Folkways Story Archives - Page 3 of 21 - West Virginia Public Broadcasting

Wassailing Helps Singers In Asheville Connect To Ancestral Roots

On a cold December night in Asheville, North Carolina, a group of about 20 people gather on a stranger’s front porch. Some of them have come together for the past decade to celebrate the holidays, build community, and, most important, wassail.

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

A Holiday Custom With English Roots

One of the wassailers knocks on the door. A woman opens it. “We’re wassailers and we would like to sing you songs,” said the leader of the wassailing group. “I’d be delighted,” the homeowner replies. The group burst into laughter and began to sing “Apple Tree Wassail” in four part harmony.

O lily-white lily, O lily-white pin,
Please to come down and let us come in.
Lily-white lily, O lily-white smock,
Please to come down and pull back the lock.
(It’s) our Wassa-ail jolly wassail
Joy come to our jolly wassail
Apple Tree Wassail, Traditional, England

Saro Lynch-Thomason leads the Asheville group. At 36 years old, Lynch-Thomason wears her dark hair short on one side and long on the other. She sports a bright red scarf and a cluster of bells that ring when she walks. She explains that wassailing is a centuries-old tradition with English roots.

“The term ‘wassail’ comes from an Anglo-Saxon phrase that meant good health, so it was a toast to good health,” Lynch-Thomason said. “Wassail itself was a drink, usually made from ale and cooked apples and a lot of spices that would be served in households, often around Twelfth Night or Christmastime or New Year’s. And coincided with a tradition in the Middle Ages of working class folk, peasants, going to the homes of the wealthy and having this customary charitable exchange, where the working people are singing to and blessing the wealthy master and mistress of the house. And in exchange, they’re being gifted food, they’re being gifted cider and wassail. And they’re often being gifted money, as well.”

Good health to your house, may riches come soon,
Bring us some cider, we’ll drink down the moon.
It’s Our Wassa-ail jolly wassail
Joy come to our jolly wassail
Apple Tree Wassail, Traditional, England

The Asheville wassailers do not ask for money, but after singing at a house decorated with bright holiday lights, they ask for another gift.

“As you heard in the last song, we did ask for alcohol several times,” Lynch-Thomason said.

The wassailers laugh, and the homeowner asks, “Do you want alcohol?”

“You guys have some cups. I can see that,” another household member observes.

Wassailing is not your typical round of Christmas caroling. It is more mischievous. And that is something that the Asheville group takes very seriously.

“This was a really fun and rowdy tradition,” Lynch-Thomason said. “And it eventually got displaced by caroling in the Victorian era. It was considered kind of too rambunctious by the emerging culture. And so, the spirit of what we’re trying to return to is that kind of raucous, fun feeling of these strangers with a party showing up at your door.”

There was an old farmer and he had an old cow
But how to milk her he didn’t know how.
He put his old cow down in his old barn,
And a little more liquor won’t do us no harm.
Harm me boys harm, harm me boys harm.
Apple Tree Wassail, Traditional, England

In fact, wassailing developed such a bad reputation for public drunkenness, it was banned by the Puritans in England and was highly discouraged by religious leaders who settled in the United States. But recently, the tradition has had a renaissance — in both England and America.

Wassailers sing outside a home in Asheville, North Carolina. Traditionally, wassailers not only sang for their neighbors, but also sang in apple orchards to ensure a good harvest for the coming year.

*Credit: Rebecca Williams/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

One wassailer, Leila Weinstein, has been with the group for about five years. She explains what draws her to this tradition. “I love the old songs. I love ballads. I love all the medieval imagery,” Weinstein said. “And then just the comradery of singing together, and you know, lighting up the night with some song.”

For Caleb Magoon, wassailing is an excuse for a really good time. And it is a way of connecting to others. “It’s just getting together with people every year that you might not see otherwise, you know. And having a fun time being silly,” Magoon said.

But members of the Asheville group are not only drawn to wassailing because of the rowdy good time and the sense of community. For participants like Erin Gahan Clark, it is also a way to connect with the traditions of their ancestors.

“I think that for me, like I was raised in the Catholic faith and so I always knew about Christmas caroling,” Gahan Clark said. “But I feel like these songs, that are older, are connecting me to my well ancestors and like more ancient roots. And I just dig it. It feels good in my body.”

Wassailing As Connection To Ethnic Identity

Most of the wassailers in Asheville are white. And wassailing seems to help them connect to their ancestral traditions and ethnic identity. For Lynch-Thomason and many of her white peers, they feel disconnected from a sense of ethnic identity. And she said that here in the United States, that is by design.

“There’s been a long and very purposeful project of making people white here. Of having people forget their ancestral identities and becoming white as a way to create racial hierarchies and reinforce white supremacy,” Lynch-Thomason said. “When you came off the boat, you know at whatever period, there was a project here of making you become white, and forget your ancestral languages and traditions. And so today, white folks in this country are experiencing a lot of grief and have a lot of yearning for ancestral practices.”

Lynch-Thomason has experienced this grief of ethnic ambiguity firsthand. And when she was in her mid-20s, she decided to learn about the traditions of her ancestors.

“In my case, I have ancestors from England, Ireland, Scotland, Germany, Scandinavia, kind of all over the place. And there are several hundreds of years of separation from any of the traditions from those places. So I’ve sought out and learned from other people, English folk songs, Scottish ballads,” she said.

Lynch-Thomason said that connecting with these English and Scottish folk songs has had a big impact.

Wassail wassail all over the town
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown
Our bowl it is made: Of the white maple tree
With the wassailing bowl we’ll drink to thee
Gloucestershire Wassail, Traditional, Gloucestershire, England, Lyrics published Oxford Book of Carols, 1928

“There’s something really powerful to me about speaking words and singing songs, holding those vibrations, those words, those forms of knowledge in my body,” Lynch-Thomason said. “And knowing that people in my ancestry also sang these songs and held these words.”

Saro Lynch-Thomason (third from left) leads the wassailers in rehearsal. One of the songs the group performed, the “Boar’s Head Carol” was first published in 1521.

*Credit: Rebecca Williams/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

The boar’s head as I understand
Is the rarest dish in all this land
Which thus bedecked with a gay garland
Let us servire cantico (‘let us serve with a song’)
Boar’s Head Carol, Queens College version, Oxford, England, first published 1521

It is not always easy to learn songs and rituals that haven’t been passed down from generation to generation. There are challenges to singing a 700-year-old song.

During a rehearsal at Lynch-Thomason’s parents’ house in Asheville, the wassailing group struggles with Latin pronunciations.

“‘Servire’… I’m sure this is wrong. ‘Let us servire…’” Lynch-Thomason said to the group. “I’m changing this as I do it. ‘Let us servire cantico.’”

The wassailers repeat the phrase in unison, sounding unsure of their pronunciation.

“That’s some Lat-English right there,” declares Magoon.

It is messy trying to reconfigure a 15th century English tradition for 21st century Asheville. But Lynch-Thomason said it is important that white folks make the effort to learn about their ethnic identities and the practices of their ancestors.

“When we aren’t able to connect to those practices, we end up appropriating and attaching to other cultures, indigenous cultures, and African American cultures,” Lynch-Thomason said. “And it’s really important to understand that in Indigenous history here, and in African American history, song and dance traditions, and many spiritual traditions were illegal for a very, very long time. We have to think about how painful that is for white folks to then be trying to borrow or utilize those traditions without much context for them. When we as white people actually have those traditions in our ancestry that we can be seeking out in a healthier way.”

A Toast To The New Year

Old Christmas is past
Twelfth Night is the last
And we bid you adieu
great joy to the new
Please to See the King, Traditional, Pembrokeshire, South Wales

Back on the porch, as the group finishes singing, one of the people in the house returns with a bottle of wine. One of the wassailers slips on a costume that looks like it was made out of red and blue rags. She wears a wreath on her head that is wrapped in fake ivy, with battery-operated candles on top — a sure cue that we’re no longer in the Middle Ages.

The wassailers begin to stomp and sing.

The ‘Spirit of the New Year’ toasts a household member while Saro Lynch-Thomason opens a bottle of cider. The ‘Spirit’s’ costume was modeled on a traditional mumming costume from the British Isles, which featured torn strips of fabric on the sleeves and legs.

*Credit: Rebecca Williams/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

Spirit of Earth and Light, traveling through this winter night
Will you bless those here with fortune in the coming year?
Spirit of Earth and Light, Lynch-Thomason, 2016, Asheville, NC

The Spirit of the New Year emerges from behind the singers and dances up to the owners of the house to make a toast. She tips her glass against the bottle of wine and people cheer.

“Did everyone get wine?” asks the woman in the house.

The wassailers shout goodbyes and thank yous as they leave the porch, their voices fading as they walk away.

“I just think we so badly need community. And there are so many ways that our current culture divides us from each other. And isolates us from each other. And when you get people together to sing together, something really, really powerful happens for us. And it happens in our bones, it happens at like this molecular level. And we need it,” Lynch-Thomason said. “And so to create that with a group of people, and then bring that as a gift to others, to say, even if you’re feeling isolated in your home or isolated in your community, we show up and we sing to you. That’s a powerful gift.”

We have traveled many miles
Over hedges and stiles
In search of our king
Unto you we bring
Please to See the King, Traditional, Pembrokeshire, South Wales

——

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.

Troublesome Creek – Building Instruments As A Form Of Recovery

In the mountains of Eastern Kentucky, jobs are scarce, and an opioid crisis continues to inflict pain throughout the region. But where many see hopelessness, Doug Naselroad, a master luthier from Hindman, Kentucky, sees an opportunity to help those in need.

Naselroad founded a nonprofit instrument manufacturer, The Troublesome Creek Stringed Instrument Company, to train and employ people in recovery, helping them find purpose and belonging as they work their way through recovery.

This short film explores Doug’s mission and the positive impact he and his team have had on a region and its people.

Watch this special Folkways story below:

The Troublesome Creek Stringed Instrument Company strives to make beautiful handcrafted instruments, including dulcimers, guitars and mandolins.

*Credit: Curren Sheldon/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

Troublesome Creek employee Anthony works on a guitar.

*Credit: Curren Sheldon/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

Founder and master luthier Doug Naselroad checks the sound of a guitar in progress.

*Credit: Curren Sheldon/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

——

Appalachian Square Dance Callers Making The Scene More Welcoming

Square dance calling — the spoken instructions said over the music — makes participation easy. But there are other aspects — like the prevalence of gendered language such as “ladies and gents” — that can make square dancing an unwelcoming or confusing space. One group of friends in the Appalachian square dance scene are taking action to make the tradition more welcoming for all participants.

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

Square dancing has long been a tradition in Appalachia, and many communities throughout the region still host regular dances. Square dance calling — the spoken instructions said over the music — makes participation easy. But there are other aspects — like the prevalence of gendered language such as “ladies and gents” — that can make square dancing an unwelcoming or confusing space. One group of friends in the Appalachian square dance scene are taking action to make the tradition more welcoming for all participants.

The Augusta Heritage Center in Elkins, West Virginia has been hosting square dances for decades. During their annual Old-Time Music Week in July, their outdoor pavilion is decorated with twinkle lights and paper lanterns that sway in the warm summer breeze. Dozens of couples gather and follow instructions from callers like 25-year-old artist and Elkins resident, Nevada Tribble.

Unlike the square dances you probably did in gym class, Tribble’s calls have no gendered language — no “ladies and gents,” and no “swing your girl.” And this is on purpose. Before she learned to call square dances, Tribble grew up dancing in Elkins.

“We always had the kind of dance scene where everybody dances with everybody,“ Tribble said. “You change partners after every dance regardless of who you came with. And I think that was also a part that made it really inviting and inclusive.”

Tribble noticed that the language of the calls didn’t necessarily reflect the people on the dance floor. Sometimes there would be an uneven ratio of women to men on the floor, and using “ladies and gents” didn’t make sense. Some folks might want to dance with a same-gender partner, whether it’s a spouse, a friend or a kid. And, of course, there might be dancers who don’t identify with being called either a “lady” or a “gent.”

Tribble thought everyone would feel welcome if callers used gender-free language. And by making sure there are calls any gender can dance to, the caller helps keep the dance floor full.

A multigenerational group of dancers follows Becky Hill’s calling at the Augusta Heritage Center in July 2023.

*Credit: Lydia Warren/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

Tribble is part of a new wave of callers in the Appalachian square dance scene who are trying to make dances more welcoming by using gender-free language, as well as offering some seated and no-touch dances for participants who prefer or need these accommodations. They are sharing their new calls in a zine called Circle Up. The zine is a small glossy booklet with hand-written and illustrated instructions on how to call 17 inclusive dances.

Circle Up was curated by square dance caller and professional dancer Becky Hill, who mentored Tribble when she lived in Elkins.

“This zine just feels like it’s a large invite. Like, here are some people that have some idea,” Hill said. “We’re not claiming to be experts. We’re not claiming to be the only way forward. We are just the ones who have decided to start this conversation and to be a little bit more loud about that.”

A group dances at the Frank and Jane Gabor West Virginia Folklife Center in Fairmont, West Virginia. They listen to instructions from caller Lou Maiuri in October 2023. Maiuri is a 94-year-old caller from Summersville, West Virginia, and one of his calls is featured in the Circle Up zine.

*Credit: Lydia Warren/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

For Hill, creating a welcoming space isn’t about losing touch with the tradition. It’s a matter of bringing out aspects of the tradition that are already present.

“We don’t have to change ‘chase the rabbit, chase the squirrel.’ We don’t have to change ‘birdy in the cage.’ We don’t have to change all these things,” Hill said. “It’s just providing options and invitation to callers to just think about ‘Can I just simply get out of the habit of saying swing her,’ or ‘gents to the center.’ You know, are there ways that I can just slightly adapt it and it becomes a little bit more warm?”

Becky Hill calls a dance at the Augusta Heritage Center in July 2023.

*Credit: Lydia Warren/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

Of course, making square dances more welcoming is about more than just gender and language. It’s also about race. Musician, dancer and community organizer A’yen Tran has been working on creating safer spaces in the scene.

“The square dance community, or the old-time traditional music community, is pretty white,” Tran said. “The music does not come from entirely white roots. The banjo comes from Africa. There are fiddles in Africa, also. And the people in the community are still overwhelmingly white.”

Tran said she did a survey of people in the traditional music and dance scene and found that some people did feel unwelcome at jams, dances and festivals. She formed a diverse group including people of color, trans people, an indigenous person and a white male, among others.

The group created a set of community principles. They include guidelines like not using slurs and listening to others. These principles were illustrated and printed into a poster which is tucked into Circle Up.

“Our hope is really that people will take the principles, use what’s valuable to them in their own communities,” Tran said. “Bring them to your local square dance and stick them on the wall, or bring them to your local folk school and stick them on the wall, or your event, or if you have a camp at Clifftop or Galax or whatever festival you go to. You can just clip it up and say, ‘’This 10 by 10 space is my safer space that I’m welcoming people into, and these are the principles that we are going to try to stick by in order to make this a more welcoming community.’”

Tran, Hill and Tribble are excited to see square dances become more welcoming and, in turn, grow into spaces where even more people feel at home on the dance floor.

——

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.

——

The Wild, Woolly World of Appalachian Zines

If you’ve been involved in the punk or art scenes, you might be familiar with zines. A zine, as in magazine, is a self-published pamphlet or brochure, or even a booklet. Some are very low-tech and rudimentary, and others are elaborately designed works of art. They’re all unique, and reflect the people who make them.

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

The Johnson City Zine Fest has become a gathering point for southern Appalachia’s arts community.

If you’ve been involved in the punk or art scenes, you might be familiar with zines. A zine, as in magazine, is a self-published pamphlet or brochure, or even a booklet. Some are very low-tech and rudimentary, and others are elaborately designed works of art. They’re all unique, and reflect the people who make them.

Back in September 2021, Inside Appalachia featured host Mason Adams’ interview with Suzie Kelly, a zinemaker and founder of the Johnson City Zine Fest. That year, the zine fest was making a comeback after the COVID-19 pandemic — but then it was canceled, too.

But in 2022, the Johnson City Zine Fest returned. In its second year back since the pandemic, the 2023 Johnson City Zine Fest brought together people from Asheville, North Carolina; Lexington, Kentucky; Abingdon, Virginia; Chattanooga, Knoxville and Johnson City, Tennessee; and beyond.

Adams attended the 2023 fest to talk with makers and learn more about zinemaking.

Adams: How’d you get into making zines?

David Wischer: Oh man, I made my first zines in high school in the ’90s. So I think my friend Craig heard about zines somewhere — I’m not sure how — so we just started making them with collage and writing in his dad’s office. We made Xerox copies and passed them around.

Cait Maltbie: I started making zines in undergrad. I like them because they’re more accessible. So you can make them. They’re very easy, usually a sheet of paper and not a lot of supplies.

A selection of Cait Malbie’s zines at the Johnson City Zine Fest.

*Credit: Suzie Kelly*

Patrick Thomas: Honestly, my whole life, I’ve loved comic books and horror movies and drawing monsters and stuff. So in my adult life, it just made sense to keep on doing that stuff, but to actually share it with people, instead of just having little notebooks folded up for myself, you know.

Elizabeth Kidder: I got into zines through collecting. Whenever I go to a convention or an event, if I see a little booklet I like, I have to get that for the collection. I’ve never actually made any zines until this month, when I reached out to Johnson City. And they said, “Oh, you’re interested in coming as a vendor?” I’m like, uh, uh. I panicked and said, “Sure.” And then I had a month to make some zines. And now I don’t just collect them, now I make them.

Richard Graves: I’m an Appalachian artist and a local artist here. And it seems like zines and the DIY self-publishing very much has, like, a grassroots feel to it. And I see that it’s very Appalachian. And something that I wanted to try my hand at.

Adams: So would you pick one and tell me about it?

Kidder: Yeah. So this zine is called Unknown Cryptids. It is a collection of ten different cryptids that you do not know, because I made them up. After coming up with that idea. I went through and I just said, if I wanted to see something walking through the woods, what would it be? So each page is kind of set up like a nature doc, where you have the name, a descriptor, a picture, when it’s active and the size ratio in comparison to a human being, so you can tell how much you should run if this thing comes after you.

Johnson City Zine Fest co-organizer Sage Perrott chats with attendees.

*Credit: Suzie Kelly*

Claire Thompson: Jayne Mansfield’s Head is my favorite zine I’ve ever made. She’s on the cover with her head severed. It’s about the sort of urban legend, pop culture myth that Jayne Mansfield who did die in a car accident, but it’s about the myth that she was completely decapitated.

Amanda Simons: It’s called Is This a Couch and Will I Ever Be Comfortable Again? So the zine’s about these Instagram advertisements and, over time, me trying to figure out what actually is a couch. Because I was getting advertised things like beanbags and dog beds and, like, floor pillows and all these things, because that’s what I was also searching. But I thought I was looking for a couch. But the internet thought it differently.

Maltbie: I have a variety of zines right now. The ones I have out, I have some about my childhood toys. I have some about my job, in which I had to do a lot of phone calls, cold calling. And then I have some about, like, loving trinkets. So a variety of things.

Brett Marcus Cook: I decided to make a zine about bodily autonomy, body liberation, body neutrality. Just Western society is so filled with weird ideas that are contradictory about the body. Like there are things that we need to be ashamed of about our functions or certain parts and things.

Carrie Kindle: It’s the soup season zine and it has 15 different soup recipes in it. So it’s kind of like a recipe anthology. A lot of these are my parents’ recipes. So I grew up eating a lot of these soups.

A zinemaker at the Johnson City Zine Fest.

*Credit: Suzie Kelly*

Jaclyn Lewis: So I have one called Ayako and Xochitl, and it’s a glimpse into the world of female wrestling. And it sort of tells the story of these two female wrestlers who are sisters, and one match that was very epic, they had to wrestle each other and it was very emotional.

Artie David: It’s called Peach Baby. And it’s a couple of different poems. But the last poem, the titular poem, is called “Peach Baby,” and it’s about my experiences, like, struggling with my mental health and emotional, physical health. And kind of looking at that through the lens of some chickens that I rescued, who were named Peach and Baby.

Kindle: If you’ve never made a zine before, definitely try it. You can literally print it on a piece of copy paper, and make a zine!

——

Hazard, Kentucky Quilters Reconnecting To Area’s African American Traditions

Quiltmaking is an artform that has been passed down for generations throughout Appalachia. But a few years ago, local community activist Emily Jones Hudson noticed that quilting wasn’t as popular as it once was, particularly in Hazard’s Black community.

This story originally aired in the Nov. 19, 2023 episode of Inside Appalachia.

“[Quilting] is a big thing in the Appalachian culture. It’s a big thing in the African American culture,” Hudson said. “And one of the things that I was concerned about was that this tradition in the African American community was dying out.”

So in 2022, Hudson set out on a mission to encourage people to quilt again by establishing the Stories Behind the Quilt workshops. The workshops are a project of the Southeast Kentucky African-American Museum and Cultural Center.

Each week for over a month, Hudson and others met at Appalachian Quilt and Yarn in downtown Hazard with the goal of making a quilt together. Many of the participants had never made a quilt on their own, but had grown up with family members who were quilters.

Hudson recalls her mother quilting, but did not have an interest in learning the craft when she was young.

Hudson’s sister, Sandra Jones, took a liking to sewing as a child. Jones had distinct memories of working alongside her mother as she made quilts. “I grew up watching my mom, helping my mom sew and quilt,” Jones said. “I would help her cut, I would help her iron. I would help her do other little things — like markings — so we could get the measurements right.”

Katie Glover, who is in her 80s, is another participant in the workshop. She reflected on some of her earliest experiences watching her mother and grandmother quilt. “I would watch them sit around and watch them make quilts. They would have this old quilting frame that would be hanging from the ceiling,” Glover said. “And now all the neighbors would come and help them sew. And they sewed by hand.”

Katie Glover shows the quilt she’s working on. Glover has made four quilts and has started two more. She enjoys making quilts for her grandchildren.

*Credit: Capri Cafaro/West Virginia Public Broadcasting*

While all three of these women had early experiences with quilting, it wasn’t something they pursued in their adult life. Most were too busy balancing work and family. And they no longer needed to make quilts just to keep warm.

Having little hands-on experience with quilting did not deter them from working together to make a quilt. Out of everyone in the group, Jones had spent the most time sewing, so she ended up leading the process. While she had never made a quilt, she had made clothes for years.

Still, there was a learning curve for Jones and the others. “When we started these workshops we didn’t really know what we were doing until we [sat] around and started talking about what was important to us,” Jones said. “And it just kind of unfolded.”

Rebecca Cornett, another Hazard-area resident who helped make the group quilt, said it was both exciting and emotional to watch the quilt come together.

“We eventually started cutting the fabric and putting it together,” Cornett said. “And then the reality hit. It was just overwhelming for me to see the completion of a quilt that was in our heads.“

The completed quilt tells a powerful story. The group selected a piece of fabric from Ghana as the focal point of the quilt. It depicts a woman working. The woman is surrounded by fabric in varying shades of green, printed with mountains. Below are outlines of faces in shades of brown floating in a sea of blue. And at the top of the quilt are orange and yellow strips of fabric to create a sunrise.

After days of cutting and sewing together, they created a piece that captured the struggles of the group’s African ancestors, their journey to Appalachia and the promise of a brighter future.

Jones said the quilt symbolizes the connection between Africa and Appalachia. “In the water you see heads floating. These are actually slaves who were thrown overboard. The mountains represent the Appalachian mountains because we’re tying in Africa and Appalachia culture.”

Jones explained the sunrise at the top symbolizes a new dawn for African Americans as they transcend struggle. When the quilt was finally completed, Jones breathed a sigh of relief.

“It was intense from beginning to end. But when I finished, it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.”

The finished quilt wasn’t the only thing to come out of the workshop. During the process, Hudson said they also shared stories of their lives.

“One of the things that happens as we’re sitting around making this quilt is we share history. And we start talking about the history — the local history — of the area,” Hudson said. “One workshop as we were quilting, the topic just came up of Black businesses that used to be here in the area. Another workshop we talked about Black churches.”

It was important to the group to document the stories that emerged.

“If we don’t get the history documented, it’s like with each passing generation, it’s like we never were here,” Hudson said.

The quilting workshops created a sense of community that the group wanted to continue. So they decided to keep making quilts together. They’ve made two quilts and have plans to make one more. Jones noticed the participants’ quilt making confidence grew between the first workshop series and the second.

“Everybody was a little hesitant during the first workshop because they never used a sewing machine. They never quilted or sewn anything. So the second time around, you know, they were more excited about it,” Jones said.

The Stories Behind The Quilt workshops have reinvigorated an interest in quilt making within Hazard’s Black community. Just as Hudson had hoped.

For example, Katie Glover is now a committed quilter. She has made four quilts and has started two more. And she has a specific reason she’s making so many.

“I’m going to give them to my grandbabies,” Glover said.

Cornett thinks that sharing stories about making quilts with her kids is helping spark new interest in the younger generation. Now when Cornett’s children visit her, they ask to come to the quilt shop.

“They want to come down to see what I’m talking about. And so I think this is only the beginning of getting history being talked about, young people being interested. And I just think it’s the beginning of something good,” Cornett said.

As the workshops continue, there will be a chance for new people to join the process. They’ll continue the work started by this group of women, sustaining Hazard’s tradition of quilt making, one stitch at a time.

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