What a busy and successful year we’ve had here at Appalachia Bare! Submissions have greatly increased and it has been such an honor to have been entrusted with such remarkable works and stories about the Appalachian region. We would like to take this opportunity to thank all our readers, perusers,Continue Reading
During the war, over 425,000 Axis prisoners of war were held in the United States, with 378,156 being German and the rest Italian. Tennessee housed more than 8,000 of these prisoners, with the largest group located at . . . Continue Reading
Horace, calm as always, loaded his muzzle-loader rifle, just in case, then gathered some deadfall tree branches, and built a roaring fire on the riverbank. Abby and his family huddled by the fire while Horace looked all around, watching for predators. Having only an axe, an adze, and a handsaw for tools, Horace created a lean-to shelter on the steep . . . Continue Reading
. . . she said she read anything and everything. She also took continuing education courses at Maryville College in Cherokee culture, Appalachian Studies, and Creative Writing. Her two novels and other writing bear witness to her careful and detailed . . . Continue Reading
We wish everyone safe journeys, good health, and . . . Continue Reading
I try to think of a question to get us talking about this land we both love, but it hangs in the air out of reach. Instead, I . . .Continue Reading
My husband, imported from the Midwest, corrects me every time I call them stove eyes—he calls them burners—but we’re not cooking on gas and we’re in the South, my South, and I’ve always heard them called eyes and continue to do so. I grab a large-mouthed funnel, place it in a wide-mouthed jar, and . . . Continue Reading
Back in my quarters, that Black Saturday night was apocalyptic: tremors rattled the building; the storm raged with thunder and lightning; ash mixed with rain continued to plummet the base. I lay, sleepless on my bunk, as my roommate jumped out of his cot in the throes of a panic attack. He jittered about the room, moaning and praying. I was worried myself . . . Continue Reading
For now, the wind whispered across my face and neck. It felt like someone’s breath stood right behind me. A breeze seemed to hover around me so close that it curled inside my own breath—a breath that I can no longer call my own. Here, I share my breath with all who have breath and all who have . . . Continue Reading
They were once so much more than an entry to a house, a place to display plants, deposit muddy shoes, and greet people. Their usage was year-round, utilizing a quilt, and relying on the sun, for cold winter days . . . Continue Reading