Tag Archives: Appalachia

A Note From Rural America Following A Tragedy

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My community took a hit this week when an unspeakable crime was discovered against sixteen children. The Ohio Attorney General called it the worst he’s ever seen. While they can’t share many details of this ongoing investigation, phrases like “third world conditions” and “pure evil” have been thrown about.

I live in the least populated county in Ohio. There are about 13,000 people in this county of 415 square miles. This is not a wealthy community and, like many places, we have plenty of problems.

But it’s such a nice place to live.

Our community is rural with just a handful of small towns. We are largely a bedroom community with only one traffic light and no Walmart. There’s a locally owned grocery, pharmacist and hardware. There are a couple of dollar stores and a number of mom and pop businesses. The University of Rio Grande just dedicated a new branch building here. There are very few large employers and a huge chunk of our population commutes outside the county for jobs. Remote work has been a Godsend for many. We are close though to towns with shopping, iobs and healthcare. Our idea of traffic involves farm tractors, school buses and Amish buggies. For many, money is tight and for many more that live beneath the federal poverty line, life is hard.

What we do have is rolling hills, miles of recreational trails through public lands, and a population that largely looks out for one another. It’s the kind of place where people still bring food when someone dies and where folks will check on their neighbors in a heat wave.

We have a growing tourism industry here. What we lack in shopping and amusement parks we make up for with outdoor recreation, unique places to stay (there’s a castle, tons of cabins, and even a hobbit themed Airbnb), and the small town authenticity that many folks from cities are craving.

It’s a good place to vacation. It’s a great place to live if you enjoy the quiet life.

This week has been rough though. This week, the decent citizens of my beautiful community have been rocked to their core.

Four people were arrested for endangering sixteen children who evidently all belong to their family. Sixteen kids from toddler up to an 18 year old were kept in their own filth in a 12 x 12 room. Reading between the lines, there is much more to the story.

First responders say that, a day later, they can still smell the place. There’s no getting rid of the smell. The prosecutor said it looked like something out of a third world country and that some of the kids were in such bad shape they may not have survived another day. The Ohio Attorney General said it was the worst thing he’s seen in his career. Neighbors say they didn’t even know there were kids in the house. There were no signs that children lived there at all.

The governor is offering whatever aid is needed to support the physical and mental well being of those kids.

It is sickening. It is tragic. It is one of the worst things I’ve ever heard and I’m struggling to comprehend that it happened here.

If you look around, our residents are seeking ways to help out and to support our first responders who have witnessed things this week that no human should have to see. People are collecting money to help those kids. They’re planning snacks and cold drinks for the first responders. They’re gathering to pray. They’re actively seeking ways to help in a situation that feels so hopeless.

The city media that doesn’t give us the time of day when amazing things happen here are suddenly sending multiple reporters from each agency for this one story. My Facebook feed is overrun with videos from press conferences and with mug shots of four individuals who look like monsters.

These people chose to live here but they aren’t from here. They’ve moved around a lot and somehow landed here in a small house in a small town with very big heart.

Now cue the hillbilly jokes. Cue the stereotypes. Cue the judgment against a population that would never condone such a thing had we known.

I have got to stop reading internet comments.

The Appalachian stereotype is alive and well. References to the movie Deliverance, statements that they look like everyone else here, and even remarks about the judge’s hair have been part of the discourse. Nasty remarks about the court system and the law enforcement community, about the intelligence of our population and about everything else you can imagine abound.

The media has long portrayed this community in a negative light. Internet comments have intensified the meanness toward our population and place but it’s nothing new. I’ve heard the judgement and the jokes for my entire life and have spent a lot of my career trying to prove them all wrong.

I think it’s important to note that these people have been moving around and abusing these children for a while now. It took them coming to Ohio’s smallest county with the fewest resources for anyone to notice and do something about it.

That’s the headline everyone is missing.

We may not have much but we pay attention and know how to get things done.

I am proud to be from Vinton County, Ohio. I’m proud of our citizens for looking for ways to be helpful. I’m proud of our first responders who played a part in giving those kids a chance at a new life.

Small communities are amazing places. I don’t care what the keyboard warriors say.

If you’re looking for a peaceful place, somewhere that’s not flashy with a good coffee shop and some amazing trails, consider coming here to see what life is really like in a small town. Rural America is so much more than the headlines tell you. So, if not here, go find another rural community and look for the good.

It’s there. I promise.

Packrats, Minimalism and Balance

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There’s a shed in my yard that my dad built years ago. It looks like a small barn with a built-in workbench and a couple of corner shelves. There’s also a whole lot of junk piled up everywhere you look. Seriously, the door barely opens.

I spent some time in there last night pulling stuff out and shaking my head at the amount of junk that has accumulated. Mind you, I enjoy salvaging old stuff but there’s very little in there that merits salvaging. Rusted old curtain rods, disposable plastic flower pots, broken tools, partial bags of potting soil, pieces of siding and all manner of crap have the place bursting at the seams.

I made a very small dent and have a decent pile of stuff to go to the trash. So far, there’s not much to recycle. As I was pulling out things, I couldn’t help but notice that everything represented a choice over time. That choice was simple: “Do I throw it away now or do I throw it away later?”

And so I chose to throw it away later …. which is now.

Truth be told, I come from a long line of packrats. My dad may be their King but I suspect the generations before him were no slobs in this department.

At the risk of sounding like an enabler, I understand why we are the way we are.

I come from rural America. Southern Ohio is very Appalachian. We tend to have fewer resources here. The jobs don’t pay so well which means that we can’t always afford to buy something new or even hire a repairman when something breaks.

We were DIY’ers before influencers on YouTube told us it was cool.

Things have changed over time. Online shopping makes it so much easier to have a new appliance or lawn mower part delivered. Although, it wasn’t that long ago that you had to walk into the local hardware and have them look up your part in a paper catalog and then order it for you via a landline telephone.

We still drive thirty miles one way to buy a fridge, a pair of shoes or anything else you can’t buy at Dollar General, a small grocer, pharmacy or hardware. That is, we did until credit cards and online shopping made it so we don’t even have to leave home for these purchases.

Still, that all requires money that many people around here don’t have.

So we still tend to hold onto things. If your mower breaks and you buy new, you keep the old because you or a neighbor could salvage parts from it. Dad’s garage is like some kind of magic genie bottle. I once bought an antique radio that was missing a knob. He dug around a bit and found exactly what it lacked. This was a particular victory for him and one we won’t soon forget.

I’m not as bad as he is but I do struggle with letting go of things that might be repurposed. This is evidenced in my craft room where scrapbook supplies, bits of ribbon, stray buttons and scraps of fabric mix in with home decor items that occasionally get reimagined.

Social media is full of minimalists who tell us to keep our surfaces clear of clutter and to not stash away in a closet or drawer something that really should be tossed in the trash. They say you need just one plate, bowl, fork and cup for each person in your house and that your cupboards shouldn’t be full of extra food and stuff you don’t need this week. They tells us we will be lighter, happier and better off if we aren’t weighed down by stuff we don’t need.

This concept is tempting and so lovely but so foreign as well. I can’t help thinking that many of these people have never known true need. They’ve never been snowed into a country home where there’s no food delivery service and where the nearest grocery is several slippery miles away.

They don’t know what it’s like to break the heel on a pair of dress shoes and have to wait for replacements until you drive to town or until Amazon can ship you a new pair. The old scuffed up heels that are languishing in the back of the closet will come in handy for work until new can be acquired.

In my case, the building looks more like a hoarder’s paradise than anything useful and it is appalling. My dad at least keeps things that could be useful someday.

Once I finish cleaning out the building, Dad and I are scheming to repurpose it into a potting shed with no longterm storage. Meanwhile, there is still a lot to be done and I fear losing steam to do it before the bees, snakes, spiders and other country critters lay claim to it as the weather warms up.

While he hasn’t said so to my face, I suspect my dad is laughing and wondering who’s the packrat now.

In Like A Lamb

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Appalachian people hold closely the old wive’s tale that when March comes in like a lion it will go out like a lamb. So if the weather is bad on the first, it should be mild on the 31st. Here in southern Ohio, March arrived gentle as a newborn lamb so we assume that the month will go roaring out.

Another superstition tells us that it will snow three times on the forsythia bloom.Well, it was 75 degrees and sunny for the forsythia bloom yesterday. The evening ended with a thunderstorm. No snow in sight.

Will we see snow this month? Will this fool’s spring succumb to cold and snow when the real spring should be arriving?

Probably so and I’m sorry for that. As much as I enjoy winter with its cold and snow, I’m always ready for spring by early March. Anything different feels like regression and that sounds terrible.

Pineola Presbyterian Church

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During our travels through the mountains north of Asheville, we found ourselves driving through a small town called Pineola.

It was here that I caught a glimpse of an old church that caused me to scream that we had to stop. Haha. My poor friend was driving and had never experienced my irrational demands to stop and go back immediately.

Isn’t it pretty?

With wood shingle siding and stained glass windows, Pineola Presbyterian Church is one of the prettiest and most unique churches I have seen.

The hillside behind the church holds an older cemetery and there’s a shelter house with picnic tables where I imagine the church holds events.

Here’s another look from the cemetery.

There are churches everywhere you look in North Carolina. This one is tidy and so pleasant it’s tempting to go back for a service someday just to see inside.

Little Switzerland Of North Carolina

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The best things in life are rarely found in the places you plan to go. They typically occur at unlikely times and in places where you least expect to find something special.

That’s exactly what happened when we were searching for lunch on the Blue Ridge Parkway. We had packed snacks and drinks but hadn’t planned for our midday meal. According to our trusty map (always carry a map because cell service is unreliable in the mountains), we were approaching a small town called Little Switzerland.

As you exit the Parkway, you will immediately see a resort called Switzerland Inn. It’s home to fine dining, shopping, a spa and more. But if you keep going, there’s a little area on the side of the mountain where you’ll find the village post office and a complex that includes a restaurant, general store and bookstore.

That’s right, friends.

In the middle of the wilderness, in a town populated by approximately 46 people – yours truly found a bookstore.

It was a proud moment.

We were there for lunch, not books, so our first stop was the Little Switzerland Cafe. Here we had the best meal I’ve eaten in ages.

The food was prepared fresh and served by a handful of waitresses who know how to hustle. We did have to wait a few minutes for a table because it was quite busy with locals and tourists including lots of folks on bicycles and motorcycles.

It was worth the wait.

They have vegetarian options and everything is made with what tasted like very fresh ingredients. My quiche had a flaky, buttery crust and was served with a fresh salad and homemade bread. The attention detail was impressive especially for the price which was about $10.

In the general store you’ll find some souvenirs and handmade items as well as some things you might need while out adventuring like aspirin and bandaids.

The bookstore, though, is the stuff that dreams are made of. It looks tiny from outside but the store is multiple rooms that wind around and reach into the basement. It’s packed from floor to ceiling with new and used books and interesting things to see in every nook and cranny.

At this point in the trip I had already purchased an alarming amount of books so I practiced restraint and purchased just one – a lovely little pocket sized copy of Thoreau’s “Walden.”

Little Switzerland was such a fabulous diversion that I badly want to go back to stay at the inn and explore the area (and the bookstore) more.

By the way, people like to think of Appalachia and rural areas as being backward. There are charging stations for your electric car right outside that bookstore.

Little Switzerland Books and Beans can be found online here. Learn more about Switzerland Cafe here. And if you’re interested in staying, there are a few options in the area including Switzerland Inn which we passed on our way on and off the Parkway. Find it here.

Journey To Rendville

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I ran away from home on Saturday. It was a gorgeous day to be out so I hiked before heading north into an area called the Little Cities of Black Diamonds.

This region is a collection of small mining communities in Appalachian Ohio. Well, they used to be mining communities where laborers did the back breaking work to extract abundant deposits of coal, oil, iron ore and clay from the land. They were once prosperous but are now shadows of their former selves

The history of this region is rich and far too complicated to do justice in a single blog post. I won’t claim to give you the whole picture. But I’m going to tell you one of those stories today and then share some more pictures another day.

Mining caused towns to pop up quickly, attracting people of a variety of ancestry and races. The people here took on important roles in national social and labor issues including mine safety and racial equality.

Today, the towns are in the heart of Wayne National Forest and it’s astounding to think of the important impact they had. Robinson’s Cave at New Straitsville is commonly known as the birthplace of the United Mine Workers. Ohio’s worst mine disaster occurred years later in nearby Millfield.

Just up the road in Rendville, African Americans broke the color barrier and played an important role in racial integration in Ohio.

Businessman William P. Rend founded the town in 1879 to create a community for the miners who worked in his nearby coal mine. He brought in workers from other countries and from the American south, instilling in these people the idea that they were all there for the betterment of the mine. They all served the same purpose and people got along relatively well despite living with people of other races and backgrounds.

Sadly, labor issues were already boiling over in the nearby town of Corning. Folks there were threatened by the presence of blacks in the industry and fearful they would drive down the value of wages.

Miners in that town and surrounding communities formed a small mob that descended on Rendville. Fortunately, there were just a few injuries but the event garnered attention from the Governor and the Ohio National Guard. Today it’s known as the Corning War.

Despite these racial concerns, Rendville prospered and produced some important Ohioans. Dr. Isiah Tuppins was the first African American to graduate from Ohio State’s Medical School and went on to be Ohio’s first black mayor when he was elected Rendville mayor.

Roberta Preston, who lived in Rendville, was the first African American Post Mistress in our nation’s history. An important Ohio University basketball player came from this town as well as some national labor movement leaders.

Today, the town has just a few dozen residents and doesn’t look like much. However, there are people working hard to preserve their history and the very thought made me happy.