Pamela’s story from Lee County, Virginia I was moved to Lee County, my parents’ home place. Our first house was in Dryden. A fire took all we had. The people in the community rushed to help a family. My father died shortly after it of a heart attack. I was 9, my brother 7. Mother could not find work. We were at the mercy of strangers. First Baptist Church in Pennington Gap opened their doors asking for donations. My mother used everything we got. One thing was a Singer sewing

Growing up in Appalachia meant growing up close to the land, close to our people, and close to the things most folks' hurry past. We lived a little behind the rest of the world- maybe a generation or two by their standards- but it never felt like we were lacking. Life moved slow enough for us to hear it, and we learned early that listening was half of living. Little Indian Creek Holler in Kentucky Little Indian Creek is where my days were spent. That water had its own way of

There’s something about music in Appalachia that isn’t just heard… it’s lived. It’s passed down in kitchens, on porches, in church pews, and in the quiet moments in between. When Laura shared this piece about the music in her family, it settled in my heart. Not just because of how beautifully she told it, but because it reflects something so many Appalachian families carry deep in their roots. My own story is a little different. Life took us all over, and while my Granny’s ro

I didn’t grow up thinking about family history. Most of us don’t. You assume the people who raised you will always be right there — sitting in their chairs, answering the phone, telling the same stories you’ve heard a hundred times. You assume there will always be another holiday, another Sunday visit, another chance to ask the questions you never got around to. But life has a way of proving you wrong before you’re ready. In 2023, I lost my mom. In 2024, I lost my dad. And in