Showing posts with label Kentucky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kentucky. Show all posts

Friday, August 12, 2022

Dr. Thomas Walker and the Gap Cave

No photo description available. It has definitely been a while since I've posted. for that I am ashamed. For ever so long I was pretty good about adding posts. Lately life has just been in the way.

Nevertheless, I'm back at it. I'll be adding posts, old ragged verse, stories and links to videos on YouTube.

I'm working to get my YouTube channel to 100 subscribers. apparently I will be able to have a specific link address when I do so. I'm at 44 subscribers right now.

No, I have no desire to make money or "monetize" as folks do. I just want to be able to preserve some of the ponderings, stories and histery I love to share about the mountains of Appalachia.

It's about the mountains. Always about the mountains.

Here's a link to an early morning video, part of an "Appalachia before Dawn" series I've started.

Take a look, watch it for a while. Length of time watched helps, apparently.

Like the video, subscribe if you would.

Thanks much!

The ol' Mountain Doctor

Doc Hollen


https://youtu.be/TXCtXrXQWUg

Sunday, April 05, 2015

The mountains call

Ancient mountain pathways cry out to me
Beg me to come, to seek and find them
Hope even now that my feet will follow.
Groanings ancient, deep in the mountains 
Draw and tug at my hungry heart
Somehow know and call my secret name.
They know my lonely thoughts
They awake my feet, tug at my mind
Promise me hidden wonders.
My dream self runs ahead and waits
My hands reach out, fingers caress
Fine tendrils of remembering.
 

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Thanksgiving Prodigal

Thanksgiving was a quiet day for Billy Gilbert. 
 
Since his wife Del died he mostly spent Thanksgiving alone. It wasn't that he didn't have folks what invited him to come be with them, he'd turned down half a dozen invites for Thanksgiving this year. 
 
Around the little mountain town of Beloved, Kentucky everyone knew "Uncle Billy" Gilbert. He had an abundance of friends, neighbors and kin within a few miles.

Uncle Billy was also sought after by just about ever' older woman in that community. Hazel Williams led the pack. She proclaimed about a year after Aunt Del Gilbert passed that "William Gilbert Senior was gonna be her man one of these days".

When Uncle Billy heard that second or third hand he just laughed, shook his head an' said, "That ain't ever gonna happen, y'all. No one could ever fill Del's place, especially not Hazel Williams. She don't even know my proper name, for goodness sakes."

Her statement just rubbed him the wrong way for a whole bunch of reasons. First an' foremost was the plain ol' fact he weren't interested in her or any other woman. He was 78 years old, set in his ways, content with life an' just not lookin'.

Mostly Hazel was plain ol' aggravatin'. She was the worst gossip that lived in Beloved, Kentucky.
 
She was nosy, a busybody an' not much of a cook. She would drop by his ol' farm up the little holler to pay a "social call" an' to check on "poor ol' William" way too often for Uncle Billy. 
 
He got to parkin' his truck in the barn just so she would think he was gone an' leave him alone. Now an' again she would catch him out in the barnyard or on the porch. 
Miss Hazel would get out without an invite, stroll up an' take over his time, stayin' for hours if he couldn't think of anythin' to get up an' tend to.

An' he hated that she called him "Bill" or "William". That weren't his name. No one called him Bill an' never was he William! His name was simply Billy Gilbert. That was his given name. 
 
Actually since his son was born he was Billy Gilbert Senior. He was Uncle Billy an' his son became "Little Billy" or for many it was "Little Bill". When he got older Little Billy had asked to be called Will instead of Little Billy. It made sense to have their names a bit different. Most folks eventually did call him Will, though some of the older kinfolks still referred to him as Little Billy.

Uncle Billy had told Miss Hazel that his name wasn't Bill or William a thousand times. He suspected she was just uppity an' thought Billy was too common a name for her "intended".

Well anyways, Uncle Billy had plenty of invites. He just preferred to be alone on Thanksgiving. Actually he was only alone Thanksgiving afternoon. By evenin' his ol' cabin became the meetin' place for a dozen men an' boys who always showed up with plates full of leftovers from their family feast.

It had started spontaneously several years before, two years or so after Aunt Del had passed. Folks got worried that Uncle Billy was spendin' Thanksgiving alone an' more than a dozen men an' boys showed up carryin' plates an' bowls prepared by wives wantin' to make sure the ol' man of the holler had some good food in his belly. They all spent the evenin' sittin' around, sharin' leftovers, tellin' stories an' enjoyin' the good company of men raised together.

That had become an unofficial custom for many of the fellers in the community. By evenin' they would kiss their wives an' family goodbye an' make their way to the little holler where Uncle Billy lived. They would have hands full of good food as they headed in the door of the ol' cabin. No one knocked, they all just went in. They were expected.

Uncle Billy stirred a huge pot of soup beans as he thought of the get together that would happen later that night. He had already made two cast iron skillets of regular cornbread an' two skillets of cracklin' bread (cornbread with cracklin's baked in). He would make a couple more skillets of cornbread before all them boys got there later. That was what he had made himself the first year an' it had become a tradition. Actually, he hadn't made soup beans the second year an' fellers asked him where the soup beans was!

As he stirred the soup beans he heard the screen door slap as it shut. Strange that someone was there that early. He really hoped it wasn't ol' Hazel Williams.. She snuck around an' would show up on Thanksgivin' now an' again. He wiped his hands on a dishrag an' turned to see who had come in.

Imagine his surprise when his son walked into the long kitchen an' just stood for a minute. Y'see, since Will had married Jennifer he didn't come home much. They lived in Akron, Ohio where Will was a veterinarian. They had a fine home up there an' Jennifer didn't think much of the mountains. Didn't think much of the home place where Will was raised. to her Will was William, though it wasn't his name at all. His diplomas said, "Billy Gilbert, Jr", the big sign outside the vet clinic had "Billy Gilbert, Jr, DVM" but she called him William, never Will, Billy or even Bill.

Oh, and she was always Jennifer. Never Jen, Jenny or any other nickname. She made it clear the first time Uncle Billy called her Jenny that her name was Jennifer.

Uncle Billy stood in shock for a minute, not know what to say, what to do. He nodded at Will, "Hullo youngin'. How you been?"

Will stood quiet for a bit, "Howdy, Pappy. Them some soup beans?"

"Yep, they are. You wantin' some?"

"Wouldn't mind a bowl, Pap. Any cracklin' bread?" Will asked.

"Better believe it. You allowed to have some?" his Daddy asked with a grin. Uncle Billy knew Wil snuck a bite of good ol' mountain food when he could. Jennifer didn't approve, of course. She didn't approve of lard, bacon grease, soup beans, corn bread, fatback, bacon, ham, fried chicken or most of what Will ate growin' up in the mountains. Because of Jennifer, Will's diet was almost that of a vegetarian with only a little fish or chicken thrown in.

That was all it took. Uncle Billy didn't know why Will was there, but knew somethin' was wrong. His boy just didn't come 'round on holidays, didn't come round much at all. Jennifer didn't like the mountains, didn't like the little holler, didn't seem to like mountain folks. Strange that she would marry a mountain boy. she did her best to wring the mountains out of Will.

Will grabbed the back of an ol' ladderback chair that sat by the table an' dropped into it with his eyes already wet. "Oh Pappy, she left me. Jennifer up an' moved out. I went to a convention to get some continuing education classes an' when I got back she had mostly cleaned the house out. Most of the furniture was gone. Divorce papers were on the kitchen counter an' a letter."

"Son, didn't you know? Had things been that bad?"

"Pap", Will looked up into his Daddy's blue eyes. His eyes were the same shade of dark blue, his features a younger reflection of the older man. "Pap, I thought things were OK. Jennifer was never much of romance, huggin' or warmth. I thought things were OK. She left me for a lawyer, Pappy. He was the one who drew up the divorce papers!"

His Daddy didn't know what to say. He just pulled out another chair an' sat down, waitin'. He knew Will wasn't done. "Pappy, she took all our bank account. She took the car, took most of the furniture, even my basketball signed by Adolph Rupp! She is askin' for half of my retirement fund. She couldn't take that without the courts or she would have drained it too. She wants the house to be sold and wants half of the proceeds. I don't know what I'm going to do."

Uncle Billy stood, went over to his son and wrapped his arms around his boy's shoulders. Will cried hard as he leaned into his Daddy. "I don't know either, son, but I'll help you any way I can."

"Can I stay for a while? I can't go home right now. I don't want to go home right now."

"Of course. You know you don't have to ask."

"Oh Pappy, I haven't been much of a son." Will cried. "I am so sorry. I was to worried about pleasing her that I stayed away, I pushed you away."

"Yep, you did. No doubt, you did."

"I am so sorry, Pappy. So very sorry. Will you forgive me?"

"Son, Will, Billy Boy, I already have. No need to even ask."

"Why Daddy? Why would you forgive me already?"

"Do you remember the story of the Prodigal Son? I know y'all don't go to church, but do you remember when I read it to you, when you learned about it in Sunday School?" Uncle Billy asked.

"Of course I do. But I am not the Prodigal. I didn't ask for my part an go away to some foreign country and waste it. I haven't come back asking to be your servant." Will was a bit indignant, thinking his Daddy was being a little judgmental at the wrong time.

"Of course not. That ain't the point at all. Y'see, that Daddy forgave his son before he ever showed up, walkin' toward home. It is a Daddy's nature to love his youngin's in spite of what they do, of what they are. A good Daddy forgives, loves an' waits, not because of what they do, but in spite of anything they do. He loves them because they are his."

"Oh." was all Will could say.

"Now Will, I need to go down the road to Hap's to make a couple calls or we'll have a dozen or more fellers comin' in after while. I need to tell them not to come this year. Me an' you will sit, eat some soup beans an' cracklin' bread an' just visit."

As Uncle Billy got up he hugged Will once more, went over an' turned down the soup beans to a simmer. "Stir these a couple times while I'm gone. Don't want our supper to burn."

Will sat for just a minute before he stood up, "Pappy, don't make them calls. I want those men to come over. I need them to come over. I need to laugh, to hug the necks of a few cousins and old friends. I need to be around mountain folks right now."

"You sure, Will? What if they ask questions? What if they get nosy? What you gonna tell them?"

"I'm sure, Pap. After all, wasn't there a feast at the end of that story? I'll just tell them the truth. I'll tell them the Prodigal Vet has come home." Will laughed.

"That's fine, boy, but I ain't killin' my cow."

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Foggy mornin' in the mountains

The fog is thick, as if the clouds dropped down to wrap misty arms around the mountains an' fill the hollers to the brim. Darkness latches onto the fog an' pushes hard agin the on-comin' day.

The thick damp mist muffles the sounds of dawn. Birds are feather fluffed an' quiet, waitin' for the sun that still hides behind the clouds. Roosters wander out of the hen house damp an' bedraggled, not willin' yet to crow an' call in the dawn.

Big Ben clocks ring harsh in the not yet day, unwindin' as they cry "rise an' shine". Ol' men reach out an' lift the clock to stare with sleep sandy eyes, seein' it ain't yet sunrise, thinkin' Big Ben must be lyin', must be wrong.

But mantle clocks an' that big ol' number 18 sized pocket watch, coin silver case an' 17 jewel sure both speak the same truth. Mornin' has come, no sun has risen, but mornin' has come home to the hills.

As they rise up, womenfolks sit on the side of the bed, gatherin' their long hair into buns, pullin' strands tight an' under tortoise shell combs. Aprons on, they head for the kitchens to throw kindlin' into cook stoves, light a fire, wash up an' get breakfast together.

The menfolks are more verbal as they stand, groan moanin' an' unsteady with mornin' aches to pull on overalls, drag on worn out socks and slowly tie up scuffed brogans. In cabins up an' down the creek they wander to the kitchen, wash up in the pans of water warm an' waitin' for them, grab a sup of water from the dipper before they lift the pail, head for the well to draw fresh water an' then to the barn to feed the mules, milk the cows an' begin the day's work.

It is mornin' in the mountains, hidden by the fog, not delayed.

Monday, June 02, 2014

Mornin' in the Mountains

Though dawn is still far away
Old eyes blink once, twice, open.
Nothing stirs in the early darkness
Big Ben alarm clock steadily ticks
Counting time, keepin' the beat
Keepin' a steady pace, onward till morn.
The yellowed newspapers pasted tight
Against the walls are still unseen
Old news, oxymoron long forgotten
Now keeps out the wind an' cold.
Deep feather bed is a sleepy nest
Quilts are hand stitched security
Pulled chin high an' held tight
Against the day, the morn, the dawn.
Then high on the hill, just there
A lone robin wakes, shakes an' sings
Inside a blink, a yawn an' ol' leg creaks.
Ol' dog's long vigil held on the floor
Curled nose to tail on a braided rag rug.
Them creakin' bones made ol' dog stir
Tail thumpin' 'gainst ancient chestnut
Hand hewn, sandstone smoothed puncheon floor.
Deep in a holler, down the creek
An ol' ramblin' cabin sits quiet like
Coiled tight like a spring, waitin'
For the ol' Big Ben to ringle jangle
Mornin'! Good mornin', Get up an' go.
Soon lights will lighten, brighten windows
Push through the humid darkness
Coffee, boiled long, strong, aroma thick
Will seep through every door,
Curl in every corner, warmin' hearth an' heart
It is mornin' in the mountains.

Saturday, June 15, 2013

Daddy Song from 2004

I wrote this a week after I lost my Daddy in 2004. As Father's Day approaches tomorrow I think of him as I often do on holidays, his birthday and other occasions. As a Christian I hold fast the promise of Heaven and know I will see him again someday.  I'm proud to be his son.

Heartache of heartaches,
My Daddy is gone.
My soul cries out to him
But no answer is heard.

He has cast off his frailty
Like an old worn shirt.
Yet I cling to the hollow,
Afraid to let go.

His spirit left this place,
Fled to the mountains of home.
Walked one more walk
'Neath the sweet sourwood blooms.

Washed his feet again
In the clear creeks up the holler
Ran like he did as a youngin'
Up the road to the homeplace.

Like a young deer his spirit
Jumps and leaps and runs free.
Clear eyes look at a cabin
Gone now for fifty years.

There, through the twilight
He sees the lights of home.
His loved ones wait, patient
Smiling at spirit found freedom.

My Daddy turns and sees us
Wants to say goodbye.
He waves like he always does
Then walks back up the holler.

His steps are easy now
There is strength anew.
He runs towards the lights of home
Turns once more, smiles.

"I'll be waitin'" he says
And grins his grin.
His eyes have a twinkle
Like he knows somethin' we don't

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Gone Fishin'

The bank of the deep and slow movin' river
Gives up tell tale signs to the experienced eye.
A well worn path leads down through the woods
At the end of the path is an open clearing.
A trail follows thinly along the bank of the river
The clearing, though not expansive, is room enough.
The tell tale signs are there, just look and see
Dirt pressed down hard by shoe and boot
Limbs overhead cut back and kept away.
Down close on the shoreline... see just there
Branches cut and trimmed in a "Y" shape
Pushed deep into the muddy river's edge.
Out in the water you can see the reason why.
Clear water moves slow like over rocks
Rills and shimmers quiver on the surface.
An old log lay submerged and inviting
Water skippers dance a dance as if on ice.
Tiny bugs buzz without caution close to the surface...
Then, without warning, almost too fast to see
A big ol' bass rises up from the bottom.
He was hidden just below that dang ol' log
Breakin' the surface with little effort
His mouth opens to monstrous dimensions
And closes on a morsel of fat and juicy beetle.
Faster than fast he swallows and is gone.
Yep, this is the place we were lookin' for
We nod at each other and smile. 

Tuesday, April 09, 2013

The Memory of Simple Things

Oh, to be sittin' in a holler,
Right there on the front porch
Of an ol' mountain cabin
With coffee in one hand
An' the other restin' just so
Tn the back of a sorry hound dog. 
Just waitin' for the sun to rise up. 
Chickens are already cluckin' "cut, cut, cuuuck". 
Birds area a singin' in the trees
As the sun peeks just over that hill in the east.
I just close my eyes and I am always there.
I know the holler, the creek runnin' through,
The chestnut logs at my back,
The rough saw pattern of every board on that porch. 
I have memorized them all.
Always am there, always will be
Just behind the closin' of my eyes.

Sunday, April 07, 2013

Home in the Holler

Down the holler, way deep down it now
Wander down the ol' dirt road almost to the end
There, can't you see the rooftop just above the trees?
Now, when Summer is here you won't even see that
The trees will green up an' it will be like some secret
A secret place hidden from this century
The ol' rail fence still standin' wrapped around with ivy
Daffodils lined up in front like a welcome committee
The tin roof is clean and bright in the sun
When the car engine is turned off there is just
Silence.

Friday, December 28, 2012

Wind wolves an' Dreams of Home


The cold of winter and snow thick on the roof make me mournful an' wantin' to see the hills.
When the wind blows hard an' this ol' house groans an' threatens to ease off its foundations
I lay awake an' listen to the wind wolves cry as they push agin the sides of the place
They try hard to get in, pacin' an' a pushin', hopin' to find a crack or weak spot to worry at.

Amid the creaks an' groans, howls of the wind wolves I dream, half awake of a little ol' log cabin
Laid up in the hills, deep up a holler all cozied up agin the foot of an ancient mountain
That mountain tired an' worn by a thousand an' a thousand years of wear an' toil
Tired out long before settlers wandered across the Warrior's Path to settle into a hard scrabble life.

Though their life was hard an' toilsome, that red an' yeller soil was somehow ground into their lives
It was pushed deep into their soul, into the memories of a dozen generations of mountain folks.
It became their bone an' blood, their strength an' their toil, their love an' their life
Somehow that sorry ol soil, hard scrabble life became who an' what they were, what we are.

An' now it calls to me once more as I lay awake, wantin' to find my way along frozen highways
South without glancin' at towns or sights along the straight an' narrow asphalt trail that leads home
I close my eyes to almost see each sign, each exit as I travel down through the foothills
Deeper, deeper still into the hollers, across the creeks an' down along a riverbed lined with slate.

Oh, in my dreams I am home, I am home as I stand in front of that ol' log house, covered with snow
As I look I see smoke pushin' lazy like up the chimbley an out into the cold winter that wraps around it.
It ain't much at all, not a lot to look at an' not no kind of a mansion, as plain as an ol' mud fence
Look careful there over there at that little ol window yonder an' see, do you see the light put there for me?

Do you hear what I'm a sayin'?
That light yonder, put there for me.  A light in the window, a latch string left out.  Lettin' me know...
I am welcome.  I am home.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

September Song

I think often of the hills of home and long to be there,
Where the twilight is just the setting of a scene
For the eternal song of the hills,
Sung by the bats - high and unheard by folks,
Tree frogs join in their high chorus
Along with cicadas, crickets
And dozens of little ol' singin' things.
The hooty owl gives chase to the tune with a     baritone "whoooo".
The bass is sung by the thunder rollin' through the hills an' hollers of home.
The listener is just plain mountain folks...
Folks who knew to stay and listen.
I yearn to hear that nightly concert,
Sung the same, night after night like a siren,
Callin' to those who have the hills in their blood.
Callin' like a lover to me.
Callin' my name as if it has known me forever...
For it has, it truly has.

copyright Stephen Hollen   9/18/2005

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

The Old Home Place




I have posted this photo before.  It is the old Arnett home place, originally built by my  Great Grandpa, Tom Arnett.  Though it is gone, I remember it well.  

It started out as a smaller cabin that is the left side of this cabin.  Another small cabin was built and is the right side of the cabin.  The middle is a dogtrot made of planks that joined the two cabins together.  Along the back is a shotgun kitchen that was almost the full length of this cabin.

I have so many wonderful memories attached to this old place.  Though it is gone, my mind races back to the hills and Arnett's Fork off Double Creek in Clay County, Kentucky.  I still can see my Great Aunts - Mag and Bess and Great Uncle Bill sitting on the porch.  As I get closer they all stand and wait to hug my neck.

Just across the creek to the left of this picture was the home my Grandma and Uncle Bert (Daddy's Mama and brother) shared.

It is a reminder that happiness does not spring from wealth or things, but from the hearts of those who love us and who we love.