Now I was always advised that silence is golden, and I’d be best off in the end to keep my mouth shut and my thoughts to myself and behave like a lady, lest I be thought a wild woman. Well, I’ve been thinking on that good ol’ advice, and I’ve come to my own conclusions. … Continue reading Golden: A Love Letter to Appalachia
Oh, good Lord, the chill has arrived. As much as Fall in the mountains inspires us with its palette of gold and firelit scarlet and melancholy reverie, that chill is not a welcome visitor. No, not at all, not for us summer folk. That chill stays too long and gets more comfortable the longer it … Continue reading This Ain’t Witchcraft. It’s Wildcraft.
Now I want you little sisters to remember this one thing if you don’t recollect another thing: dying ain’t the worst thing that’ll ever happen to you. The worst thing is to die before you get your call. And let me tell you the truth as I know it. You there, you lean in and … Continue reading Wise Whispers from the Granny Witches
“Don’t tell ’em about the lights,” Granny had always warned me. “Too many folks out there will blame ’em on the ol’ devil. And they’ll take ya down to the church house and have ya prayed on and think ya got hellions in ya. So just don’t tell ’em.” I first mentioned the lights to Granny, … Continue reading Don’t Tell ’em About the Lights
I can’t figure anything that perturbs me any more than having to repeat myself when I know good and well it’s not going to make any never mind anyhow. But I reckon some folks have to hear some things twice for them to take, and far be it from me to spoil what’s left of any … Continue reading How To Speak Hick, Part Two
Never let the truth get in the way of a good story. And always remember, you have the power to change how your story ends. That last chapter is all yours. ********** Cornelia Hale had been sick for a good long while, and that was the solemn truth. She’d been pent up in that fine … Continue reading Sittin’ Up with Granny Corn
Now it was in the Springtime, as I recollect it, when the mountain was dotted with petite dabs of fresh pale green, a virginal shade from the Master artist’s sage palette, when I sat at the dinette in Granny’s modest kitchen, looking out the window at the blooming redbuds that stood out like merry boughs … Continue reading A Granny Witch’s Cookbook