Cousins,
Over the weekend I told stories at the Appalachian Festival in Cincinnati. It was an awesome time...most of the weekend. The exception was late Saturday afternoon about 4:15. I was in the middle of a story and was about to get to the good part...

'Course it was stormin'. It had rained off and on all weekend. The tent was full because of the rain and in spite of the weather folks seemed to be enjoyin' the stories.

Then the "si-reen" started carryin' on. I reckon the tent was about 50 yards from the pole that there si-reen was on. It was one of them ones that go round and round so the sound gets louder 'bout every 15 seconds.

The folks runnin' the festival came over the loudspeakers tellin' ever' one there was nothin' to fear, just a bad weather alert. We already knew that! Thanks folks. I appreciate the help.

Well sir, y'all couldn't have found a better way to thin out the crowd. All the folks that was a hidin' in the tents, booths and covered sales areas started runnin' for their cars like ants out of a drowned anthill. Half my audience got up in unison and ran into the storm!

Yessir, they was a smart bunch. Forget sittin' under a huge tent till the rain stopped. Forget that it was done announced that there was nothin' to fear. It was rainin' so hard a feller couldn't see 20 feet away...but they ran into that to get into cars and try to drive through the rain.

Within 5 minutes the rain stopped and folks stayed put till the end of the hour...just to hear stories.

Wasn't quite as bad as tellin' stories next to an "Ohm-Pah" band...

Cousins,
This past weekend was the Appalachian Festival in Cincinnati, Ohio. I spent Friday through Sunday there telling stories and listening to wonderful music when not telling stories.

The diversity of Appalachia amazes me. The unity of spirit confounds me. A dear friend and fellow storyteller who is African American told her personal stories about living in Ironton, Ohio and growing up in Appalachia. As I listened to her stories...and as we talked afterward, it amazed me that even though we grew up in different states, different cultures, the spirit of Appalachia was strong in both of us.

That spirit calls to us from the ground, the mountains, the ways and paths of Appalachia. It is a way of life. It is a bond that ties hearts to the soil and the people with a cord that is not easily broken.

AS I stood on the stage and told stories I saw folks sit and grin as I made reference to things I knew from the hills. Their smiles were secret signs from one hill folk to another saying, "Yep, I know. I was there. I have seen that very thing.".

I hope that cord never frays, always keeps me safe, always tugs heart and hand back home again to my hometown of Beloved. Kentucky - right up there on the Red Bird River.

I'll be sittin' on the porch lookin' for ya.