Lauren Griffin, Author at West Virginia Public Broadcasting

Yama: A Japanese Community Space In Morgantown, W.Va.

High Street in Morgantown, West Virginia is a bustling strip of activity. On any given day, university students and locals can be found enjoying the many restaurants, bars and special events that downtown has to offer. Tucked away off the main drag is a place called Yama. It’s a cozy diner that’s been serving up authentic homestyle Japanese food since the 1990s.

This story originally aired in the Feb. 11, 2024 episode of Inside Appalachia.

As you walk into Yama, the workers greet you with a warm smile. The restaurant invites you to slow down and spend some time connecting. You can pick up a manga comic to read, or enjoy the Japanese TV playing in the background.

Anna Hayhurst followed in the footsteps of her two older sisters and started working at Yama this year. She takes orders while a Japanese cooking show plays in the background.

*Credit: Lauren Griffin/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

The food here is different from what you typically find in nearby Japanese restaurants. Less sushi, more comfort foods. Like katsudon, a pork cutlet over rice.

Yama attracts diehard regulars, like Sun Lee. Lee is from Korea but has been living in Morgantown since 2005. She visits Yama once or twice a week. She became friends with the staff and has tried most things on the menu.

“Honestly, I got a little bit annoyed when they closed down a lot during COVID. I always had to check my Instagram or Facebook to check their business hours,” said Lee.

Yama the restaurant was started in the 1990s by Mitsuo Yamashita, but everyone calls him Yama. Yama prioritized hiring staff that were Japanese or Japanese American. People like Miki Carducci. Carducci is from Osaka, Japan, and she has been working at Yama for years. She loves the food, especially the crispy teriyaki tofu.

“Teriyaki tofu isn’t what Japanese people eat. That’s his creation,” Carducci said. The restaurant serves up classic dishes, but Yama also put his own spin on things.

Yama trained as a chef back in his home country of Japan. He made his way to Pittsburgh, where he worked in a sushi restaurant. Japanese students attending West Virginia University (WVU) begged him to open up his own place in Morgantown. So, he decided to open up a casual restaurant for college students.

Mitsuo Yamashita, or Yama, started the restaurant in the 1990s. Here he is showing off some myoga, or Japanese ginger.

*Credit: Min Kim/Courtesy*

About half the workers at Yama are students. Miki Carducci’s son, Hugo Carducci, recently started working at Yama with his mom.

Growing up in West Virginia, Hugo rarely met other Japanese people. The Japanese community is very small. He said he regularly encountered people who had never met an Asian person before.

Hugo and his family moved to Pittsburgh, and eventually Morgantown. Now, he’s a student at West Virginia University down the street. For him, Yama is a community space that lets him explore and share in his Japanese identity.

“The other day, someone came in and we got in an entire conversation in Japanese for like 10-15 minutes. We’re one of the only places here in Morgantown that can offer that,” Hugo said.

Staff member Ryoko Kijimoto serves up rich rice bowls and ramen in Yama’s diner atmosphere.

*Credit: Min Kim/Courtesy*

I actually used to be a regular at Yama. I studied Japanese at WVU, and I would hang out at Yama for hours with friends, like Kaoru Shirashi. I called him up recently, and he told me how he felt a little afraid when he first arrived in Morgantown. To him, the area was so rural and sparse.

But Yama became a comforting place for him and other Japanese students at WVU. It reminded them of home in a place where the familiar was hard to come by.

“I feel like I’m in Japan, even though I’m in Yama restaurant in West Virginia,” Shirashi said.

Yama himself was a big part of that comforting atmosphere. He would remember customers and sometimes bring you a little treat, like mochi ice cream.

Yama’s not at the restaurant anymore, though. He retired a few years ago and moved back to Japan. Now there’s a new owner.

Min Kim has operated Yama since 2016. Before she took over, she had never worked in a restaurant. Her primary focus was raising her daughter. She heard from a friend that Yama was looking for help. Kim needed a job, and Yama needed a successor, even one that didn’t know much about running a restaurant.

Kim apprenticed with Yama for four years, learning his recipes and the ins and outs of the kitchen.

“The most challenging dish was tempura. Because Yama-san, he graduated from culinary school,” says Kim.

Teriyaki chicken and tempura udon are some of the dishes on Yama’s menu.

*Credit: Min Kim/Courtesy*

Even though she doesn’t have formal culinary training, Kim has perfected all of Yama’s dishes. But she’s not Japanese — she’s Korean. Some customers ask her if she’ll add Korean dishes to the menu, but she insists she wants to keep Yama as a Japanese homestyle restaurant.

Kim said her apprenticeship with Yama was more than just learning recipes. She also became part of a family.

“Yama has its own energy, like a living creature. It’s just not a place,” Kim said.

Papering the corner of the restaurant are postcards, letters, and doodles from customers expressing their love for Yama — its food and its people. The restaurant provides food, but also something more.

A corkboard in Yama shows off the letters, doodles and cards that friends and fans have sent over the years.

*Credit: Lauren Griffin/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

“Sometimes you see customers really down, depressed,” Kim said. “But they still come because they need comfort food. Just bring some sweetness to them. Come on, this is extra for you to make you cheer up.”

Yama is a little pocket of Japan among the hills of West Virginia. It’s a space where Japanese students and staff can share their language, culture and food. It’s also a place of comfort and connection for the larger community.

Many who come here simply love the food, but there are also hidden depths in a bowl of Yama’s ramen.

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This story is part of the Inside Appalachia Folkways Reporting Project, a partnership with West Virginia Public Broadcasting’s Inside Appalachia and the Folklife Program of the West Virginia Humanities Council.The Folkways Reporting Project is made possible in part with support from Margaret A. Cargill Philanthropies to the West Virginia Public Broadcasting Foundation. Subscribe to the podcast to hear more stories of Appalachian folklife, arts and culture.

Bluegrass And Old-Time Hopefuls Find A Tune In Spoons

In a classroom in Fairmont, West Virginia, a diverse group of students has gathered to learn how to play an unlikely instrument: the spoons.

This story originally aired in the Nov. 26, 2023 episode of Inside Appalachia.

In a classroom in Fairmont, West Virginia, a diverse group of students has gathered to learn how to play an unlikely instrument: the spoons.

Looking relaxed in a Hawaiian shirt at the center of the circle is their teacher Jeff Fedan. The seniors, kids and young adults who showed up for Fedan’s lesson are playing along to a dulcimer-version of Golden Slippers with spoons of different shapes and styles. As they clack along, Fedan encourages them to try out new rhythmic patterns.

Jeff Fedan has been teaching aspiring spoons players how to play for years. He is also one of the co-founders and organizers of the yearly Pattyfest.

*Credit: Lauren Griffin/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

As a recent retiree, Fedan now has more time to dedicate to his musical passion. He’s primarily a drummer, but he also plays the dulcimer.

When Fedan moved to West Virginia decades ago, he started attending music festivals. As a percussionist, he was intrigued when he came across the spoons at a festival once. He picked up the skill and has been teaching other folks how to play for about 10 years. Over that time, he’s noticed increasing interest in the spoons.

Fedan is teaching this free spoons workshops at Pattyfest. It’s a yearly festival held in honor of Patty Loomen. Loomen was a mountain dulcimer player who taught Fedan, along with many others.

Throughout Appalachia, old-time and bluegrass jams are a beloved pastime. For those who want to join, the spoons are an accessible way to dip your toe in. For Fedan, spoons are both affordable and approachable.

“Not everybody can afford an instrument like a guitar, which is several hundred dollars. But if they are inspired by the sound of spoons, for just a few bucks, you can get something that you can use to participate in a jam session,” says Fedan.

Spoons have been played for centuries in Europe, Asia and the Americas. In ancient history, people used bones to play. You can still find bones players today, but more often people use a wooden set.

The spoons became popular in American folk music, particularly in African American jug bands. You might find the spoons accompanied by a washboard or a jug. Simple, household items that can easily be picked up to carry a tune.

The Bone Player, William Sidney Mount (American, 1807–1868)1856

*Credit: Bequest of Martha C. Karolik for the M. and M. Karolik Collection of American Paintings, 1815–1865*

Aspiring spoons players have a couple different options. You could play with metal spoons. Or you could opt for a pair of carved wooden ones.

Like their players, each set of spoons has its own personality. Bob Snyder, an old-time musician from Clarksburg, West Virginia, is also a woodworker. After seeing spoons around at festivals, he tried making them himself, creating his own design in the process. He makes his spoons from sassafras, walnut, oak and other hardwoods.

Bob Snyder sells all kinds of different spoons at the festivals he attends. There are metal ones with wooden handles and carved wooden sets of different woods and styles.

*Credit: Lauren Griffin/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

“Even two of the same woods, they’re gonna sound different because of the grain in them. I like the walnuts. Everybody’s different,” says Snyder.

Snyder starts out with a square block of wood. He carves out his shapes and glues the two halves together. The final step of his process is lots and lots of sanding.

“I want them to last for people and be comfortable. If it’s uncomfortable, they’re not gonna play it,” says Snyder.

Wooden spoons mimic the shape of kitchen spoons. Cups of different sizes are carved out of the wood. The two halves can then be glued together, creating one singular instrument, rather than two metal spoons that have to be held together in a particular way.

Wooden spoons might be more comfortable, but some players still prefer metal spoons. Emily Kaniecki in Wheeling, West Virginia, is one.

Kaniecki grew up in a family of bluegrass musicians but never picked up an instrument herself. She knew she had rhythm though. So one day, she looked up how to play the spoons online and taught herself how to play.

Kaniecki’s twin brother played in an old-time group, the Marsh Wheeling String Band. After teaching herself how to play, she joined the band on stage at Oglebayfest, an annual fall festival.

Emily Kaniecki (right) performing with her friend Tim Ullom at the 19th Hole in Wheeling, West Virginia.

*Credit: Emily Kaniecki*

“It was always kind of a joke at first. People just thought it was funny. But after a while, I wanted it to be more of a serious thing,” says Kaniecki.

Playing the spoons isn’t always easy. Your body is part of the instrument.

“I’ve taken my jeans off and my whole entire thigh is covered in bruises from just hitting,” says Kaniecki.

Kaniecki has honed her skills and can turn a clamor into a tune. She explains that playing the spoons is not just about the sound you make, but also about the performance. When she gets on stage, she becomes the star of the show.

Kaniecki delights her audience with spoons tricks like the drag. A drag is a technique where you sweep the spoons across your fingers. Instead of hitting the spoons on your leg, you can also play off your elbow or even your head.

Along with her performance at Oglebayfest, Kaniecki has brought out her spoons at open mic nights, on stage at festivals, even at her own wedding. These days, her work as a nurse and a mother keeps her busy. But she says she’ll never retire from the spoons.

“I love it. It’s so easy if you can just have rhythm, practice. It’d be a really cool instrument to play that doesn’t really require formal musical training. And also, it’s different. It’s not something you see everyday,” says Kaniecki.

So, next time you’re putting away your silverware, give it a try. Play along with the rhythm to a song, find a local bluegrass jam, or take a free workshop next year at Pattyfest.

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The Folkways Reporting Project is made possible in part with support from Margaret A. Cargill Philanthropies to the West Virginia Public Broadcasting Foundation. Subscribe to the podcast to hear more stories of Appalachian folklife, arts and culture.

In W.Va., Fur Trappers Adapt To Shifting Market

The price of untanned, or green fur, has been dropping steadily as public opinion and markets have turned away from fur products. Animal welfare groups have advocated against trapping and wearing furs. Supply and demand is also impacted by pop culture and fashion trends. International politics, like the COVID-19 pandemic and the war in Ukraine, interrupt trade routes and impact the ability to sell fur overseas.

This story originally aired in the Aug. 6, 2023 episode of Inside Appalachia.

There Is Still A Fur Industry In West Virginia

Every March, fur trappers and buyers gather in Glenville, West Virginia for the annual West Virginia Trappers Association Fur Auction. Raccoons, coyotes, bobcats, and other animal hides are arranged on tall racks, while eager buyers survey the wares as they wait for the bidding to start.

Jeremiah Whitlatch, current president of the West Virginia Trappers Association, is in his first year as president, but fur trapping has always been a big part of his life.

Trapping skills are typically passed down through the family patriarch. Whitlatch’s great uncle, his grandpa and his great-grandpa were all trappers.

“I remember going to their farm in Wirt County, and Grandpa would be sitting there on his stool skinning foxes,” says Whitlatch.

With each year, the size of the trapping community shrinks. When fur prices were high in the 1980s, the association hosted multiple auctions in a year. Now, they only host the one.

“This is a fraction of what the fur sale is normally like,” says Whitlatch.

Despite the instability, trappers in West Virginia continue the sport. Some have found ways to adapt and others have discovered new careers that utilize their unique skills.

Buyers load up their purchases after the auction ends.

*Credit: Clara Haizlett/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

There’s More To Trapping Than Just The Hides

In his early 20s, Austin Stutler is one of the younger trappers in the community. He looks forward to the auction each year. It’s a chance for him to reconnect with the trapping community and celebrate the successes of the past season.

“I look forward to it just like a vacation. It’s such a big deal to me and my family,” says Stutler.

He recently inherited his father’s business, Windy Ridge Trapper. It’s a small fur buying and trapping wholesale company in Wirt County, West Virginia.

At Windy Ridge, they specialize in water trapping. Water trapping targets furbearers like beavers, muskrats and minks.

This year at the auction, beaver hides were in demand. That’s partly because sales for cowboy hats have gone up with the rising popularity of the hit western TV show Yellowstone. Beaver fur is necessary to create a nice, felted cowboy hat.

Windy Ridge sells more than just the fur, however. Stutler has a guy that buys the skulls. The meat and castoreum, or castor glands, are used to make bait. The only part of a beaver they don’t use is the bones.

“What is the purpose of killing anything if you’re not going to use every last bit of it that you can,” says Stutler.

Watch this special Inside Appalachia Folkways story below:

Trapping Takes Time, Dedication And Some Sense

On a mild March day, Austin Stutler and his father, Jason Stutler, head out on the Ohio River to check on the beaver traps they had set the day before.

Although anyone can learn to trap, it takes a lot of patience. Trapping regulations require trappers to check on their traps every 24 hours. For most furbearers, the trapping season spans the winter. That could mean some cold conditions.

“Someone that goes is going to fall in. You’re going to get wet, and someone is going to end up about freezing to death,” says Stutler.

The boat approaches the metal traps, which dangle down into the water on the edge of the bank.

Leaning over the edge of the boat, Austin reaches into the water to pull up the trap.

This time, there was something caught in the snare. The Stutlers snagged a small beaver right at the end of the season.

This beaver is the last one that the Stutlers trapped this season.

*Credit: Clara Haizlett/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

You Can’t Make A Living Just Trapping These Days

Trapping an animal is only half the process. Given the low economic yields after trapping and processing a hide, some trappers have had to think of new ways to utilize their skills to make a living. Mike Gray is a fur trapper that has repurposed his skills for his job in residential wildlife removal.

Gray has also been a trapper since he was a kid. He has a museum-worthy collection of traps and knows the best kinds of snares and footholds to use for the different furbearers.

Mike Gray explains his trap collection, which he has been building for decades. The collection includes antique pieces and international versions of footholds and snares.

*Credit: Lauren Griffin/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

With his business, ABC Humane Animal Removal, Gray doesn’t have time to fur trap much anymore. Instead, he uses his skills to remove animals from homes in urban areas like Morgantown, West Virginia. Gray sees his career as one that protects people and eases stress for those who might not have much experience with wildlife.

“You see a squirrel or raccoon, but it’s a whole lot different when it’s in the walls of your house,” Gray says. “If you can’t make that individual feel safe in their house, you really haven’t done your job.”

Trappers Are Concerned About The Future Of The Sport

When Gray was younger, there were no educational resources to help him learn how to trap. He had to teach himself how to do it. So these days, he serves as the Education Co-Chair with the West Virginia Trappers Association. He teaches young trappers the skills of the trade, though he says it’s not for everybody.

“If you are extremely tender-hearted, it probably wouldn’t be what you want to do. Because something does die in it,” says Gray.

Even though Gray doesn’t fur trap much these days, he looks forward to the annual auction. It brings together trappers, old and young, year after year.

Jeremiah Whitlatch has taught his daughters how to trap, and they help out at the auction.

*Credit: Clara Haizlett/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

Though behind the camaraderie and excited atmosphere at the auction, there is some concern. Some members of the younger generation, like Austin Stutler, are worried their dedication might not be enough to keep trapping viable.

“I do have a genuine fear that whenever I am in my 50s or 60s, that there will not be as many of us,” says Stutler.

Stutler, Gray, Whitlatch and others are committed to bringing the younger generation into the sport and keeping the practice going.

“For most of us, this is not a hobby. This is who we are,” says Stutler.

This story is a two-part collaborative series between Folkways reporters Lauren Griffin and Clara Haizlett. For the video companion piece, click here.

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Dirt, Soot, Smoke And Oil: Mechanics Take on the Dirty Job of Repairing Antique Trains

In this Folkways story about the Cass Railroad, you’ll meet railroad senior employee Rex Cassell. He passed away during the making of this story, but during his life, he was a crucial part of why visiting the Cass Railroad in Pocahontas County, West Virginia, feels like you’re stepping back in time.

This story originally aired in the Oct. 7, 2022 episode of Inside Appalachia.

With a resounding whistle that you can feel to your core, the Durbin Rocket takes off from the train depot and begins its journey into the mountains of Pocahontas County, West Virginia. Eager tourists lean out from the open-air coaches of this 1920s-era train as it winds along the Greenbrier River. It is one of those hot summer days where you can almost hear the hum of sunshine in the air, but the heat doesn’t keep the train enthusiasts away.

Kentaro Okuni is one of those eager tourists. Okuni traveled from his home in the suburbs of Washington, D.C. with his wife, Hiroi, and his young son, Takenojo, to see the impressive Shay steam trains run. This is their second time making the journey out to Cass, and their enthusiasm about the steam trains is visible. Many visitors on the train are not from West Virginia, and in the years before the pandemic it was fairly common for folks to travel to the small town of Cass from all over the world.

Riding the train at Cass is a niche experience, one that wouldn’t be possible without a committed group of experts who fix and operate the trains. One of those people was Rex Cassell, the shop foreman down at the Cass Repair Shop. Cassell was a senior employee at the Cass railroad, and he passed away during the making of this story.

Rex Cassell was the shop foreman down at the Cass Repair Shop. A native of Cass, he spent most of his life around the locomotives.

Cassell officially worked on these locomotives for about 30 years. Like a lot of the other engineers, hostlers, and machinists at Cass, he was the third generation in his family to work with locomotives. His grandfather worked for the C&O Railroad and taught Cassell a lot as a boy. His father stayed in the family business and worked at Cass, often bringing Cassell into work with him.

“I would lay on the floor of the locomotive,” Cassell said. “And he would cover me up with an old greasy rag that was in there. And now I’ll never forget, I’d wake up and he’d be shoveling coal over top of me into the firebox. And then I’d go right back to sleep.”

The other guys on the crew referred to Cassell as “a wealth of knowledge” due to his experience in the field. At the time of the interview, Cassell was approaching retirement. It is essential for the younger generation of workers at Cass to learn as much as possible from the “old timers” before that knowledge is lost.

The locomotives running out of Cass were built in the early 1900s all the way to the 1950s and 60s. The knowledge on how to repair and run these locomotives is mostly handed down through hands-on learning. Cass has a unique terrain that sets it apart from other railroads. Firing a flat-land locomotive is much different than running an engine up the 6-8 percent grades around in Pocahontas County.

“The only way you can learn how to do it is to just get in with the engineer to show you and then learn it hands on. There’s no book out there that will tell you how to do this,” Cassell said.

One of the members of the younger generation is Dervin Lambert. Like Cassell, Lambert grew up around these trains. His grandfather also worked at the Cass Repair Shop as a machinist, and Lambert himself started working there when he was just 15 years old.

“I’m hands on, and I don’t mind getting dirty. And, you know, it’s hot, it’s aggravating sometimes. But at the end of the day, it’s a good job,” Lambert said.

Dervin Lambert has been working at the Cass Repair Shop since he was 15 years old. His father worked here before him.

The job is not just running tourist trains — it’s also running freight. The freight trains haul a variety of goods with modern locomotives, but it’s the antique steam trains that require more effort. The job is not for everyone, even people who thought they wanted to work on trains. Cassell has seen his fair share of people come and go.

“They didn’t like the dirt, the soot, the smoke, the oil. It’s not a job for somebody who wants to stay clean,” Cassell said.

The engines are also incredibly hot. On a summer day, the locomotives average between 130-150 degrees. The engine has to be continuously fed with coal, which only adds to the physical demands of the job.

Dervin Lambert shows off the furnace inside a Shay No. 5 locomotive. On a hot summer day, temperatures inside can hit 150 degrees.

The population in Cass is shrinking. The demands of the job are significant, and in the past the field has predominantly been dominated by workers who are men. The railroad has expanded their employee search pool beyond the region in an effort to find committed workers who can handle the demands of the job. One person who doesn’t mind the rough conditions is Matthew Hauser. He’s one of the newest recruits, along with his friend Brown Culp.

Hauser and Culp previously volunteered at the North Carolina Transportation Museum in Spencer, North Carolina. One year, they took a trip together with their fathers up to Cass. Their visit inspired them to hatch a plan to move and take their passions to the next level working on the locomotives at Cass. Their plan worked. Hauser has been working at Cass for about a year, and Culp followed him up in the spring.

Matthew Hauser (left) and Brown Culp (right) are new recruits from North Carolina working at Cass. Starting out as volunteer train enthusiasts, Hauser is now an engineer with his friend Culp as his fireman.

“We probably make or manufacture 80 percent of our parts. There’s a few things to do in the outside world that we can buy, but you’re talking a lot of money when it is,” Cassell said.

Hauser is the engineer for the morning ride on the Durbin Rocket. As an engineer, Hauser is responsible for running the engine: keeping it lubricated, watching the track for obstacles, coordinating with the train conductor, and helping the trip run as smoothly as possible. His friend Culp is a fireman, which means he fuels and maintains the fire in the locomotive during trips. People like Hauser and Culp are important for the survival of the industry in Cass.

It’s not just recruitment that is challenging. The rising costs of materials and supplies is also threatening the future of the railroad.

When it comes to repairing and maintaining the locomotives, the employees manufacture most of their own parts here at the Cass Repair Shop.

With industry costs rising, Cass employees worry that increasing ticket prices in response might push tourists away. John Smith, originally from Philadelphia, is the CEO and founder of the Durbin and Greenbrier Valley Railroad. Smith has been pivotal in the effort to keep the railroad running.

“The biggest question mark is, are we going to have the base of customers that we had before?” Smith said.

The ticket price is still on the lower end compared to other heritage railroads around the country, but Cass is fairly remote. It sits within the National Radio Quiet Zone, a scientific research area established for the world’s largest steerable telescope in Green Bank. Radio transmissions are heavily restricted, and the area does not get cell service. The only way to get to the area is by car, which can be an additional expense and challenge for folks trying to visit. For people that do, however, it’s a singular experience.

“Especially if you’re in like one of those air conditioned cars whipping down the tracks over on the Central, it’s pretty cool. Even the ride here with all the noise and everything else…it’s almost musical. When you hear a steam whistle a mile away, there’s no one who wouldn’t say that’s one of the coolest things you ever heard,” Smith said.

Traveling to Cass is like stepping back in time. Hearing that steam whistle invokes a sense of nostalgia and excitement for a past long gone. But it’s the dedication, commitment, and passion of the employees at the railroad that keep the trains running, year after year.

Much of the town of Cass has remained unchanged since its founding in the early 1900s, including its Depot.

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Family Revives Tradition of Swiss Cheese Making In Helvetia, W.Va.

In a basement kitchen, a pot on the stove full of what looks like soured milk sat on low heat. Thrayron Morgan had her arm submerged in the liquid, and she was carefully cutting up the mixture with her hands.

“It just feels like oh goodness, like jello,” Morgan said.

But it’s not jello, it’s curds. And after a few more steps and some time, it would be a block of cheese.

Morgan is a third generation descendant of Swiss immigrants. Her grandfather immigrated to Helvetia, West Virginia from the canton of Bern in the 1870s when the community was just forming. Helvetia is a rural town nestled close to the Monongahela National Forest, and like Morgan, most of its residents can trace their heritage back to Switzerland. The town preserves and shares their culture and traditions through annual community festivals, including the famous Fasnacht festival held every February. You can sample Swiss dishes at the Hütte Restaurant and browse local goods at Swiss Roots, the community store.

John Jacob Betler, Morgan’s grandfather, posing with some of his cheese.

When Morgan’s husband Russell retired recently, the couple wanted to pick up a new hobby. They settled on making cheese – but not just any cheese. Morgan and Russell wanted to make the kind of cheese Morgan’s grandfather and other early Helvetia residents made. That meant reviving a family tradition that had been dormant for decades. One that takes knowledge, skill, and the right environmental conditions.

Morgan didn’t have her grandfather’s recipe written down, but she knew her neighbor, Nancy Gain, could help her. Gain’s ancestors are from the same region in Switzerland as Morgan’s, and she remembered her mother making the same kind of cheese as a child.

“So we just went down and I told her… what I knew,” Gain said.

With her friend to guide her, Morgan was able to recreate the recipe and knowledge of cheesemaking that had been lost in her family.

She needed than just a recipe to make this cheese, however. A key ingredient was missing: fresh cow milk. Finding a dairy cow these days was harder than expected.

Thrayron Morgan begins a batch of cheese by boiling fresh cow milk from her friend’s farm.

“It’s hard because no one wants to milk. If they raise cattle, it’s usually beef cattle, they don’t want to have a family cow. Used to be everybody had to have a family cow to have milk,” Gain said. Morgan would have to look beyond Gain in order to secure some milk.

“We’re really blessed to be able to live in a place where it’s not just that you have neighbors, but you have family,” Morgan said.

It’s not uncommon for her to trade some of her cheese for sausage, or for her to give away some buttermilk or homemade butter. Morgan knew a friend who lived a county over that still had a dairy cow, so she was able to get the necessary ingredient.

The final step in making cheese is the aging process. The Morgans converted a section of their basement into a cheese cave, one that would regulate the temperature and humidity and create the ideal aging environment.

Having a cheese cave like this one is a modern luxury. Morgan’s ancestors made their cheese in much different conditions.

“All the old farmers was making cheese in their kitchen and they were curing it, or aging it, in their cellar. And in those cellars, you have dirt floor, rocks, that you know are moldy – perfect situation for aging cheese,” Morgan said.

Thrayron and Russell’s cheese cave regulates temperature and humidity as the cheese ages.

With the right recipe, the essential ingredients, and the ideal environment, the Morgan’s hobby took off. The nostalgic taste of the cheese reminded community members of the cheese their parents and grandparents used to make. Cheesemaking is a laborious process, and many community members don’t have the time or ingredients needed to make it. Demand for the cheese began to soar, and the Morgan’s started to sell their cheese down at the local Helvetia market.

“It was a surprise when we took the first load down to them the first week and within 24 hours they were out,” said Morgan.

Cheese being prepared and packaged for local sale.

West Virginia has expansive cottage food laws that allow individuals to sell products that are made in their own homes. “The legislature was nice enough… to create a bill to waiver [regulations] of that so that now we can make the cheese in our kitchen and cure it in the cellar,” explained Morgan. Without these laws, the Morgans’ cheesemaking would have had to remain a hobby.

Although the cheese is now available in the community, Morgan has a real concern about Swiss traditions like cheese-making being lost as the younger generations move out of the area. To combat this, Morgan has made sure to share this recipe and process with her granddaughter, Georgia Gizzi.

That her grandma started making cheese one day was not surprising to Gizzi. “Well, she’s always been very much into things like canning foods and doing all kinds of different things. We’ve made things like dandelion jelly,” Gizzi said fondly.

Gizzi doesn’t live in Helvetia, but she visits every so often and has enjoyed learning the process of cheesemaking alongside her grandmother. Her favorite part of the process is getting to stick her arm in the pot and cut up the curds. “I have a couple of friends though that have come up and they like refuse to put their hand in it because they thought it was gross but I love it,” laughed Gizzi.

Seeing the enthusiasm of her granddaughter gives Morgan hope that the community of Helvetia will grow again and preserve not just the tradition of cheesemaking, but other Swiss traditions as well. Morgan and other members of her generation in Helvetia have made deliberate efforts to teach their children and grandchildren how to do things like cheesemaking and folk dancing.

Making a block of cheese isn’t just a day’s work. It takes weeks or months to age the cheese to perfection. If you have the patience and dedication, however, the result is delicious.

This story is part of the Inside Appalachia Folkways Reporting Project, which is made possible in part with support from Margaret A. Cargill Philanthropies to the West Virginia Public Broadcasting Foundation. Subscribe to Inside Appalachia to hear more stories of Appalachian folklife, arts, and culture.