of temperament, stamped his foot and said, 'Either the cow goes or I'm outta here!'

Poco's still in the movie though -- for about thirty seconds in the milking scene. Don't blink or you'll miss her.

(Apart from the cow, the movie is well worth watching for the beautiful scenery and the music! If you're wondering what the Appalachian dialect sounds like, it's done pretty well here -- most especially with the young girl who sings the old ballads. 

She was coached by my friend Sheila Kay Adams, seventh generation ballad singer. Shelia's also in the movie, playing the banjo and kicking a drunk off the stage in the dance scene.)

 The winner of the drawing over at Buried Under Books was Reader Wil!  Congratulations, Wil! 

And for the rest of you, there'll be another chance on the 27th when I visit Meanderings and Muses for my third stop on the Blog Tour! --  

At the Blue Ridge Book and Author Showcase

Yesterday was a wonderful day and an exceptionally well-run festival, thanks to dedicated organizers and volunteers. I did my usual rambling presentation to a very nice group who asked thoughtful, intelligent questions at the end; I got to see lots of friends and acquaintances -- including more than a few of my ex-students who say they're still writing away (very gratifying!)

And I had the pleasure of seeing three of my favorite writers doing their presentations!

Sharyn McCrumb was the keynote speaker and by the time I got there, the place was packed. I stood at the back -- too far away to get a decent picture. Sharyn is always a fascinating speaker and this time she had a lot to say about the universality of folk tales -- how the same story -- for example, the story of the human taken to Fairyland who returns home only to find that years, rather than days, have passed. Sharyn told a Japanese fairy tale with this theme and went on to reference the Dutch Rip Van Winkle and the old Scots ballad of Thomas the Rymer. I loved this because I've used a variation of this same story -- turning it into a Cherokee tale -- in The Day of Small Things.

Later in the morning came Sheila Kay Adams (and this link will take you to some of her stories and music). I've known Sheila a long time and always loved her story-telling, her ballad singing, her banjo playing, and, oh yes, she writes as well. Every bit as well.

This was a bittersweet performance as Sheila's husband Jim died just a few months ago and when she spoke of him and sang his favorite song, we were all close to tears. But like the strong mountain woman she is, Sheila has taken her grief and turned it to love and grace and beauty.

Another great treat was listening to Kathryn Stripling Byer, the Poet Laureate of North Carolina, read her poems. Kay has done a wonderful job bringing poetry, her own and that of others, to a whole new audience.

Reading poetry to oneself is a quiet pleasure; hearing the poet him/herself perform the poems adds a whole new dimension. Kay reads with a heartfelt earnestness that makes the poems extremely accessible -- I find myself thinking 'Yes, that's how I remember it. She just says it better."

When the day was ended, I went to dinner with Carol (of Writers Porch), Gary, and Kathryn Magendie and the talk turned to ghosts and hauntings and shadow men and all manner of neat stuff.

It was a fine day. And the folks in charge of the Showcase are already making plans for next year (June 5, I think I heard someone say.) Well worth putting on your calendar!

And a Happy Mothers Day to all !

Old Christmas Eve

Here in the mountains they used to celebrate Old Christmas. Other folks know January 6 as Epiphany or Three Kings Day, commemorating the coming of the Wise Men to Bethlehem.

But memories were long in the isolated coves and hollers of the Appalachians -- and the English and Scots-Irish settlers brought with them from Great Britain the tradition of Old Christmas.

Ever since England's Parliament passed the the Calendar Act of 1751 in which the Gregorian Calendar replaced the Julian, lopping off 11 days, the date for Christmas, said the traditionalists, was out of whack. The real Christmas, they maintained, was the old Christmas-- January 6.

Fair and Tender Ladies, Lee Smith's pretty-near perfect novel about Ivy Rowe, was my first introduction to Old Christmas Eve, when the tiny, almost magical Cline sisters skitter over the snow like waterbugs to visit Ivy's family, as was their custom every January 5th, and sit up all night telling stories.

On Old Christmas Eve, says Ivy Rowe, "alder buds will bust and leaf out, and bees will roar in a bee gum . . .'

One of the loveliest beliefs about Old Christmas is told in "The Christmas Miracle" from the Sheila Kay Adams story collection Come Go Home With Me. Sheila is The Real Thing -- born to the seventh generation of a ballad-singing mountain family -- and she tells of going to the barn with her grandfather to see if the animals all really knelt down and prayed at midnight as they were said to do.

Both of these books are absolutely marvelous reads, especially for anyone with a fondness for Southern Appalachia.

And you might want to stay up till midnight . . . just to see what your animals are doing.