I originally set out to do a research project on a wide range of Appalachian religions, but I found that overwhelming and narrowed it down to Christianity in Appalachia. And when I gathered together all of the information I'd acquired on it and gave it a look, I discovered that it was largely lopsided. I’d subconsciously gravitated toward one sect in particular in my research: The Church of God with Signs Following, the original serpent-handling church.
I was aware that it was the stereotypical thing to do, but I focused my report completely on the notorious practice. I knew that I was contributing to the prejudice against the area and supporting the world’s view of us as eccentric hillbillies in my own small way, but I couldn’t help myself. Stereotypes are interesting!
Where would this state be without our rowdy reputation for snake-handling, moonshining, and all around law-breaking? What would we have? These stereotypes, exaggerated and negative as they may be, are our history. Without them we have no flavor; we’re just another bland state that nobody talks about.
So when people gripe about Appalachia's negative portrayal in literature and on television (as I’ve read in criticisms of the Kentucky Cycle and television shows like the Beverly Hillbillies), it irks me. Should we instead advertise the unbearable normalcy here? Because I think that would be worse.
-Emma
This is the Appalachian essay of folklore that I've written in parallel to Taryn's essay. It is also written multi-genre, but I've tended to focus more on the story aspects of Appalachia rather than information. I've written everything but the all-capitalized song "True Story."
Folklore of Appalachia
Monsters of Paranoia
Oh God,
Can't sleep,
Haven't slept all week.
It's like my mind's a wild house
And the party's hitting peak.
I shift,
I turn,
Like a freshly salted worm
Attempting for that spot
Not too cold and not too warm.
I roll,
Although,
Then I'm facing the window
It sure is black outside
But there're two things set aglow.
Oh yeah,
That's right,
Two incandescent streetlights.
They're kinda flickering
And they complement the night.
They're so,
Pretty,
Their flickering's a pity.
I stare at the two lights
Until a glorious sleep hits me.
Alarm,
Please no,
I get up tired and slow.
Did I really fall asleep?
I look out my open window.
What's that?
Oh God,
That's really frickin' odd
My windowsill's all ruined
Like the wood was scratched and clawed.
Beyond,
Repair,
I'm kind of getting scared.
And now looking at my street,
I could've sworn two lights were there.
Mothman Sightings
The legend of the Mothman is not too unknown in West Virginia, most notably Point Pleasant. In fact, Pont Pleasant even holds annual Mothman festivals, a Mothman Museum and Research Center, and a twelve-foot-tall metallic statue of the being. Point Pleasant definitely prides itself in its correlation with the Mothman.
Ever since two couples in 1966 saw a “flying man with ten-foot wings and glowing-red eyes” following their car, other sightings spurred up in the newspaper as well. Over the next few days, more people reported similar sightings, describing the same general appearance—“large bird with red eyes,” “like bicycle reflectors.” After the collapse of the Silver Bridge in 1967 (the resulting death of forty six people), no more Mothman sightings were reported, and rumors spread that the Mothman and the collapsed bridge were related.
Skeptics argue that the Sandhill Crane, a crane almost as tall as a man with a seven-foot wingspan and reddish coloring around the eyes, could have temporarily strayed off its migration route and been mistaken by some as the Mothman. However, even today, sightings of the Mothman continue.
Dear Jeff Wamsley,
I have recently discovered your website and want to share to you an experience with the “Mothman” that might be of interest. It isn’t a personal tale of mine, but one of my aunt’s. Now,
my aunt is a very big believer in the paranormal, so it’s not uncommon of her to report her old, crickety house as a victim of ghost activity but she’s never claimed something like what I am about to tell you.
My aunt Gloria was washing dishes in her kitchen late at night when she happened to look out of the window and see two red dots, small but very close to each other. She didn’t know what it could be—no vehicles would be in her kitchen window’s line of sight, and no other possible sources of red light would shine like that from a distance. She retrieved her husband and showed him the red lights, and he went out onto their porch thinking it was some sort of animal to chase away: a coyote or cat or bird of some sort. However, when he went out there the two red dots were already gone, and nothing unusual was left in its place.
The next day, their dog was found on their porch, dead, not even bleeding. A trip to the vet concluded that the dog was strangled.
I have no idea if these strange events would be related to the Mothman in any way, but our family does get spooked when my aunt retells this story. After viewing your site and reading other peoples’ experiences, I might even start to believe my aunt’s little experience with the Mothman…
Sincerely, Leticia F.
True Story
SOMETHING AWFUL HAPPENED HERE,
NOT SO LONG AGO
SOMETHING AWFUL HAPPENED HERE
THAT YOU SHOULD KNOW
SEEMS LIKE SUCH A QUIET PLACE
WITH NOTHIN’ MUCH TO DO,
TRUE STORY—BLACKSMITH LOST HIS BRIDE!
TRUE STORY—WOULDN’T LEAVE HER SIDE.
WHOO, GLORY! AWFUL HOW HE CRIED.
TRUE, OOH, OOH, OOH—
WOULD I LIE TO YOU?
BLACKSMITH WASN’T HERE A WEEK,
SO THE TALE WAS TOLD.
MET A GIRL YOU'D NOT CALL MEEK,
EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD.
MAYBE THEY WERE MEANT TO MEET
BEFORE THE MONTH WAS THROUGH
TOO BAD THERE’S NOT A WITNESS
WHO CAN TELL US WHAT IS
TRUE STORY—BLACKSMITH LOST HIS BRIDE!
TRUE STORY—WOULDN’T LEAVE HER SIDE.
WHOO, GLORY! FAR TOO YOUNG SHE DIED.
TRUE, OOH, OOH, OOH—
WOULD I LIE TO YOU?
GO AS FAR AS MEADOW BLUFF,
OUT TO LIVESAY’S MILL,
DOWN A PIECE FROM CATTAIL KNOB,
UP SKEETER HILL,
FOLKS ALL KNOW THE TRAGIC TALE
WE'RE HERE TO TELL TO YOU.
WE MAY ALL TELL IT DIFFERENT, BUT
EXCEPT THE PARTS THAT WE FORGOT
EXCEPT THE PARTS THAT WE CANNOT SAY
EXCEPT THE PARTS WE’LL NEVER KNOW
EXCEPT THE PARTS THAT WE MADE UP,
IT’S ABSOLUTELY
TRUE STORY—BLACKSMITH LOST HIS BRIDE!
TRUE STORY—WOULDN’T LEAVE HER SIDE.
WHOO, GLORY! TRUTH WON’T BE DENIED
Greenbrier Ghost
The Greenbrier Ghost is famous for her “testimony of a ghost” at her murder trial. Zona Heaster Shue married a blacksmith named Edward, and one year later Zona’s corpse was found by a young boy. Zona’s husband Edward seemed to show much grievance over his wife’s death, and even though she had bruising on her neck, Edward insisted her death must have been caused by childbirth.
However, Zona’s mother, Mary, had always suspected Edward killed her daughter. Mary prayed for weeks for guidance and the chance to speak to her daughter again. Four weeks after Zona’s wedding, Mary claims that her daughter visited her in a dream, in which Zona explains that Edward snapped her neck—and demonstrates by twisting her neck completely around until it was facing backwards.
Desperate for justice, Mary pleaded the local prosecutor to reopen the case of her daughter’s death. After hours of convincing, he dispatched deputies to re-interview people related to the case and a more thorough autopsy to be performed on the body; Edward “vigorously complained” about the re-examination of his wife’s corpse. The three-hour autopsy proved that Zona’s neck really was broken and her windpipe was mashed; her throat had bruises and marks in the shape of fingers and the ligaments were torn.
Edward was arrested for murdering Zona. At the trial, Mary testified that her daughter had haunted her and informed her of the murder, and the jury didn’t disregard her stories. Edward was consequently found guilty of murder.
The legend of the Greenbrier Ghost was made into a major stage adaptation; a musical called, The Greenbrier Ghost, which is where the above song (True Story) is from. A state historical marker is near the cemetery in which Zona is buried, and it reads:
“Interred in nearby cemetery is Zona Heaster Shue. Her death in 1897 was presumed natural until her spirit appeared to her mother to describe how she was killed by her husband Edward. Autopsy on the exhumed body verified the apparition’s account. Edward, found guilty of murder, was sentenced to the state prison. Only known case in which testimony from a ghost helped convict a murderer.”
Blennerhassett Hotel
The Blennerhassett Hotel, opened in 1889, can be found at Parkersburg, Wood County, West Virginia, and is listed in the National Register of Historic Places. This hotel is infamous for several ghosts associated with it; including William N. Chancellor, the man who built it. Customers staying here have reported smelling cigar smoke or seeing cigar smoke when there was no source of the smoke. Elevators will often open on the wrong floor and keep stopping and opening on the second floor even when the button has not been pushed; people have tied this to repeatedly seeing a man dressed in a grey suit pacing the second floor hallways. In the Blennerhassett Hotel’s library, books will fall off of their shelves with no provocation. The doors in the hotel open and close and sometimes get stuck.
Many customers and employees in the hotel report some sort of paranormal activity, and it’s not uncommon to capture orbs or faint faces with cameras and film.
Haunted footsteps step-step nearer,
Orbs that cameras can see through,
Tortured faces in the mirrors,
Elevators stuck on level two,
Listen more and you might hear her,
Softly speaking just to you.
Monsters of Paranoia
Oh God,
Can't sleep,
Haven't slept all week.
It's like my mind's a wild house
And the party's hitting peak.
I shift,
I turn,
Like a freshly salted worm
Attempting for that spot
Not too cold and not too warm.
I roll,
Although,
Then I'm facing the window
It sure is black outside
But there're two things set aglow.
Oh yeah,
That's right,
Two incandescent streetlights.
They're kinda flickering
And they complement the night.
They're so,
Pretty,
Their flickering's a pity.
I stare at the two lights
Until a glorious sleep hits me.
Alarm,
Please no,
I get up tired and slow.
Did I really fall asleep?
I look out my open window.
What's that?
Oh God,
That's really frickin' odd
My windowsill's all ruined
Like the wood was scratched and clawed.
Beyond,
Repair,
I'm kind of getting scared.
And now looking at my street,
I could've sworn two lights were there.
Mothman Sightings
The legend of the Mothman is not too unknown in West Virginia, most notably Point Pleasant. In fact, Pont Pleasant even holds annual Mothman festivals, a Mothman Museum and Research Center, and a twelve-foot-tall metallic statue of the being. Point Pleasant definitely prides itself in its correlation with the Mothman.
Ever since two couples in 1966 saw a “flying man with ten-foot wings and glowing-red eyes” following their car, other sightings spurred up in the newspaper as well. Over the next few days, more people reported similar sightings, describing the same general appearance—“large bird with red eyes,” “like bicycle reflectors.” After the collapse of the Silver Bridge in 1967 (the resulting death of forty six people), no more Mothman sightings were reported, and rumors spread that the Mothman and the collapsed bridge were related.
Skeptics argue that the Sandhill Crane, a crane almost as tall as a man with a seven-foot wingspan and reddish coloring around the eyes, could have temporarily strayed off its migration route and been mistaken by some as the Mothman. However, even today, sightings of the Mothman continue.
Dear Jeff Wamsley,
I have recently discovered your website and want to share to you an experience with the “Mothman” that might be of interest. It isn’t a personal tale of mine, but one of my aunt’s. Now,
my aunt is a very big believer in the paranormal, so it’s not uncommon of her to report her old, crickety house as a victim of ghost activity but she’s never claimed something like what I am about to tell you.
My aunt Gloria was washing dishes in her kitchen late at night when she happened to look out of the window and see two red dots, small but very close to each other. She didn’t know what it could be—no vehicles would be in her kitchen window’s line of sight, and no other possible sources of red light would shine like that from a distance. She retrieved her husband and showed him the red lights, and he went out onto their porch thinking it was some sort of animal to chase away: a coyote or cat or bird of some sort. However, when he went out there the two red dots were already gone, and nothing unusual was left in its place.
The next day, their dog was found on their porch, dead, not even bleeding. A trip to the vet concluded that the dog was strangled.
I have no idea if these strange events would be related to the Mothman in any way, but our family does get spooked when my aunt retells this story. After viewing your site and reading other peoples’ experiences, I might even start to believe my aunt’s little experience with the Mothman…
Sincerely, Leticia F.
True Story
SOMETHING AWFUL HAPPENED HERE,
NOT SO LONG AGO
SOMETHING AWFUL HAPPENED HERE
THAT YOU SHOULD KNOW
SEEMS LIKE SUCH A QUIET PLACE
WITH NOTHIN’ MUCH TO DO,
TRUE STORY—BLACKSMITH LOST HIS BRIDE!
TRUE STORY—WOULDN’T LEAVE HER SIDE.
WHOO, GLORY! AWFUL HOW HE CRIED.
TRUE, OOH, OOH, OOH—
WOULD I LIE TO YOU?
BLACKSMITH WASN’T HERE A WEEK,
SO THE TALE WAS TOLD.
MET A GIRL YOU'D NOT CALL MEEK,
EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD.
MAYBE THEY WERE MEANT TO MEET
BEFORE THE MONTH WAS THROUGH
TOO BAD THERE’S NOT A WITNESS
WHO CAN TELL US WHAT IS
TRUE STORY—BLACKSMITH LOST HIS BRIDE!
TRUE STORY—WOULDN’T LEAVE HER SIDE.
WHOO, GLORY! FAR TOO YOUNG SHE DIED.
TRUE, OOH, OOH, OOH—
WOULD I LIE TO YOU?
GO AS FAR AS MEADOW BLUFF,
OUT TO LIVESAY’S MILL,
DOWN A PIECE FROM CATTAIL KNOB,
UP SKEETER HILL,
FOLKS ALL KNOW THE TRAGIC TALE
WE'RE HERE TO TELL TO YOU.
WE MAY ALL TELL IT DIFFERENT, BUT
EXCEPT THE PARTS THAT WE FORGOT
EXCEPT THE PARTS THAT WE CANNOT SAY
EXCEPT THE PARTS WE’LL NEVER KNOW
EXCEPT THE PARTS THAT WE MADE UP,
IT’S ABSOLUTELY
TRUE STORY—BLACKSMITH LOST HIS BRIDE!
TRUE STORY—WOULDN’T LEAVE HER SIDE.
WHOO, GLORY! TRUTH WON’T BE DENIED
Greenbrier Ghost
The Greenbrier Ghost is famous for her “testimony of a ghost” at her murder trial. Zona Heaster Shue married a blacksmith named Edward, and one year later Zona’s corpse was found by a young boy. Zona’s husband Edward seemed to show much grievance over his wife’s death, and even though she had bruising on her neck, Edward insisted her death must have been caused by childbirth.
However, Zona’s mother, Mary, had always suspected Edward killed her daughter. Mary prayed for weeks for guidance and the chance to speak to her daughter again. Four weeks after Zona’s wedding, Mary claims that her daughter visited her in a dream, in which Zona explains that Edward snapped her neck—and demonstrates by twisting her neck completely around until it was facing backwards.
Desperate for justice, Mary pleaded the local prosecutor to reopen the case of her daughter’s death. After hours of convincing, he dispatched deputies to re-interview people related to the case and a more thorough autopsy to be performed on the body; Edward “vigorously complained” about the re-examination of his wife’s corpse. The three-hour autopsy proved that Zona’s neck really was broken and her windpipe was mashed; her throat had bruises and marks in the shape of fingers and the ligaments were torn.
Edward was arrested for murdering Zona. At the trial, Mary testified that her daughter had haunted her and informed her of the murder, and the jury didn’t disregard her stories. Edward was consequently found guilty of murder.
The legend of the Greenbrier Ghost was made into a major stage adaptation; a musical called, The Greenbrier Ghost, which is where the above song (True Story) is from. A state historical marker is near the cemetery in which Zona is buried, and it reads:
“Interred in nearby cemetery is Zona Heaster Shue. Her death in 1897 was presumed natural until her spirit appeared to her mother to describe how she was killed by her husband Edward. Autopsy on the exhumed body verified the apparition’s account. Edward, found guilty of murder, was sentenced to the state prison. Only known case in which testimony from a ghost helped convict a murderer.”
Blennerhassett Hotel
The Blennerhassett Hotel, opened in 1889, can be found at Parkersburg, Wood County, West Virginia, and is listed in the National Register of Historic Places. This hotel is infamous for several ghosts associated with it; including William N. Chancellor, the man who built it. Customers staying here have reported smelling cigar smoke or seeing cigar smoke when there was no source of the smoke. Elevators will often open on the wrong floor and keep stopping and opening on the second floor even when the button has not been pushed; people have tied this to repeatedly seeing a man dressed in a grey suit pacing the second floor hallways. In the Blennerhassett Hotel’s library, books will fall off of their shelves with no provocation. The doors in the hotel open and close and sometimes get stuck.
Many customers and employees in the hotel report some sort of paranormal activity, and it’s not uncommon to capture orbs or faint faces with cameras and film.
Haunted footsteps step-step nearer,
Orbs that cameras can see through,
Tortured faces in the mirrors,
Elevators stuck on level two,
Listen more and you might hear her,
Softly speaking just to you.
Haley
Appalachian Folklore -- Taryn
on Thursday, December 8, 2011
The following is an Appalachian folklore multigenre project I put together. Multigenres incorporate various styles of writing and creatively mesh them into a themed paper. My project was originally formatted for Microsoft Word, and therefore it has lost some of its original formatting. Since Blogger's font tools are fighting with me, I've capitalized the titles of each section. The alignment is off as well, and what few pictures I had refused to show up -- but my project is still quite readable; enjoy. :]
The two things I didn't write are the Omie Wise ballad and John Hardy song.
The two things I didn't write are the Omie Wise ballad and John Hardy song.
Appalachian Folklore
the interesting to abnormal
the past to modern
the tale to real
November 2011
THE BEAST OR--
November 15 of 1966, and for days to come, an exquisite figure appears before numerous people; the descriptions given resemble a creature larger than a human with a much more intimidating presence. A silent beast, its dark figure watches at a distance with large eyes protruding from its daunting body; a head is not significantly visible in the leering darkness of the night that this beast prefers to reside within. At the most random of moments – yet preferably at the onset of humans passing in vehicles during late hours – the creature extends wings from its body and ascends into the air; it takes such a graceful, steady flight, only making the scene more surreal.
January 11, the creature takes to the air once more to make an appearance by the Silver Bridge – the creature feels the age of the bridge’s massive build; he hears the silent groans as it struggles to withstand the burden cast upon it day by day until alas, in December, the bridge exhausts itself along with 46 lives – and the existence of the Mothman.
--THE BIRD
An exquisite creature of beauty, its tall build, lengthy wingspan provides an intimidating weapon in the case of predators. Emphasizing its eyes are red feathers atop its head. And as its friends fly to warmer climates, he is left behind to find himself in a state of confusion and excessive caution as food becomes scarce and the days become colder. The onset of winter puts him into a fit of desperation – there is no time for rest, and even in the night, when foul and roaring beasts with brightly blinding eyes tear through the world, he must search for food and companionship to survive the harshness of his changing environment. Nothing compares to the fear of being caught in the light of the eyes of those foul beasts, and only when sense returns may our friend realize the notion to stop staring into them and take flight – his wings can save him; and shall he soar through daylight as his desperation grows may he come across a massive structure that carries the very same foul beasts he witnesses in the dark. Lithe wings carry him above it, but there is nothing there for him except a sight of the beasts below, and he descends to the ground – and as death takes its toll on him during the harsh winter, no one shall take notice of the demise of the lonely Sandhill Crane.
GAP CREEK SHACK
In Tennessee around Gap Creek, a man is wary from travel. He wills himself to the next town before resting, but his perseverance is washed away as rain begins to fall, with thunder and lightning shaking the sky soon after. The man’s only hope now is a shack in the distance; through the rain pouring in the darkness he can make out lights within the shack, and a feeling of small hope for a night with food and a comfortable place to sleep guides him through the gloom toward shelter. A knock on the door is answered by a burly man; behind him are other men, and they all smoke cigars that choke the air. Sitting around a craggy, weak table, the men play cards. The traveler’s hope sizzles quickly away as the man carelessly lets him inside but proclaims there is no food. The man – and only him, for the others pay the traveler no mind – grants him permission to sleep in the other room in a bed with the woman they are traveling with. “But do not touch her, for she is ill,” he states, and joins his friends in their card game.
The traveler attempts sleep for hours but can only manage the slightest drift into unconsciousness. Alas, when the storm lets up does the man recognize the prominence of silence in the room despite his own breathing – and only his. He rolls over in bed to finally face the woman he has laid beside for hours only to find a bullet wound in her head; her skin is fleshy and gray with grimy, dry eyes that stare blankly at the ceiling.
The traveler, frightened and disgusted, flees the shack; the men are gone, and when the traveler returns later with the nearest town’s sheriff, even the woman is gone along with signs that anyone had been in the shack at all for many years.
FLINTVILLE BEAST
“There's a bigfoot attacking cars and trying to snatch little children in the Tennessee foothills.”
“That thing's so big it could easily hurt somebody. Who knows how many head of our livestock have gone missing because of it?''
-Ned Sinclair, farmer
``It was 7 or 8 feet tall and seemed to be all covered with hair. It reached out its long, hairy arms toward Gary and came within a few inches of him.''
-Mrs. Robertson on her child’s near capture
“A black, hairy, and screaming ape-like creature.”
-common description given by witnesses
JOHN HENRY
An African American slave with exceptional strength, he is known for his gift of “steel-driving.” His fame grew with his ability to quickly build railroads, but is put to the test when a railroad owner buys a steam-powered hammer. He challenges the machine to a race, and wins, yet dies soon after from exhaustion.
It is believed the John Henry was born in Tennessee, but there is debate as to which railroads John Henry worked on and the one he raced on. Some say the race against the steam hammer occurred while Henry worked along the Chesapeake and Ohio Railway; others claim he raced during the construction of the Big Bend tunnel near Talcott, West Virginia. Talcott holds an annual festival for Henry and has a statue and plaque dedicated to his memory. But Scott Reynolds Nelson, professor at the College of William and Mary, claims John Henry, a prisoner in a Virginia penitentiary who was released by the warden to work on the C&O Railroad in the 1870s, is the base of the John Henry legend. He points out that a steam drill race at the Big Bend in Talcott is impossible for there are no records of a steam drill ever being used there. Nelson confirms his belief that the battle between Henry and the drill took place at the Lewis Tunnel, between Talcott and Millboro, Virginia; there, prison slaves had worked beside steam drills.
THE BALLAD OF OMIE WISE
Stories claim that Naomie “Omie” Wise was murdered by her lover, Jonathan Lewis; Omie’s body was found beaten in a river in Asheboro, North Carolina, where she had drowned in a river. Lewis was jailed but escaped; after being caught several years later and put on trial, he was found not guilty and was once again free. On his death bed he confessed to the murder of Omie. Her story is told through a ballad:
I'll tell you the history of little Omie Wise
How she was deluded by John Lewis' lies
He told her to meet him at the Hellington Spring
He'd bring her some money and other fine things
But when she did meet him at the Hellington Spring
He brought her no money nor other fine things
Said, "Climb up behind me and away we will go
We'll ride and be married where the old folks won't know
She climbed up behind him and away they did go
Down through the lonesome valley where the deep waters flow
"Get down from behind me and I'll tell you no lie
My mind is to drown you and leave you behind
She threw her arms around him she was so surprised
"Oh, let me go beggin' if I can't be your bride."
He hugged her and he kissed her and he looked all around
He threw her in deep waters where he knew that she would drown
Then he mounted his pony and away he did go
Back through the lonesome valley where the deep waters flow
JOHN HARDY
This folk song of John Hardy is based on the tale of a railroad worker who murdered a man and was hanged for the crime.
John Hardy was a desperate little man,
He carried two guns ev'ry day.
He shot down a man on that West Virginia line,
You oughta seen John Hardy gettin' away....
You oughta seen John Hardy gettin' away....
John Hardy stood in that old baroom,
So drunk that he could not see.
And a man walked up and took him by the arm,
He said, "Johnny, come and go along with me,
Poor boy, Johnny, come and walk along with me."
John Hardy stood in his old jail cell,
The tears running down from his eyes.
He said, "I've been the death of many a poor boy.
But my six-shooters never told a lie,
No, my six-shooters never told a lie.
The first one to visit John Hardy in his cell
Was a little girl dressed in blue.
She came down to that old jail cell,
She said, "Johnny, I've been true to you.
God knows, Johnny, I've been true to you."
The next one to visit John Hardy in his cell,
Was a little girl dressed in red.
She came down to that old jail cell,
She said, "Johnny, I had rather see you dead,
Well, Johnny, I had rather see you dead."
"I've been to the East and I've been to the West,
I've traveled this wide world around,
I've been to that river and I've been baptized,
So take me to my burying ground,
So take me to my burying ground."
John Hardy was a desperate little man,
He carried two guns ev'ry day.
He shot down a man on the West Virginia line,
You oughta seen John Hardy gettin' away,
You oughta seen John Hardy gettin' away.
THE JACKS OF APPALACHIA
Foolish, poor, feeble,
A boy with a flair for thrill:
Tales of lucky Jack
Jack and the Beanstalk--
Glorious and high,
A giant resides aloft
As guard from Jack’s greed
Bountiful in mystery
Elegant in build
Annoying in whereabouts
Noticeable by the nosey
Stature strong enough for a boy
Towers through the clouds
And leads to another place, a
Land of giants who are
Killed when chopped down
Stubborn and a fool,
Sold away a steer for beans;
Cast away, they grew
Jack the Giant Killer--
Quick, cunning, with smarts,
Traps a giant and kills him;
Most loved is the pride
Greedy for glory,
Jack tricks a giant to stab
Himself from disgrace
Despite greedy ways
Admired for cunning mind
Tales sift through mountains
AN ASTROLOGICAL GUIDE TO FARMERS
Aries: For ground preparation, beets and onions, and hunting; dare not transplant other crops.
Taurus: All root and above ground crops are in luck, and feel free to hunt and fish
Gemini: Plant anything, and get your preserving for jellies and pickles done
Cancer: Stick with above ground and root crops; cook and fish fruitfully
Leo: Take a break from the farm and try some sports, finding a partner or job, and hunt – just don’t plant
Virgo: Trade, not plant
Libra: Time for above ground crops and things that flower.
Scorpio: Flowering things and above ground crops; fishing and hunting recommended.
Sagittarius: Get a job, trade some crops, bake goodies, and preserve food.
Capricorn: Time for root crops
Aquarius: Take a break from the farm for some social events; if you mustn’t, try some ground crops.
Pisces: Plant, transplant above ground crops, trees, and shrubbery; the husbands can fish, wives wean your babies
Other tips: For planting above ground crops, the most bountiful harvests derive from planting while the moon is waxing; for below ground crops, plant while the moon is waning.
MOUNTAIN MAGIC: A BRIEF
INTRODUCTION TO GRANNY WITCHES
The magic amidst our mountains is full of tradition passed down among Appalachian families for many centuries; it has faded slightly with the modernizing world, yet it still finds itself prominent within our culture. The witches among us who have richly embraced themselves within the art of Granny Magic go by the title Witch Doctors or Water Witches, depending on the basis of magic they are most gifted in. Our traditions are based off the ideas of Paganism; Mother Nature, Jack Frost, Father Winter, Chloe, Spider Grandmother, and Demeter are several of the deities we worship for the balance and harmony they deliver to life.
Music finds itself having deep roots within magic; the majority of spells are sung and danced. For example, an Earth blessing meant to be sung during planting and harvesting is as follows:
A da we hi a ne he ne ha
Do hi u a iu ni
O lo hi a li ga lu lo hi u nah ta
Ga li e li ga O sa da du
Wise Protectors, they are so giving
Serenity, it resounds
Mother Earth and Father Sky are so giving
I am thankful, it is good
Divination is a popular practice among us. Tarot, tea leaves, clouds, and scrying in bowls of water, dirt, or sand play roles in predictions. The Cherokee Spider Grandmother Goddess leaves messages of fate, magic, weaving, art, and storytelling within spider webs.
In general, our magic traditions are pure and of healing and nature; it is an important aspect of our culture and the way we live each day.
the interesting to abnormal
the past to modern
the tale to real
November 2011
THE BEAST OR--
November 15 of 1966, and for days to come, an exquisite figure appears before numerous people; the descriptions given resemble a creature larger than a human with a much more intimidating presence. A silent beast, its dark figure watches at a distance with large eyes protruding from its daunting body; a head is not significantly visible in the leering darkness of the night that this beast prefers to reside within. At the most random of moments – yet preferably at the onset of humans passing in vehicles during late hours – the creature extends wings from its body and ascends into the air; it takes such a graceful, steady flight, only making the scene more surreal.
January 11, the creature takes to the air once more to make an appearance by the Silver Bridge – the creature feels the age of the bridge’s massive build; he hears the silent groans as it struggles to withstand the burden cast upon it day by day until alas, in December, the bridge exhausts itself along with 46 lives – and the existence of the Mothman.
--THE BIRD
An exquisite creature of beauty, its tall build, lengthy wingspan provides an intimidating weapon in the case of predators. Emphasizing its eyes are red feathers atop its head. And as its friends fly to warmer climates, he is left behind to find himself in a state of confusion and excessive caution as food becomes scarce and the days become colder. The onset of winter puts him into a fit of desperation – there is no time for rest, and even in the night, when foul and roaring beasts with brightly blinding eyes tear through the world, he must search for food and companionship to survive the harshness of his changing environment. Nothing compares to the fear of being caught in the light of the eyes of those foul beasts, and only when sense returns may our friend realize the notion to stop staring into them and take flight – his wings can save him; and shall he soar through daylight as his desperation grows may he come across a massive structure that carries the very same foul beasts he witnesses in the dark. Lithe wings carry him above it, but there is nothing there for him except a sight of the beasts below, and he descends to the ground – and as death takes its toll on him during the harsh winter, no one shall take notice of the demise of the lonely Sandhill Crane.
GAP CREEK SHACK
In Tennessee around Gap Creek, a man is wary from travel. He wills himself to the next town before resting, but his perseverance is washed away as rain begins to fall, with thunder and lightning shaking the sky soon after. The man’s only hope now is a shack in the distance; through the rain pouring in the darkness he can make out lights within the shack, and a feeling of small hope for a night with food and a comfortable place to sleep guides him through the gloom toward shelter. A knock on the door is answered by a burly man; behind him are other men, and they all smoke cigars that choke the air. Sitting around a craggy, weak table, the men play cards. The traveler’s hope sizzles quickly away as the man carelessly lets him inside but proclaims there is no food. The man – and only him, for the others pay the traveler no mind – grants him permission to sleep in the other room in a bed with the woman they are traveling with. “But do not touch her, for she is ill,” he states, and joins his friends in their card game.
The traveler attempts sleep for hours but can only manage the slightest drift into unconsciousness. Alas, when the storm lets up does the man recognize the prominence of silence in the room despite his own breathing – and only his. He rolls over in bed to finally face the woman he has laid beside for hours only to find a bullet wound in her head; her skin is fleshy and gray with grimy, dry eyes that stare blankly at the ceiling.
The traveler, frightened and disgusted, flees the shack; the men are gone, and when the traveler returns later with the nearest town’s sheriff, even the woman is gone along with signs that anyone had been in the shack at all for many years.
FLINTVILLE BEAST
“There's a bigfoot attacking cars and trying to snatch little children in the Tennessee foothills.”
“That thing's so big it could easily hurt somebody. Who knows how many head of our livestock have gone missing because of it?''
-Ned Sinclair, farmer
``It was 7 or 8 feet tall and seemed to be all covered with hair. It reached out its long, hairy arms toward Gary and came within a few inches of him.''
-Mrs. Robertson on her child’s near capture
“A black, hairy, and screaming ape-like creature.”
-common description given by witnesses
JOHN HENRY
An African American slave with exceptional strength, he is known for his gift of “steel-driving.” His fame grew with his ability to quickly build railroads, but is put to the test when a railroad owner buys a steam-powered hammer. He challenges the machine to a race, and wins, yet dies soon after from exhaustion.
It is believed the John Henry was born in Tennessee, but there is debate as to which railroads John Henry worked on and the one he raced on. Some say the race against the steam hammer occurred while Henry worked along the Chesapeake and Ohio Railway; others claim he raced during the construction of the Big Bend tunnel near Talcott, West Virginia. Talcott holds an annual festival for Henry and has a statue and plaque dedicated to his memory. But Scott Reynolds Nelson, professor at the College of William and Mary, claims John Henry, a prisoner in a Virginia penitentiary who was released by the warden to work on the C&O Railroad in the 1870s, is the base of the John Henry legend. He points out that a steam drill race at the Big Bend in Talcott is impossible for there are no records of a steam drill ever being used there. Nelson confirms his belief that the battle between Henry and the drill took place at the Lewis Tunnel, between Talcott and Millboro, Virginia; there, prison slaves had worked beside steam drills.
THE BALLAD OF OMIE WISE
Stories claim that Naomie “Omie” Wise was murdered by her lover, Jonathan Lewis; Omie’s body was found beaten in a river in Asheboro, North Carolina, where she had drowned in a river. Lewis was jailed but escaped; after being caught several years later and put on trial, he was found not guilty and was once again free. On his death bed he confessed to the murder of Omie. Her story is told through a ballad:
I'll tell you the history of little Omie Wise
How she was deluded by John Lewis' lies
He told her to meet him at the Hellington Spring
He'd bring her some money and other fine things
But when she did meet him at the Hellington Spring
He brought her no money nor other fine things
Said, "Climb up behind me and away we will go
We'll ride and be married where the old folks won't know
She climbed up behind him and away they did go
Down through the lonesome valley where the deep waters flow
"Get down from behind me and I'll tell you no lie
My mind is to drown you and leave you behind
She threw her arms around him she was so surprised
"Oh, let me go beggin' if I can't be your bride."
He hugged her and he kissed her and he looked all around
He threw her in deep waters where he knew that she would drown
Then he mounted his pony and away he did go
Back through the lonesome valley where the deep waters flow
JOHN HARDY
This folk song of John Hardy is based on the tale of a railroad worker who murdered a man and was hanged for the crime.
John Hardy was a desperate little man,
He carried two guns ev'ry day.
He shot down a man on that West Virginia line,
You oughta seen John Hardy gettin' away....
You oughta seen John Hardy gettin' away....
John Hardy stood in that old baroom,
So drunk that he could not see.
And a man walked up and took him by the arm,
He said, "Johnny, come and go along with me,
Poor boy, Johnny, come and walk along with me."
John Hardy stood in his old jail cell,
The tears running down from his eyes.
He said, "I've been the death of many a poor boy.
But my six-shooters never told a lie,
No, my six-shooters never told a lie.
The first one to visit John Hardy in his cell
Was a little girl dressed in blue.
She came down to that old jail cell,
She said, "Johnny, I've been true to you.
God knows, Johnny, I've been true to you."
The next one to visit John Hardy in his cell,
Was a little girl dressed in red.
She came down to that old jail cell,
She said, "Johnny, I had rather see you dead,
Well, Johnny, I had rather see you dead."
"I've been to the East and I've been to the West,
I've traveled this wide world around,
I've been to that river and I've been baptized,
So take me to my burying ground,
So take me to my burying ground."
John Hardy was a desperate little man,
He carried two guns ev'ry day.
He shot down a man on the West Virginia line,
You oughta seen John Hardy gettin' away,
You oughta seen John Hardy gettin' away.
THE JACKS OF APPALACHIA
Foolish, poor, feeble,
A boy with a flair for thrill:
Tales of lucky Jack
Jack and the Beanstalk--
Glorious and high,
A giant resides aloft
As guard from Jack’s greed
Bountiful in mystery
Elegant in build
Annoying in whereabouts
Noticeable by the nosey
Stature strong enough for a boy
Towers through the clouds
And leads to another place, a
Land of giants who are
Killed when chopped down
Stubborn and a fool,
Sold away a steer for beans;
Cast away, they grew
Jack the Giant Killer--
Quick, cunning, with smarts,
Traps a giant and kills him;
Most loved is the pride
Greedy for glory,
Jack tricks a giant to stab
Himself from disgrace
Despite greedy ways
Admired for cunning mind
Tales sift through mountains
AN ASTROLOGICAL GUIDE TO FARMERS
Aries: For ground preparation, beets and onions, and hunting; dare not transplant other crops.
Taurus: All root and above ground crops are in luck, and feel free to hunt and fish
Gemini: Plant anything, and get your preserving for jellies and pickles done
Cancer: Stick with above ground and root crops; cook and fish fruitfully
Leo: Take a break from the farm and try some sports, finding a partner or job, and hunt – just don’t plant
Virgo: Trade, not plant
Libra: Time for above ground crops and things that flower.
Scorpio: Flowering things and above ground crops; fishing and hunting recommended.
Sagittarius: Get a job, trade some crops, bake goodies, and preserve food.
Capricorn: Time for root crops
Aquarius: Take a break from the farm for some social events; if you mustn’t, try some ground crops.
Pisces: Plant, transplant above ground crops, trees, and shrubbery; the husbands can fish, wives wean your babies
Other tips: For planting above ground crops, the most bountiful harvests derive from planting while the moon is waxing; for below ground crops, plant while the moon is waning.
MOUNTAIN MAGIC: A BRIEF
INTRODUCTION TO GRANNY WITCHES
The magic amidst our mountains is full of tradition passed down among Appalachian families for many centuries; it has faded slightly with the modernizing world, yet it still finds itself prominent within our culture. The witches among us who have richly embraced themselves within the art of Granny Magic go by the title Witch Doctors or Water Witches, depending on the basis of magic they are most gifted in. Our traditions are based off the ideas of Paganism; Mother Nature, Jack Frost, Father Winter, Chloe, Spider Grandmother, and Demeter are several of the deities we worship for the balance and harmony they deliver to life.
Music finds itself having deep roots within magic; the majority of spells are sung and danced. For example, an Earth blessing meant to be sung during planting and harvesting is as follows:
A da we hi a ne he ne ha
Do hi u a iu ni
O lo hi a li ga lu lo hi u nah ta
Ga li e li ga O sa da du
Wise Protectors, they are so giving
Serenity, it resounds
Mother Earth and Father Sky are so giving
I am thankful, it is good
Divination is a popular practice among us. Tarot, tea leaves, clouds, and scrying in bowls of water, dirt, or sand play roles in predictions. The Cherokee Spider Grandmother Goddess leaves messages of fate, magic, weaving, art, and storytelling within spider webs.
In general, our magic traditions are pure and of healing and nature; it is an important aspect of our culture and the way we live each day.
Taryn
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