He had idiot written all over his face. He smelled bad too, like he’d been swimming with crawdads in a sewer. Mama made me promise not to make fun of his poorly brushed teeth or the way he came to school sprouting hair in all directions. But Mama never hadContinue Reading

Growing up in the 1960s during an era of assassinations, civil unrest, and the war in southeast Asia, at times I wore sadness like a raincoat as a palpable and threatening cloud hung over the nation. My memories of that time recur as a series of stock and binary images: Continue Reading

My friend Virgil Davis passed away on April 21, 2020, at his home in Knoxville, Tennessee. At the time, I posted a brief tribute to him on Facebook describing Virgil as a gentleman, scholar, teacher, community organizer, and social justice advocate. His son Jon echoed my sentiment in his dad’sContinue Reading

Appalachia Bare is very grateful for our readers. We hope you enjoy all the posts with interesting information about Appalachia and the creative talents within her. Talents certainly do abound in these mountains, hills, and valleys. Allow us just a moment to feature one such talent – our Associate Editor,Continue Reading

Highway 27 is a two-lane ribbon connecting Chattanooga and Dayton, Tennessee. It passes through the small, unincorporated township of Sale Creek in northern Hamilton County. The locale takes its name from the creek which runs through it. The creek got its name from the auction held along its banks consistingContinue Reading

Appalachia Bare’s distinguished Associate Editor, Edward Francisco, recently conducted an interview with editor, writer, activist, and promoter of all things Appalachia, George Brosi. Our region is filled with so many people who dedicate their lives to Appalachian causes. Brosi is one such person. Please enjoy reading his bio entry andContinue Reading

It stalks like a shadow and hugs like a strait-jacket. I wear it like an off-the-rack, ill-fitting coat. At times, it tightens round my throat like a scarf threatening to strangle me. It’s closer than my own skin. It itches in spots beyond my reach to scratch. I didn’t askContinue Reading

My grandson, Joshua Bathe, passed away last April after being diagnosed with an aggressive cancer five months earlier. The following is my poetic tribute to him.             Elegy to a Grandson           Grief undulates           like an inchworm           and just as slowly.           It forces one to use           the conditional tense:             HeContinue Reading

Betty Brewer was my great-aunt, though only four days older than my mother. I never knew Betty. She died before I was born, killed by a jealous wife who caught her husband and Betty in a lover’s tryst at a boarding house rented by the day. Family spoke of BettyContinue Reading

Alvin Goins was a day laborer living in Rhea County, Tennessee, during the early and mid-years of the twentieth century. He was a Melungeon, a descendant of Portuguese ancestry. He was also illiterate. Yet, he had an extraordinary gift for numbers, able to calculate sums mentally in seconds, qualifying him,Continue Reading