Nicole Musgrave, Author at West Virginia Public Broadcasting

In Millstone, KY, Gospel Singers Save The Family Guitar And Find Comfort In Music After The Flood

On July 28, 2022 — the day of the flood — James and Ruby Boggs had about four and a half feet of water rushing through their two-story house. They live in an old coal camp called Millstone. It sits on the North Fork of the Kentucky River, and it was one of the communities hit hard by the flood.

This story originally aired in the March 5, 2023 episode of Inside Appalachia.

I was here a few weeks after the flood with a volunteer group. We helped tear out drywall and flooring with the Boggs’ daughter, Derenia Dunbar. I returned a month later, and Derenia took me inside to show me their progress.

“We had this donated to us and this donated to us,” Derenia said, pointing to a pile of insulation and drywall. “Just got it yesterday.”

Derenia is in her fifties and grew up in this house. Music was always a part of daily life for the family. And it remains important today.

“When we have Thanksgiving, we have Christmas, anything, we all start singing. It’s all music,” Derenia said. “I got a brother that plays the harmonica. I sing, my other brother sings and plays guitar. Now I have a granddaughter who’s picking up the guitar and playing. And she can yodel, like my dad. She can.”

Derenia’s parents were part of a well-known gospel group in the area called The Happy Notes. The Happy Notes played on the local radio station, and at funerals and revivals. They even recorded an 8-track that Derenia sang on.

Derenia’s parents, James and Ruby, are in their seventies now. And they don’t perform as much as they used to. Lately, Ruby’s voice has started giving out.

“I’ve actually wore my voice out where we’ve sang so much for so many years,” Ruby said. “And I’m not ashamed to say that when I get anointed, I’m very loud.”

But James and Ruby still sing and play at their church and with family. So when their house filled with flood waters, one of the things they were most worried about was James’ guitar.

“Forty-seven years we lived here and we lost everything downstairs. My guitar was in here,” James said.

The guitar was downstairs, in a case propped up in a corner of the living room.

“I figured it was destroyed,” James said.

When the water receded, James spotted the guitar case in all the mess. It fell apart as soon as he opened it. He pulled the guitar out and looked it over. There was a little mud on the neck and the strings needed to be replaced. But it wasn’t warped or cracked. So James decided to give it a test.

“I said, ‘Oh Lord, have mercy, Ruby.’ I said, ‘If it rings, it’ll be alright.’ So I got it and…it rang! I said, ‘Thank you, Lord,'” James explained.

Even though the guitar rang, Derenia said that it still needed some work.

“My younger brother, Dewryan, took it to his house and cleaned it and shined it. Put all brand new strings on it. And the case that he had that fell apart, we just got rid of it, and my brother got him a case and put the guitar in it,” Derenia said.

A couple of weeks later, the whole family gathered outside the family home to celebrate James’ 79th birthday. And they presented James with the spruced up guitar. Surprised and delighted, James tuned it up and led four generations in a rendition of “I’ll Fly Away.” Someone in the family recorded the moment and shared it to Facebook.

“They was all singing tenor and low tenor and all this stuff, so all of us was singing the song,” Derenia said. “And we just enjoyed it. It was just a really awesome time.”

Derenia said some people were surprised that her family was able to express so much joy amidst the hardship.

“People started responding to it and saying that we were singing joyful songs, and the flood was behind us. We had all the debris outside, and everybody was saying, ‘It’s a time that you all have joy when most people don’t got that joy.’ But I know that it all come from God,” Derenia said.

In the aftermath of the flood, singing together has been a source of comfort for the Boggs family. And as Ruby explained, it is also a way to reaffirm their faith after tragedy.

“Singing has always been a joy,” Ruby said. “When I sing, and I feel God’s love and His mercy, I know that he’s with me.”

Seven months after the flood, James and Ruby are still waiting to move back into their home. The family has been navigating some illnesses, so rebuilding has taken longer than they had hoped. But they’ve hung sheetrock on the walls, and a local nonprofit helped get them a new heat pump at no cost. A friend of theirs is a carpenter, and he has been helping on weekends.

They hope to move back in in two to three months — before the one-year anniversary of the flood.

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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.

Juan Ríos Serves Up Frijoles Charros In Wellston, Ohio

Juan Ríos grew up in Mexico City where frijoles charros are ubiquitous. Frijoles charros — or charro beans — is a dish that originated in the ranching communities of rural northern Mexico. Growing up, it’s a dish that Ríos ate regularly. Yet when he opened a Mexican restaurant in Wellston over a decade ago, Ríos didn’t include frijoles charros on the menu. But recently, he’s started offering it.

This story originally aired in the Feb. 24, 2023 episode of Inside Appalachia.

A bowl of brothy pinto beans is a comfort food for lots of folks in Appalachia. In the former coal town of Wellston, Ohio, one man is serving up soup beans that remind him of his childhood home.

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WELLSTON, OHIO — As I walked off the quiet streets of downtown Wellston, Ohio and into Viva Jalisco, all my senses lit up. Lively mariachi music played throughout the dining room. The walls and booths were decorated with brightly colored depictions of agave farms and Frida Kahlo paintings. The scent of garlic and onions and chillies wafted through the air.

I was greeted by Juan Ríos, the owner of Viva Jalisco. Ríos took me back into the kitchen where a pot of frijoles charros was simmering on the stove.

“This is for frijoles charros,” Ríos said, showing me the pinto beans. “Right now, we cook for probably another 20 minutes.”

Ríos moved to the United States when he was 20. Since then, he has primarily worked in restaurants. He started out bussing tables and washing dishes. Then he learned to cook, and eventually he opened his own restaurant. Ríos’s mom gets a kick out of the fact that he has learned to cook because it wasn’t something he did while living in Mexico. He said when he was growing up, his mom and sister cooked.

“And we come here, you see, we’re cooking now here,” Ríos said. My mom laughs at me because, ‘You see, you’re in the United States and you’re cooking now yourself.’”

When he was learning to cook, Ríos sometimes called his mom to ask for advice. “Sometimes I say, ‘Mom, can you tell me how to make this?’ If she knows how to make it, they tell me how to make it,” Ríos said.

One dish that Ríos remembers his mom making back in Mexico City is frijoles charros or charro beans, the same dish he was making that day in Wellston. “Charros” in Spanish means “cowboy.” So the name “frijoles charros” harkens back to the stew’s history as an important food tradition in rural ranching communities of northern Mexico. In order to sustain the workers during long days of herding cattle, the stew was packed with protein. Along with beans, frijoles charros is heavy on the meat.

In his version, Ríos cuts up three different kinds of meat to add to the beans. “Bacon, hotdogs — we call salchichas — and ham,” Ríos said.

Ríos explained that growing up, frijoles charros was something the women in his family made for special occasions or large gatherings. Like weddings, holidays, and quinciñeras. He said the soup beans were served at the beginning of the meal.

“Before you got your meal, you got your frijoles charros,” Ríos said. “And you can get your chips, your tortilla. Just pour hot sauce — you pour onto your frijoles charros, and start eating before your meal comes.”

In addition to being a staple at family gatherings, frijoles charros is a common side dish in restaurants throughout Northern Mexico and along the US-Mexico border. But historically, it’s not something that is often seen on menus at Mexican restaurants in southern Ohio.

Elena Foulis grew up in Northern Mexico and moved to Ohio at the age of 17. Foulis lived in Ohio for about 30 years, where she went on to teach at The Ohio State University. These days, she’s at Texas A&M, but is also working on a digital oral history project about Latines in Ohio, which is being archived at the Center for Folklore Studies at Ohio State. Foulis thinks one reason that charro beans aren’t as visible in southern Ohio might have to do with spice.

“I would say that the fact that traditionally charro beans have been spicy, that might be what maybe makes Mexican restaurant owners not make as much or not have it on their menu. Because of the level of spiciness,” Foulis said.

Foulis explained that when she first moved to Ohio around 30 years ago, a lot of the Mexican restaurants in the area were white-owned. And they catered to a mostly non-Mexican, non-Latinx audience. So they were cautious about not making their food too spicy. And the food they did serve was often a kind of Tex-Mex.

“When I say Tex-Mex, it’s the meals that always come with rice and beans and maybe cheese right on top,” Foulis said. “The influence of chips and salsa always at the table, which you don’t always find in restaurants in Mexico.”

Foulis said that over the past decade or so, more and more Mexican-owned restaurants and taquerías have popped up in Ohio. And they’re offering dishes geared more towards Mexican and other Latinx consumers. Things like menudo and tacos made with tongue and tripe.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to a traditional American restaurant that ever has tongue on their menu,” Foulis said. “So I think that a lot of the Mexican restaurants that are Mexican-owned in Ohio have this sort of mix of dishes on their menus… So you do have some dishes that have more of a Tex-Mex flavor. And then you have other dishes that are clearly more for the Mexican consumer.”

Foulis said that having that mix of dishes is a way for restaurant owners to survive while also maintaining a taste of home. And she said it’s an invitation for non-Mexican customers to try something new.

Juan Ríos stirs the pot of frijoles charros in the kitchen at Viva Jalisco. Ríos offers the dish once a week on the buffet line, and he plans to add it to the menu. *Credit: Nicole Musgrave/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

Back in the kitchen at Viva Jalisco, Ríos added a large can of jalapeños to the pot to give his soup beans some heat. “So we pour jalapeños with the juice. You see the juice?” Ríos said. He explained the jalapeños make the beans a little bit spicy.

When Ríos first started working in restaurants around southern Ohio, he noticed that most of the customers were weary of spicy foods. So frijoles charros was not something he put on the menu when he first opened his restaurant. But now that he has been in the region for a couple decades, he has seen a shift. People are requesting more spice.

“We’re here for almost 20 years,” Ríos said. “A lot of people have started asking for hot sauce, jalapeños.”

And customers have actually started asking for frijoles charros by name. Sometimes it’s Mexican or Mexican-American customers who are in Wellston for travel or work.

“Customers come from Texas, California, Florida,” Ríos said. “They probably travel in United States or work construction.”

Ríos said they often ask: “Hey amigo, you have frijoles charros?”

But sometimes it’s non-Mexican customers who ask for the stew after having tried it at another restaurant. Ríos has also noticed people requesting other traditional Mexican dishes that are becoming better known throughout the United States. Things like tacos al pastor and elote or Mexican street corn.

“A lot of people — a lot of American people love it now, traditional Mexican food,” said Ríos.

With changes in customer base and customer preferences, Ríos has started serving frijoles charros once a week on the buffet line at Viva Jalisco. And he plans for the dish to become a permanent fixture on the menu.

“I got a new menu coming, probably in the next few weeks. We’re going to add frijoles charros to the appetizers,” Ríos said.

And he said that there are also a lot of days when there’s a pot of frijoles charros simmering on the stove at the restaurant — customers just have to know to ask for it. For Elena Foulis, she encourages non-Latinx customers to seek out these foods that might not be as familiar to them.

“You can have your, sort of, traditional comfort food, or what you associate with Mexican or Tex-Mex,” Foulis said. “But look for other dishes that might interest you. They might become your favorite. So why not give it a try?”

A bowl of frijoles charros sits to the right of a bowl of refried beans. While refried beans are a standard side dish in most Mexican restaurants in Southern Ohio, frijoles charros often accompany the main meal at restaurants in northern Mexico and along the US-Mexico border. *Credit: Nicole Musgrave/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

In the kitchen at Viva Jalisco, the day’s pot of frijoles charros finished cooking. Amidst the sound of the on-duty cook cutting onions, Ríos ladled me out a piping hot bowl. “So you can try the frijoles charros. But be careful, it’ll be hot,” Ríos said.

As someone who isn’t too keen on spicy food, I was a little nervous. But the smoky flavor, the rich broth, and the acidity of the pickled jalapeños won me over.

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Gospel Musician In Millstone, Kentucky Tries To Salvage Family’s Flood-Ravaged Music Equipment

On July 28, communities all over southeast Kentucky were hit with unprecedented flooding. People lost homes, cars, family photos. Many musicians lost instruments, and that meant they couldn’t participate in cultural traditions that define their lives. But through the generosity of community members, some musicians have been able to reconnect with their music practice, finding comfort and even joy.

This story originally aired in the Nov. 18, 2022 episode of Inside Appalachia.

Dean McBee was one musician who was hit hard by the flood. McBee lives in Millstone, an old coal camp that sits along the Kentucky river. As he stood in his yard, McBee counted up all the homes in this community that were lost. “Five, six, seven, eight, nine,” Dean said. “Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen in Millstone.” In a community of less than 100, thirteen is a staggering number.

McBee grew up in Millstone. When he moved back to Millstone from South Carolina 25 years ago to be closer to his aging parents, he bought the house right next to theirs. After his parents passed, McBee’s sister moved into the family home. Her house was one of the one’s lost to the flood. Looking at where the home once stood, McBee reflected on its current state. “Just an empty lot now,” McBee said. “This is where we grew up, right here.”

The flood filled McBee’s house with about six feet of water, but he and his wife plan to rebuild. McBee has done a lot of work gutting the first floor and treating for mold. McBee cautioned me as we walked up the wobbly stairs into the house to check out his progress. “Just be careful on these steps, they’re just leaning here,” McBee said.

Then he opened the door and showed the inside. “Tore it all out. And I’ll put all the joists back, put the plywood on it, sheetrock and insulation.” McBee said. The inside of the house was down to the studs. All of the flooring had been ripped out so that the house had just a dirt floor.

But while McBee had made some progress on his house, he hadn’t been able to give much time to the wooden shed out back. That was his music room. The outside of the shed was decorated with cast iron skillets, old license plates, and carved wooden animals. “My dad’s brother carved the bear. Then my dad did the fish and the birds,” McBee said.

McBee’s music shed that sits behind his house. The shed was filled with McBee’s music equipment and instruments, some of which had been his late father’s. The door of the shed sits off the hinges, allowing increased air flow to help cut down on mold growth.

Then McBee showed the inside of the shed. “This is my music stuff right here,” McBee said. “Mixer boards. My mic, my studio microphone — I don’t know where it’s at in here. I’m slowly getting stuff out of it here.”

Amplifiers and speakers were tossed around on their sides. Dried mud was caked over everything. Metal components were rusted and black mold had started growing on the walls. The license plates that hung above the door showed how high the water rose. “It got up to the license plates, the water did. It was to the ceiling because see here, the light?” McBee said as he pointed to the light on the drooping ceiling fan. “It had water in it, see there?”

In the small camper that McBee and his wife are living in now, McBee told me how he got into playing guitar.

“My dad played music. And I started when I was an early age, he started me out,” McBee said. “I started when I was probably about 8 years old, teaching me the basics of a flat top. Then when I was probably about 12, he brought a bass guitar home and introduced me to a bass guitar. And I really liked it and that’s what I stuck with.”

McBee’s dad was a well-known flat top guitar player in the community. He played country music in the bars and nightclubs around town. But then he got saved, trading in late nights at the bar for early mornings at church. After that, he made one request to McBee.

“He asked me one thing. He said, ‘Son, promise me that you will not take your talent into the bars, into the nightclubs.’ And I promised him that. And I play gospel, strictly gospel,” McBee said.

As a young boy, McBee traveled with his dad to different churches to play. “Evangelists would come in and they would say, ‘Well, come and help us with the music.’ And we would go. For that week we’d be in revival with them and we’d help them with the music,” McBee said. “And that’s what we did, we just went to different churches…and just have a good time with the Lord.”

As an adult, McBee continued to perform gospel music with his dad. For 20 years, they were part of a group that traveled to neighboring counties, with McBee on bass and his dad on flat top guitar. When McBee’s dad passed away several years ago, his guitars and amplifiers went to McBee. McBee had been keeping them in the music shed. It was filled with his family’s history of making music. The day of the flood, everything floated in the water for about 13 hours. McBee said it has been painful to see his dad’s guitars and amplifiers in such rough shape.

“I packed those guitars and amplifiers for him when I started about 11 or 12 years old,” McBee said, choking back tears. “And there are other guitars out there like them. But it’s not that guitar. Money could not buy them back.”

Dean McBee cleans a mixer board in his garage. The mixer board was damaged in the July 28 flood. McBee has been trying to save the board, using a spray cleaning solution and a small paint brush to clear away mud and dirt.

All of McBee’s guitars, including his dad’s, have been drying out at his other sister’s house. He has hope that some of them can be saved. McBee said his dad’s amplifiers are too far gone to fix. But he planned to keep them anyway.

“And people say, ‘What are you gonna do with them?’ I say, ‘They’ll sit right there. I will look at them everyday. Because as long as I got them, I got my dad,’” McBee said.

There have been some bright spots for McBee since the flood. A friend bought him a new bass and amplifier to replace ones he lost. Now, he’s been able to play every Sunday at church again. And McBee’s sister cleaned up his flat top guitar. He had recently gotten it back from her, and already he felt relief being able to play again.

“I’m not down and out no more,” McBee said. “When I’m feeling down, I can go get my guitar. And it just makes me feel better when I can play my guitar.”

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In Kingsport, TN, Jerry Machen Sr. Passes Down The Art Of Carpet Design And Repair

Lots of people live with common household objects like furniture, silverware, and rugs. But for many of us, we seldom think about who makes these items, or where to turn when they’re in need of repair. One man in Kingsport, Tennessee has been building and repairing carpets and rugs for over 50 years. For Jerry Machen Sr., the business not only provides him with a livelihood, but also an outlet for expressing creativity and an opportunity for discovery.

I Fell In Love With Carpet

In their two-room workshop in downtown Kingsport, Jerry Machen Sr. and his wife and business partner, Linda Machen, are picking out colors for a custom butterfly rug.

Jerry designed the rug and created a template out of butcher paper. The future rug will be one big butterfly in a mix of pastel colors, with hints of mustard yellow and deep brown. As they work, Jerry tapes small pieces of yarn to the template to see how all the colors work together.

“Beautiful!” Jerry said. “God might hire us to make new butterflies.”

The Machens have owned their business for over 50 years. They named it Agape Carpet and Rug Specialists of America.

“Agape is a Greek word. It means God’s unconditional love,” he said. “I guess the reason why I can create and do the things that we do is His love for us, and me loving exactly what I do.”

Jerry’s love for carpet started in the mid-sixties. He was in his twenties and was working at a furniture store creating custom draperies.

“That was my first love,” he said. “And then they needed help in carpet installation. So I fell in love with carpet.”

Watch this special Inside Appalachia Folkways story below:

Jerry learned the ins and outs of installing carpet while at the furniture store, but eventually he struck out on his own. With every installation job he did, Jerry always saved pieces of scrap carpet in case his customers needed repair work done. After a while, he had so much scrap carpet, that he rented out an entire house to store it all in. Linda was not very happy about this.

“See I didn’t know about the house for a little while,” Linda said. “That was interesting. He caused a little stir.”

“My wife came in one day and said, ‘Get rid of it all. You’ve gotta get this place cleaned out,’” Jerry said.

But Jerry didn’t want to just throw all the scraps away. He thought he could make use of them. One day, he saw a painting of a mountain scene and he got an idea. He decided to recreate the painting with scraps.

“I said, ‘I can do that in carpet.’ I’d never built one before in my life,” he said. “But in my mind I thought of it over and over again that I could build that.”

Linda came home to find Jerry working in a frenzy on the kitchen floor.

“I walk in from work and my whole kitchen floor is covered with pieces,” Linda said. “And he’s gonna put a picture together. And I’m like, ‘Is it gonna be done before I have to start supper?’”

At this point it was the 1970s, so Jerry was working with pieces of shag carpet in vibrant hues of blues, oranges, reds, and soft pinks. He hand-sewed all the pieces together from the back. And he was surprised by the outcome.

Nicole Musgrave

West Virginia Public Broadcasting

The first pictorial wall hanging that Jerry Machen Sr. created in the 1970s hangs in the front room of his workshop. Jerry created the carpet art by sewing scrap pieces of shag carpet together by hand.

“When I turned it over, I was amazed at how it looked,” Jerry said. “It was actually beautiful.”

After creating that mountain scene, Jerry began sewing one-of-a-kind rugs and wall hangings for customers. He has created hundreds of designs, including horoscope signs, landscapes, animals, and logos. For Jerry, it’s a thrill to bring an idea to life.

“I love working with my hands,” he said. “If you can build it in your mind, you can put your hands to it and you can put it together.”

It’s More Artwork Than It is Work

Over the years, the business has turned into a family affair. Along with Linda, Jerry works alongside his grandson and his oldest son, Jerry Machen Jr.

In the back room of the workshop, the buzz of the clippers rings out as Jerry watches Jerry Jr. shave down the edge of a piece of carpet.

Once the edge is straight and neat, Jerry Jr. uses an air compressor to blow the tiny scraps out of his way. Finally, he sews on a strip of fringe to finish the edge.

Jerry Jr. explains that along with installing carpet and creating custom designs, they also do a lot of restoration work.

“The restoration is a big part of the business,” Jerry Jr. said. “A lot of people have rugs that’ve been handed down from generation to generation. And bringing those back to life is pretty amazing.”

Nicole Musgrave

West Virginia Public Broadcasting

Jerry Machen Jr. folds over the corner of a piece of trim on a runner rug. Jerry Jr. has been around the rug and carpet business all of his life and is accomplished in carpet installation and restoration.

But the Machens don’t just clean and repair rugs that customers bring in. Sometimes, Jerry will find rugs that people have thrown away. He’ll bring them into the shop to give them the new life he feels they deserve.

“I can tell a real good rug, so when I find a good one, of course I’ll stop and pick it up,” Jerry said. “I like to solve it. I like to go and make it whole again. Instead of trashing it and throwing it away, I like to repair it or build it back.”

Much like the custom design work, the restoration work is an opportunity for Jerry to put his creativity and problem-solving skills into motion.

“Everyone of them tells a story,” Jerry said. “There’s not one rug — especially hand-knotted or tufted — that is the same. Everyone is different. So you have to find the method that they used, the knot that they used to even repair it. If not, it’s gonna show up. So it’s a learning process everyday.”

Jerry’s not the only one at the shop who finds creative fulfillment in the installation and restoration. Jerry Jr. does, too.

“It’s more artwork than it is work,” Jerry Jr. said. “It’s more creative. You have a chance to expand your imagination on doing different things. And actually it’s a lot of fun.”

Linda feels similarly.

Nicole Musgrave

West Virginia Public Broadcasting

Linda Machen (left) and Jerry Machen Sr. (right) choose colors for a custom butterfly rug. Jerry designed the rug and made the template.

“I didn’t even know I had any creative abilities,” Linda said. “But I was good with colors and I was good with shapes.”

If You Have A Gift Then The Gift Should Keep On Giving

Jerry continues to teach others about the art of carpet design and repair. In 2021, he was awarded a Traditional Arts Apprenticeship grant from the Tennessee Folklife Program. Through the grant, he is mentoring Stacy Kimbler on how to create pictorial wall hangings, using a tufting gun.

Today at the shop, Stacy is working on a honeybee design. He stands at a 7 foot tall, wooden frame that has a piece of white cloth stretched over it. He holds the tufting gun up to the cloth, and as he pulls the trigger, yarn shoots into the cloth at high speeds, creating the tufted design. Jerry stands nearby and gives advice on how close together the tufted rows should be.

“Yeah, you can go over top of it, it won’t hurt it,” Jerry said. “Just go and fill it in in the middle. The tighter the better.”

Nicole Musgrave

West Virginia Public Broadcasting

Jerry Machen Sr. (right) looks over the honeybee that his apprentice, Stacy Kimbler (left), has designed. Stacy designed the honeybee and used a tufting gun to bring it to life, a technique he’s learned through his apprenticeship with Jerry.

While Jerry values passing down his knowledge of carpet art to others, he acknowledges that there’s always more he can learn, too.

“If you have a gift then the gift should keep on giving,” Jerry said. “I think it’s very important to just keep what we have and learn from it. I don’t know everything and I’ll never know everything. But I’m willing to learn each and every day.”

And after all these years in the business, the possibility of discovering something new is what keeps Jerry going.

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This story originally aired in the Aug. 26, 2022 episode of Inside Appalachia.

Festival In Irvine, KY Sparks Competition Within Morel Mushroom Community

Dryland fish, Molly moochers, hickory chickens. No matter what you call them, morel mushrooms are a seasonal favorite in many communities throughout Appalachia. And you can often spot morel hunters bragging about their best finds on Facebook or at backyard cookouts. At the Mountain Mushroom Festival in Irvine, Kentucky, several layers of competition are present within the mushroom community there.

Everybody’s Afraid You’ll Find Their Honey Hole

Up on a stage, tucked underneath a tent, John Allen is preparing a cream sauce chock full of morel mushrooms. The cooking demonstrations are in full swing.

“Now whenever I’m doing a cream sauce—when I’m thinning it out—I always go about one step thinner than I want my final sauce to be,” Allen said to the audience.

John Allen stirs a morel-filled cream sauce as he demonstrates how to prepare morels at the Mountain Mushroom Festival in Irvine, Kentucky. Allen practiced making his Kentucky Hot Brown-inspired dish just once before demonstrating at the festival and entering it into the Mushroom Cook-Off.

This is Allen’s tenth year demonstrating at the festival, which celebrates local traditions around morel mushrooms. Morels are a type of wild mushroom that can be found in the forests of Appalachia in the springtime. They are often identified by their honeycomb-like caps. They can be smaller than a fingertip and bigger than a hand, and they’re prized for their meaty texture and their nutty, buttery flavor.

For his dish, Allen layers the morel cream sauce over a piece of sourdough bread, and tops that with a slice of tomato and fried morels. It’s an ode to the Kentucky Hot Brown, made with Estill County morels.

“I’m gonna call it the Estill Brown, why not,” Allen said. The crowd claps and cheers as Allen shows them the mini open-faced sandwich.

A plate of John Allen’s “Estill Browns.” A morel cream sauce covers a piece of sourdough bread, and is topped with a slice of tomato and a fried morel.

While Allen enjoys sharing his creation with hungry festival-goers, he’s also vying for the top prize in the Mushroom Cook-Off. He enters the cook-off every year. And a few of his dishes have won him a blue ribbon.

“I did a morel-stuffed homemade ravioli once,” Allen said. “One year I did a sausage made with wild turkey, cranberries, and morel mushrooms. And I cased it up and cooked it up like you would a sausage. That was really creative and I had a good time with that one. That was probably one of my favorites.”

These days, Allen’s considered a veteran of the mushroom festival. Yet it wasn’t until he moved to Estill County in 2006 that he became interested in hunting and cooking morels. But as someone who didn’t grow up in the community, getting information on how to find morels wasn’t easy.

“When I first moved here, people still guarded it like some sort of well-kept family secret, until everybody looked around and realized, oh gosh, no one knows how to do this,” Allen said. “So slowly, people have been a little nicer, a little more kind about teaching younger folks how to do this stuff. But everybody’s afraid you’ll find their honey hole. So that’s kind of what it comes down to.”

You Get It When The Gettin’s Good

Morel hunting can bring out people’s competitive side. That’s partly because morel season is so short—about three to four weeks. But it’s also because it takes a lot of skill and effort to find these tasty fungi.

“It takes a special eye,” Tina Caroland said. “They change colors throughout the season. They’re under the leaves or up next to stumps. So they don’t just pop out there for you to see and find.”

Caroland was born and raised in Estill County, and she comes from a long line of mushroom hunters.

“My papaw took me as a little girl. And then I’ve took my kids and my mom goes. So we kind of just make it a family affair,” Caroland said. “After Easter—after we did our big Easter egg hunt for the kids— a big truckload of us all loaded up and we went mushroom hunting.”

Caroland has been demonstrating on the food stage of the festival for about 15 years. Today, she and her aunt, Jen Collins, are sharing their family recipe for fried morels.

Tina Caroland (left) and her aunt, Jen Collins (right), demonstrate how to fry morels at the Mountain Mushroom Festival. Most of Caroland’s family has participated in the festival over the years. One year, when her papaw was still alive, five generations of Caroland’s family shared about their experiences hunting and cooking morels.

“I would say it’s a secret recipe, like KFC or something. But it’s not really. It’s just flour and cornmeal,” Caroland said. “So, we’re gonna put a little oil in the skillet.”

Once the oil heats up, Caroland’s aunt fills the skillet with morels that have been coated in the flour and cornmeal mixture. As the mushrooms turn a golden brown, the oil pops and sizzles. Caroland tells the audience that when her family goes mushroom hunting, it’s always a competition.

“We make it a contest with each other,” Caroland said. “Who finds the first, who finds the largest, who finds the most, who finds the smallest. So we just kind of make it a fun event when we go in the woods together.”

As Caroland describes it, her family can get pretty serious about it. When an audience member asked if she would ever wait to pick a mushroom, Caroland quickly responded: “No, you don’t wait because somebody else is gonna get it. You get it when the gettin’s good.”

The mushrooms Caroland and her family typically find are pretty small—only about an inch high. But one time, Caroland’s dad found a surprise growing in a rotted tree in her grandmother’s apple orchard.

“There was a mushroom there—it was bent over a little bit, but we measured it out twelve inches,” Caroland saids. “He had it put in the paper, and that’s probably been twenty plus years ago by now. And that’s probably the biggest one we have ever found.”

Along with the Mushroom Cook-Off, the Mountain Mushroom Festival hosts competitions for who can bring in the biggest morel and the most morels by weight. At noon on the first day of the festival, the contest board showed the leading totals were 9 by 7 inches for the largest single morel, and 24 pounds for the most weight.

While Caroland and her family make morel hunting a contest amongst themselves, none of them have ever entered any of the festival competitions.

“We have not ever entered,” Caroland said. “Today is actually the first time I thought we might should have fried some up earlier and entered them to give a few people a run for their money. Because everybody likes country cooking. I mean, who doesn’t like plain old country cooking?”

Now We Have Award Winning Mushrooms

Up on the food stage, Caroland and her aunt have almost finished the first batch of fried morels.

“We’ll try to make sure we get enough samples for everybody to at least get a taste,” Caroland saids to the crowd. “I mean, you come to the mushroom festival, you at least want to taste a mushroom.”

A plate of fried morels samples, prepared by Tina Caroland and her Aunt, Jen Collins. Nicole Musgrave, West Virginia Public Broadcasting

But before Caroland and her aunt pass the morels out to the audience, they slip a couple to the festival judges. For the first time, they’ve decided to enter the cook-off. And just a few minutes later, one of the festival volunteers comes up on the stage.

“I’m gonna interrupt just for a second. Just to announce the winners,” the volunteer said. “ We had three people enter our cooking contest. Entry number one was John Allen’s Hot Brown from this morning’s presentation. And he got a perfect score of 36. So he actually got first place.”

The crowd cheers. Another blue ribbon for Allen. Then the volunteer announces that the next entry came in third. She then makes her final announcement.

“Our third entry are these two beautiful ladies here, with second place prize,” she said.

While Caroland and her aunt didn’t win first place, they did earn themselves a red ribbon. And some bragging rights.

“How bout that?” Caroland said. “Our first time entering and we got second place. That’s a pretty good deal. Now we have award winning mushrooms.”

And since the fried morels were a family recipe, maybe they can share those bragging rights.

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.

The Ballad Of ‘John Henry’ Elicits Varied Feelings For Some Black Appalachian Residents

Like any traditional song that has endured through generations, there are lots of versions of “John Henry.” There are also many different interpretations of the song. For some people who grew up in Black communities in Appalachia, the song elicits a variety of feelings.

The ballad of “John Henry” tells the story of a railroad worker who challenges a steam drill to a contest to see who can drill a hole through a mountain fastest and farthest. With his immense strength and skill, John Henry wins, but he dies from his efforts.

There is much debate about the historical facts of the song. But most accounts describe Henry as an African American man from West Virginia or Virginia who worked for the C&O Railroad. Researchers say he was either a freed slave working for pay or that he was incarcerated and forced to work as a convict laborer.

We’ve Always Heard That Song
For Theresa Gloster, the ballad of “John Henry” has always been there.

Theresa Gloster of Lenoir, North Carolina grew up hearing her grandfather sing “John Henry.” Gloster and her family continue to sing “John Henry” at family gatherings. Photo courtesy of Theresa Gloster

“I can’t remember not hearing it,” Gloster said. All our lives, from children to adults, we’ve always heard that song.

Gloster is in her 70s and was born in McDowell County, West Virginia. She grew up in a historically African American community in Lenoir, North Carolina where she lives today. Gloster was raised by her grandparents in a house full of other children. Her grandfather, who she calls “Daddy,” traveled back and forth from North Carolina to West Virginia to work in the coal mines. Whenever he was back home with the family, Gloster said he was always singing and telling stories.

“Daddy would sing ‘John Henry,’ and when he didn’t sing it, we’d ask him to sing it,” Gloster said. “And after he would sing it one time we’d say, ‘Daddy, sing it again. Daddy, sing it again.’”

Gloster thinks her grandfather was drawn to John Henry because the story resonated with his experience as a coal miner—another job that is physically demanding and dangerous.

Gloster is a memory painter. One of her recent paintings shows her childhood home in North Carolina, with her Mama and Daddy both sitting on the porch. In the painting, her Daddy is singing “John Henry” while all the children dance in the yard. Photo by Theresa Gloster

“He knew what it took to go in those mines and to work,” Gloster said. “And he also knew the ins and outs because his father got killed in the coal mines. So he knew the hardship of it. And he also knew the joy to be able to provide for his family.”
For Gloster, the story of “John Henry” was a lesson from her grandfather about hard work and perseverance.

“To me, John Henry had a determination,” Gloster said. “Regardless of how hard it is, and how hard life was…you don’t let it beat you down. You get up and you just keep going, you just keep going.”

The ballad of “John Henry” remains important to Gloster today. In fact, she still sings it.

“When we get together—even to this day—if there’s a baby around, somebody is going to start singing ‘John Henry,’” Gloster said.
Singing the song helps Gloster feel connected to her grandfather.

“To sing the song to this day, I enjoy it as if he was singing through me,” Gloster said. “It’s like, all of a sudden his presence just comes up in the room. Just Daddy’s sound, I can just hear his voice. And everything is positive to me.”

I Feel Like It’s Kind of Propaganda
But not everybody has positive associations with the ballad of “John Henry.” Some people, like Ruby Daniels, see the song differently.

“I feel like it’s kind of propaganda. That this Black man would sacrifice himself for industry. Maybe he sacrificed himself so his family could eat,” Daniels said.

Ruby Daniels of Beckley, West Virginia learned “John Henry” in her middle school choir class. For her, the song tells a tragic story about the exploitation of Black workers. Photo by Mary Hufford

Daniels is in her 40s and lives outside of Beckley, West Virginia in what used to be a Black coal camp. Her family has lived in the area since the late 1800s. Daniels grew up in Maryland, but spent summers in West Virginia with her grandmother. On the drive from Maryland to West Virginia, Daniels’s family would pass through Hinton, and they often stopped to see the statue of John Henry there. It’s located by the Big Bend Tunnel, where some versions of the ballad say the competition took place. As a kid, Daniels was impressed by the statue.

“I thought it was amazing to see this beautiful Black—I mean, the statue is black, and he’s muscular, and he has these mallets in his hand,” Daniels said. “He’s like a chocolate candy bar. He looks so good.”

Daniels learned “John Henry” in her middle school choir program. But she never heard anyone in her family sing it. Like Gloster, Daniels also comes from a family of coal miners. But for Daniels’s family, they didn’t have a positive connection with the song. Henry’s death in the story cuts too close to home.

“Coal is not our friend,” Daniels said. “I have a great uncle that died in the coal mines. …My great-grandfather was a coal cutter, so he was injured by the mountains. A lot of the older men that would come around here, hang out with my grandparents—they were amputees. They would have legs gone. And everybody had black lung, including my grandmother.”

When Daniels hears “John Henry,” she hears the story of how Black and immigrant workers have been exploited throughout the country’s history.

“In regards to Great Bend, it wasn’t just John Henry that died. A lot of people got silicosis from drilling into these mountains,” Daniels said.” I learned that between 800 and 1000 people died in the Great Bend—in the building of that… I just feel like that’s been a common history with African American labor. In any event, even you know, back to slavery. That, ‘Oh, we can kill that property. We will work them to death on the cotton fields. We’ll work them to death on the tobacco fields.’”

Throwing the Hammer Down
Like Daniels, singer-songwriter Amythyst Kiah also sees “John Henry” as a story about the exploitation of workers.

“His proof of worth was the fact that he could work faster than a machine and that he dies in the process,” Kiah said. “That’s pretty devastating.”

Kiah is in her 30s and lives in Johnson City, Tennessee. She’s a member of the roots music supergroup Our Native Daughters, which is made up of four Black female banjo players. For their debut album, Kiah co-wrote a song titled “Polly Ann’s Hammer.”

The song is a reworking of Sid Hemphill’s version of “John Henry.” With Kiah singing lead, “Polly Ann’s Hammer” tells the story of John Henry’s wife.

Amythyst Kiah of Johnson City, Tennessee is a singer-songwriter and a member of the group Our Native Daughters. She co-wrote the song “Polly Ann’s Hammer” that centers the experience of John Henry’s wife, Polly Ann. Photo by Sandlin Gaither

“Everybody knows who John Henry is,” Kiah said. “We know that story. But what we wanted to highlight and bring to the forefront is Polly Ann.”

Many versions of “John Henry” include references to Polly Ann. But not all. For instance, when Gloster was growing up, she never heard her grandfather sing about Polly Ann.

“I didn’t know that John Henry had a little woman and her name was Polly Ann,” Gloster said. “And John Henry got sick and they put him to bed and said ‘and Polly drove that steel, like a man. Polly drove that steel like a man.’”

When Gloster learned about Polly Ann, she was reminded of a time in her own life, when she was married to a coal miner and living in West Virginia. It brought up memories of the hard work the women in the community did. Gloster realized that “John Henry” was also a song about the women’s strength.

“Where he left off, she just picked up the torch and she said she’d carry on,” Gloster said. “She could do whatever he couldn’t do, and she’d be the best that she could be. And that’s what you see in those women out there. It’s like they handled things. I really see that in them. And in that song, you see the strength of the woman, you see her strength.”

For Kiah, writing “Polly Ann’s Hammer” was a way to pay homage to Polly Ann and the working-class women she represents.

“She was the one that had to take care of the kids. She was the one that had to create a sanctuary for her family. And on top of that, she could also drive steel,” Kiah said. “She’s got two jobs. One involves forgetting your sense of humanity and the other one involves very much having to have humanity—to deal with your children, to deal with your husband who is also a tired cog in the wheel. …So, if anything, you could even argue that her life is more difficult.”

The song was also a way to envision a different future for Polly Ann’s child. A future where people aren’t just a cog in a machine, but one where their humanity is recognized. In the last verse of the song, Kiah sings, “This little hammer killed John Henry/Won’t kill me, won’t kill me/This little hammer killed your daddy/Throw it down and we’ll be free.”

“Polly Ann is hoping that one day her child is gonna have more options than maybe what she had,” Kiah said. “So, the idea of throwing the hammer down and you’ll be free—to be free to choose what you want to do, which is an important part of freedom.