Blount and Beyond November 2026

Series Seven Volume Eleven

October 25, 2026

Photos by Martha Sissum Gahagan

***********************************************

80th Edition

***********************************************

From the Editor

November is a month that seems to make us slow down and think about the things that really matter. Before the Christmas decorations come out and the busy season begins, we have Thanksgiving. It is a time to gather around the table, remember those who are no longer with us, and be thankful for the people who are still here.

When I think about Thanksgiving when I was growing up, I remember a kitchen full of good smells and a table covered with food. There was usually turkey or ham, cornbread dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce and rolls. Depending on the family, there might also be fried apples, macaroni and cheese, deviled eggs, homemade slaw and plenty of desserts. Pumpkin pie, apple pie, chocolate pie or whatever somebody’s grandmother was especially good at making.

Our family has a Thanksgiving tradition of our own. I have enough small gifts for everyone who is there. One year we start with the youngest and let everyone choose a gift. The next year we start with the oldest. The gifts are simple things such chips, candy, or cookies. But the fun doesn’t stop there. After everyone has chosen a gift, we go around again. Each person can either keep what they have or trade with someone else. Sometimes people are perfectly happy with their gift, while other times they have their eye on somebody else’s. It always brings some laughter and good natured bargaining.

It isn’t really about the gifts. It is about making memories together. Years from now, the children may not remember everything that was on the Thanksgiving table, but they may remember who got the cookies, who wanted the chips, and who traded with whom.

There are so many things we can be thankful for. We can be thankful for family, friends, a warm home, food on the table, and another day to make memories. If you still have older family members with you this Thanksgiving, ask them about the Thanksgivings they remember. You may hear a story you have never heard before.

From my family to yours, I wish each of you a very happy Thanksgiving. May your turkey be tender, your dressing be just right, your pies be sweet, and your home be filled with love, laughter and good memories.

And when the dishes are washed and the last piece of pie is gone, I hope we remember that the greatest blessings at our Thanksgiving table was never about the food, it was the people sitting around it.

Happy Thanksgiving from Blount and Beyond!

Linda Kay

***********************************************

Shine Out

“In everything you do stay away from complaining and arguing so that no one can speak a word of blame against you. You are to live clean, innocent lives as children of G*D in a dark world full of people who are crooked and stubborn. Shine out among them like beacon lights, holding out to them the Word of Life.” (Philippians 2:14–16a TLB)

We all have plenty of reasons to complain, plenty of people to argue with, but it doesn’t bring glory to Christ. If you spend time with Jesus, He will let you see how to take His Light into every situation.

Be different, take it to your family. Be it to your friends. You are holy and innocent before all mankind in what you do, what you say, and in your attitude you do it with.

You comfort the downtrodden and abused. You encourage the sorrowful and celebrate with the victorious (without so much as a drop of jealousy or wondering why it wasn’t you instead).

Tell the world what He’s done, is doing, and will do and what He offers the lost and dying. Why do you think they call it good news? Share Jesus, not the stuff you keep complaining about. They’ve already heard it, they’ve got all kinds of apps that do that.

Love, les

***********************************************

When a Name Was a Family Heirloom by Linda Kay Baker

In the Appalachian Mountains, a baby’s name was not always chosen simply because Mama and Daddy liked the way it sounded. Sometimes a name had been waiting for that child for generations. Family names honored those who came before us. A first son might be named for one grandfather, another for the other grandfather, and later sons for uncles. Girls might carry the names of grandmothers or aunts. The order varied, but passing names down was common.That tradition can make an old family tree mighty confusing. You might find three Johns, four Williams, and a couple of Thomases living within a few miles of one another. How did anybody know who was who?

They had their ways. One might be Big John, Little John, or John Junior. One William was Bill, another Will. Middle names and nicknames helped tell them apart. Sometimes a name carried an even deeper meaning. When a child died young, the name might be given to another child born later. It was a way of keeping that child and the family connection remembered. My own Hatcher family shows how long a name could survive. Our family traces the name William back to William Hatcher, whom we call William the Immigrant, born at Careby Castle in England, the son of Sir William Hatcher.

Through the generations, the names William and Edward continued to appear. William’s descendants included William Hatcher Sr., William Hatcher Jr., and William John, known as Will Hatcher. Will’s sons were William Anderson Hatcher and Thomas Jefferson Hatcher. Thomas Jefferson was my great-grandfather, the father of my grandfather, William Oscar Hatcher. My grandfather also had an older brother named William Thomas Hatcher, who died at about two years old, approximately six weeks before my grandfather was born. When William Oscar arrived, the family once again had a William.

The name did not end with my grandfather. His children continued the tradition by giving the name William to their sons. A name brought across the ocean generations earlier was still being passed down in East Tennessee. Not every Appalachian family followed the same pattern. Some used a mother’s maiden name, honored a favorite preacher or friend, or simply chose a name they liked. Still, family names were important when relatives lived close together and knew their kinfolk for miles around.

A name could tell you whose granddaddy you belonged to, honor someone who had died, or connect a child to grandparents he would never meet. Sometimes it carried a family story for hundreds of years.

Today, we may choose a baby’s name from a list or simply pick one we like. Our ancestors had those choices too, but they often asked another question: “Whose name should this baby carry?”

That question left us some mighty confusing family trees, but it also left us something precious. For many Appalachian families, a name was more than something you answered to when somebody called you. It was a family heirloom, passed from one generation to the next.

***********************************************

Memories of William Oscar “Bill” Hatcher by Linda Kay Baker

William Oscar “Bill” Hatcher was born in Walland,Tennessee on May 31, 1894. His father, Thomas, was 34 years old, and his mother, Mary, was 30. He married Margaret Kathern Wilson on June 21, 1919, and together they raised five children over the next fifteen years. Grandpa died in Maryville, Tennessee, on November 11, 1980, at the age of 86. Bill Hatcher was my grandfather. I still love him very much, and I am truly proud of the life he lived and all he accomplished.

Grandpa was a wonderful carpenter who could build just about anything. He loved going to Cades Cove and shopping in old downtown Sevierville. More than anything, he loved my grandmother and spent his life trying to make her happy.

After Granny died, Grandpa never remarried. Over the years, he dated five women whom he called his girlfriends, and he outlived four of them. The fifth girlfriend outlived him. One day, I asked him why he had never married again. I thought it might be good for him not to be alone. He looked at me and said, “Sis, I can never replace your granny.” He loved her for the rest of his life. Grandpa also had the joy of knowing and loving both of my children. Our son was seven years old and our daughter was two when Grandpa passed away. Our son loved his grandpa so much that he later named his own son after him. Our daughter was too young to remember Grandpa, but I will always hold the memories of the two of them together in my heart.

After Kenneth and I married, Grandpa always spent Thanksgiving with us. Kenneth would pick him up early, and we would visit until it was time to eat. Many of Grandpa’s children and grandchildren invited him to join them for Thanksgiving dinner, but he would tell them, “I’m having Thanksgiving with Linda Kay.” That meant so much to me, and I have treasured those holidays ever since.

A Soldier’s Journey Home — Grandpa’s life included experiences far beyond the family memories I hold dear. He served his country during World War I, a war many people at the time believed would be the war to end all wars. His military registration card is one piece of the record of his service. During the war, he was severely wounded near the Hindenburg Line in France on October 5, 1918. The Hindenburg Line was a heavily fortified German defensive system built during the war.

As the family story has been passed down, shrapnel struck Grandpa’s helmet, driving a piece of the helmet into his forehead. Field surgeons treated his other wounds, but they decided not to remove the piece embedded in his head. His injuries left him without his memory. He no longer knew who he was, and the military notified his family that he was missing in action and presumed dead. His brother Sam Hatcher, who was also a soilder near the Hindenburg Line at the same time, refused to accept that his brother was gone. When Sam received the news, he said that if Bill were dead, he would feel it in his heart, and he did not feel that he was. For six months, Sam searched hospitals and other places where he thought his brother might be found. At last, he located Bill in a hospital. Grandpa still did not know who he was, but Sam knew his brother. Sam’s determination brought Bill one step closer to home. Had Sam given up the search, Grandpa might never have been reunited with his family.

When I think about my grandfather, I remember the carpenter who could build almost anything, the man who loved my grandmother until the end of his life, and the grandfather who chose to spend Thanksgiving with us year after year. I also remember the young soldier who endured terrible wounds and the brother who refused to believe he was lost.

I am proud to be Bill Hatcher’s granddaughter. His story is part of our family’s history, and I am grateful that I can share these memories with others

WOUNDED Blount County

***********************************************

The Driver’s License Grandpa Got Through the Mail

Sometimes an old family story sends me looking for answers, and that is exactly what happened when I started thinking about something my grandpa told me many years ago. Grandpa died in 1980 at the age of 86, but I can still remember him talking about getting his first driver’s license. He said he did not have to take a driving test. All he had to do was mail his money, a quarter or two, to the state, and his license came back through the mail.

I started checking the history and discovered Tennessee passed its first statewide Driver License Law in 1937, becoming the 32nd state to require drivers to have licenses. According to the Tennessee Department of Safety, those first licenses cost 50 cents, and the first statewide driving test was not given until April 1938. That information made me stop and think about what Grandpa had told me all those years ago.

Grandpa was born in 1894, which would have made him around 43 years old when the new law took effect. He was an adult who had been around long enough to see plenty of changes in the world. Automobiles were becoming more common, roads were improving, and the government was beginning to establish rules about who could drive and what was required of them. A man of Grandpa’s age might have been driving for years before the state began requiring everyone to obtain a license.

My search also turned up evidence that driver licensing was being discussed before Tennessee passed its statewide law. A newspaper report from March 1935 listed Tennessee among the states considering driver licensing requirements. The report mentioned proposed fees ranging from 25 cents for an individual to 50 cents for a family. That does not prove a license cost a quarter, but it shows that it was part of the discussion during those years.

Then, in 1937, Tennessee passed its statewide law. Later that year, the Legislature amended the new law during a special session. The legislative record mentions a one dollar operator’s license, good for two years or until revoked, and a 25 cent fee for a duplicate license. That gives us another example of the quarter appearing in Tennessee’s early licensing history, although it does not establish the cost of the original license Grandpa received.

The part I find most interesting is the timing of the first driving test. Tennessee’s Department of Safety says the first test was not given until April 1938. That leaves me wondering how the first licenses were handled during the months after the law took effect. Did experienced drivers simply apply and receive their licenses before testing began? Were applications accepted by mail? I have not found the original application instructions to answer those questions, so I cannot say for certain what procedure Grandpa followed.

However, Grandpa said he mailed the money and got his license in the mail. I have no reason not to believe him.

**********************************************

Front Porch Sitting

I was rocking on my porch the other day when I got to thinking about how many things a person can do while sitting on the porch.

You can hang quilting frames and sit with your friends quilting while catching up on what is happening in the community. Who is doing what? Who is getting married? What is happening on the soap operas? Has the newest baby arrived in the neighborhood? There was always something to talk about, and the hours seemed to fly by when friends gathered together.

Or you could simply sit and read a book, work on something you had been wanting to do, or wave at someone walking by. Sometimes, just sitting and enjoying the fresh air was enough.

On a special day, you might bring out the ice cream freezer and make a gallon of homemade ice cream. Before long, the porch would be full of eager little hands and big hands, all waiting for that first bite of the best tasting ice cream around. Nothing seemed to taste quite as good as homemade ice cream shared with family and friends.

Then there was bean-breaking day! When the gardens were full of produce and it was time to pick the beans, the ladies, young girls, and other children would gather on the porch. There would be beans to break, stories to share, and plenty of visiting along the way. Having lots of hands to help not only got the job done, but it also made a long day seem short.

Porches have changed with the times, just as everything else has. These days, you might take your laptop or phone outside and sit on the porch while doing your work. We may be doing different things, but there is still something special about enjoying the outdoors from a comfortable spot close to home.

By the way, I hope you have enjoyed my story. I wrote it while sitting on my porch, enjoying a late autumn evening.

I hope some of you have a nice, warm, sunny spot on your porch, or perhaps a sunny window where you can sit and read this story.

Enjoy your day!

**********************************************

Do You Remember Recess?

There was a time when the sound every child waited for was the ringing of the school bell announcing recess. Books closed, pencils were dropped on our desks, and before the teacher could change her mind, we were racing toward the playground.

Back then, recess did not require batteries, charging cords, or a cell phone. All it took was a little imagination, a few good friends, and enough room to run.

The girls often gathered with a jump rope. Someone would begin turning the rope while the rest of us waited our turn. We sang little rhymes as each girl jumped in and out of the rope, trying not to miss a beat. Every community seemed to have its own version, but one I remember went something like this:

“Cinderella, dressed in yellow,

Went upstairs to kiss her fellow.

Made a mistake and kissed a snake.

How many doctors did it take?”

The jumper kept going until she missed, while everyone counted aloud.

Not far away, another group of children was playing hopscotch. Someone had already drawn the squares with a piece of chalk or scratched them into the dirt if there was no sidewalk nearby. We tossed a small rock into the numbered squares and hopped on one foot, trying to keep our balance while the others watched to see if we stepped on a line.

One of the noisiest games on the playground was Red Rover. Two lines of children stood facing one another with hands tightly linked. We would call out, “Red Rover, Red Rover, send child’s name right over!” Then someone would come running as fast as they could, hoping to break through the line. Sometimes they did, and sometimes they bounced right back. Either way, there was plenty of laughter.

We also played Mother, May I? One child became Mother and stood with her back to the others. The rest of us politely asked, “Mother, may I take three giant steps?” or “Mother, may I take five baby steps?” If you forgot to say “Mother, may I?” you had to go back to the beginning. It taught us patience, listening, and perhaps a little good manners along the way.

Then there was Simon Says. It sounded simple enough, but someone always forgot to listen carefully. If Simon didn’t actually say it, you were out. We learned quickly that paying attention was just as important as moving fast.

Tag may have been the simplest game of all, but it never grew old. Whether it was plain tag, freeze tag, or hide-and-seek tag, all it required was a playground full of children and enough energy to keep running until the bell rang.

There were marbles, jacks, and games of catch. We settled arguments with a quick “best two out of three” and usually forgot what we were fussing about before recess was over.

Looking back now, I realize those games gave us much more than something to do. They taught us how to share, how to take turns, how to lose without giving up, and how to celebrate someone else’s victory. We learned teamwork, kindness, fairness, and the value of including the child who was standing alone.

Today’s playgrounds look different, and children have many more choices than we ever dreamed of having. Still, I wouldn’t trade those simple games for anything. The memories they gave us have lasted far longer than any toy ever could.

**********************************************

You Asked… We Went Looking

Every month, Blount and Beyond readers send me questions about things they have wondered about for years. Some questions are about history, some about old customs, some about places we pass every day, and some are simply things our parents or grandparents told us. I have decided to share some of their questions with our readers. If you have a question please private message it or email it to me, I cannot promise I will always have the answer, but I can promise that I will go looking for it.

Q: Why do old country houses sometimes have a porch running across the entire front of the house?

A: The big front porch was more than decoration. In the days before air conditioning, families used porches as another living space. People could sit outside in the evening, shell beans, visit with neighbors, rock babies or simply catch a breeze. A porch also gave some shade to the front of the house and helped keep the inside a little cooler.

Q: Why did people put blue paint on their porch ceilings?

A: This old custom can be found in several parts of the country, including Appalachia and the South. There are several explanations for it. One old belief was that blue paint would keep haints, or spirits, away. Another explanation is that the color was sometimes called “haint blue.” There is also a practical explanation that blue-green paints once contained ingredients that could help discourage insects. The custom has lasted long after many of those old reasons disappeared.

Q: Why did people sit up with the dead?

A: Before modern funeral homes became common, families often kept the body of a loved one at home before burial. Friends and relatives would come to the house and take turns staying with the family and the deceased. It was partly practical, but it was also an act of love and respect. Sitting up gave people time to visit, tell stories and help the grieving family through a difficult night.

Q: Why did old people sometimes put a horseshoe over a door?

A: The horseshoe became a good luck symbol in many places. One old tradition says the horseshoe should be hung with the open end facing upward so the luck would stay inside

Q: Why did people put salt in the corners of their houses?

A: Salt has been associated with protection and good luck in folk traditions for centuries. Some people scattered it around a house or placed it in corners because they believed it would protect the home from evil or bad luck. There was no scientific evidence that salt provided such protection, but folk beliefs often tell us as much about the people who held them as they do about the custom itself.

Q: Why did country families save scraps of cloth instead of throwing them away?

A: Almost nothing was wasted in many older households. Worn clothing could become quilt pieces, children’s clothes, rags, rag rugs or stuffing. Flour and feed sacks were also put to use. A family that had little money could not afford to throw away something that could still serve another purpose. That way of thinking was not just thrift. It was a necessity.

Q: Why did older people sometimes say you should not sweep the floor after someone left the house?

A: One old belief was that sweeping after a person left would sweep away your luck or prevent that person from coming back. There were many versions of this belief. Some families considered it especially bad luck to sweep after a visitor left.

Q: Why did our grandparents seem to know how to make use of everything?

A: They had to. Many of our grandparents grew up when money was scarce and stores were not just a few minutes away. They repaired instead of replacing, saved scraps, grew food, canned what they could and found another use for things we might throw away today. What we sometimes call an “old-fashioned way” was often simply good sense learned from necessity.

If you have a question you have wondered about, send it to Blount and Beyond. It might be something from your childhood, a story your grandmother told you, an old custom, a place you have always wondered about, or something you simply never thought to ask until now.

You ask the question. We will go looking for the answer.

**********************************************

The Lost Years of Tennessee Football by Kayla Lain

In 1894, the University of Tennessee at Knoxville faced a difficult decision about its football program. After a disappointing 1893 season, with two wins and four losses, the Athletic Association decided to drop varsity football for the following year.

Only two players from the 1893 team returned to campus in 1894. Among the students who still wanted to see football continue was W. B. Stokely, who transferred to the University of Tennessee from Wake Forest University. Stokely had been expected to enter his senior year at Wake Forest, but he had other plans for his college football career.

Rather than let football disappear entirely from campus, Stokely persuaded a group of students to form an unofficial team in the fall of 1894. His fellow students elected him captain, and the group kept the spirit of the game alive even though the university had chosen not to field an official varsity team.

These years, when football continued outside the university’s official athletic program, became known as the “Lost Years.” Because the games were unofficial, they are not included in NCAA statistics or Tennessee’s official football win-loss records.

Although the university stepped away from varsity football for a season, the students who continued to play helped keep interest in the sport alive. Their efforts are a little-known part of the early history of Tennessee football.

Source: University of Tennessee at Knoxville website.

**********************************************

November Days to Remember

Veterans Day — November 11

Veterans Day is a day to honor all who have served in the United States military. It is a time to remember the men and women who have worn the uniform and to thank them for their service and sacrifices. Take a moment to thank a veteran in your family or community.

National Day on Writing — November 12

National Day on Writing celebrates the importance of writing and encourages people to share their thoughts, memories and stories. Writing allows us to preserve family history, record special memories and pass along stories that might otherwise be forgotten. Whether you write in a journal, a letter, a family story or simply jot down a memory, your words may become something special for someone in the future.

Thanksgiving Day — November 26

Thanksgiving is a time for family, friends, food and gratitude. It is a day to pause and remember the many blessings in our lives, including the people who make our lives special. Whether your table is filled with a large family or just a few loved ones, there is always something to be thankful for.

Small Business Saturday — November 28

Small Business Saturday encourages us to shop at locally owned small businesses. These businesses are often owned by our neighbors, friends and families, and shopping locally helps keep money in our communities. When you can, consider buying a gift, eating a meal or using a service from a small business in your own community.

**********************************************

Veterans Day: A Time to Say Thank You

Every November 11, our nation pauses to honor the men and women who have served in the United States Armed Forces. Veterans Day is a time to remember their service, recognize the sacrifices they and their families have made, and thank them for helping protect the freedoms we enjoy.

Over the years, Blount and Beyond has honored local veterans by sharing their photographs and telling their stories. We have introduced readers to men and women who served in different branches of the military and in different times in our nation’s history. Each had a story worth remembering, and we are grateful to the families who have shared those memories with us.

This year, we want to take a moment to thank every veteran, including those whose stories have never appeared in our pages. Some served during wartime, while others served during peacetime. Some came home to a welcome, while others found that returning to civilian life brought challenges they had not expected.

We should remember, too, that the needs of veterans do not end when their military service is over. Some struggle with health problems, housing, financial difficulties, or the lasting effects of their experiences. Others may need help understanding the benefits they have earned. Sometimes, knowing whom to call can be the first step toward getting assistance.

We have included several telephone numbers for veterans and their families who may need help. We hope readers will keep this information handy and share it with anyone who might benefit from it.

To all our veterans, thank you for your service, your sacrifices, and your willingness to answer the call when our country needed you. We honor you on Veterans Day and throughout the year. We are grateful you are our neighbors, friends, family members, and fellow Americans.

Blount County Veterans Affairs Office 865–273–5760

305 Court Street, Maryville — Help with VA benefits, disability claims, pensions, survivor benefits, and other veterans’ benefits. Assistance is free. Call for an appointment;

Women Veterans call center 855–829–6636 Hours: Monday through Friday,

8:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. ET, and Saturday, 8:00 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. ET

National Call Center for Homeless Veterans 877–424–3838 Hours: 24/7

Debt Management Center (collection of nonmedical debts) 800–827–0648

If you’re outside the U.S.: +1–612–713–6415 Hours: Monday through Friday,

7:30 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. ET

Vets Center call center 877–927–8387 Hours: 24/7

**********************************************

Civil War Housewife by Linda Kay Baker

What is a Civil War housewife? Today, when we hear the word *housewife*, we usually think of someone who takes care of a home. During the Civil War, however, a housewife was something much smaller. It was a sewing kit that a soldier could carry with him to mend his clothing.

When soldiers went into battle or spent days marching in the field, they often had only the clothing they were wearing with them. Their extra clothing and other belongings might be back at camp or in a fort, sometimes miles away. They could not always return to their supplies when a button came off, a seam tore, or a hole appeared in a sock. When the fighting eased or they had a little time to rest, they had to make do with what they carried.

That is where a housewife came in handy. It was a small sewing kit that could be folded or rolled up and tucked into a soldier’s belongings. It usually contained needles, thread, buttons, and small pieces of cloth. Some kits also included yarn for darning socks, a thimble, or other little items that might be useful for sewing and mending.

Many housewives were lovingly made by mothers, sisters, wives, and sweethearts and given to soldiers as they left home for war. These were practical gifts, but they could also serve as reminders of the loved ones waiting for the soldier’s return. Some soldiers made their own kits or found other ways to obtain one.

The name housewife may sound unusual to us today, but it was a familiar term for a sewing kit. Such kits were used long before the Civil War and continued to be useful to soldiers in later years.

A soldier’s clothing could take a beating during long marches, rough weather, and everyday life in camp or on the battlefield. A missing button or a torn seam might seem like a small problem, but it needed attention. With his housewife close at hand, a soldier could make a repair and keep his clothing usable until he had a chance to obtain a replacement.

I have made replicas of Civil War housewives for years and taken them to historic site festivals throughout the area. I enjoy showing visitors these little sewing kits and explaining how they were used. It is a good way to help people understand that history was not only about battles, famous generals, and the outcome of the war. It was also about ordinary people facing everyday problems under difficult circumstances.

A housewife was a small thing to carry, but it could be mighty useful when a soldier was away from camp and had only what he carried with him. Sometimes, it is these simple objects that help us better understand what life was like for those who lived through our history.

Photographs by Linda Kay Baker.- Handmade Replicas of Civil War Housewives

***********************************************

A Happy Thanksgiving to All

On the eve of this Thanksgiving, I wish you peace. That is all. I don’t wish for anything else. Just peace. All words that follow this paragraph are merely filler.

Yes, there are many other things to wish for in this life. You could wish for more stuff. For more money. For happiness. For better health. But those are all just substitutes for peace.

Wealth is an illusion. Happiness is relative. Success is a myth. Health can be as fleeting as squirrel flatulence in a hurricane.

But peace. You can actually feel peace. Peace is real. Peace can be measured with a pulsometer and a blood-pressure cuff.

You can touch peace. You can taste it. Feel it. You can see it occur in each river, sky, and ocean. Peace is what nature craves. Peace is what every nation wants. And yet it is so hard to find.

Thus, I wish you the kind of peace that makes no earthly sense. I wish you the kind of calm that defies logic. A blue sky amidst a tornado. Gladness in the midst of suffering.

I wish you laughter in the midst of your chemo. I wish you tranquility in the midst of the life sentence you are serving Holman Correctional.

I wish you rest after the sexual violence you suffered from the hands of a family member. I wish you relief after your eye-removal surgery. I wish you courage in your first Thanksgiving after your mom died. I wish you rest amidst your divorce. I wish you bravery as you deal with your son’s funeral.

You’d think every man, woman, and child should be granted the gift of peace. You’d think it was a basic human right. But it doesn’t work like that. The world doesn’t owe you anything, it was here first.

But if you ask me, this only makes peace even more remarkable when you receive it. For what else is there to be thankful but things we don’t deserve?

So I wish I could write something more flowery tonight. But I’m not a flowery kind of guy. On this cold and drizzly Thanksgiving eve, you have many things to do. Important things. So go do them. But before you leave me…

Peace be with you.

Questions: SeanDietrich@gmail.com

Visit the Sean of the South Website

***********************************************

Thanksgiving Blessings and the Cross

Recently I noticed a beautiful piece of artwork at First United Methodist in Springfield. Using two sheets of white butcher paper, the upright and crossbar of a cross were formed. Dozens of children had dipped their hands in paint and placed their prints on the paper cross. The DNA of my children and their friends is in there somewhere. It is both a simple and beautiful work of art. It demonstrates the theme of the Gospel of Christ on numerous levels.

As I stood and admired the homemade tapestry, I thought about Thanksgiving at Guthrie Elementary School in the 1960s and making handmade decorations. Thanksgiving was my favorite season as a child and has remained my favorite as a senior adult. The period between Halloween and the end of the year was not an extended Christmas observance. Christmas music was not played on the radio, nor were yuletide decorations displayed until Thanksgiving had been observed. While in the fourth grade, Mrs. Juanita Morgan even had our class put on a Thanksgiving~themed play. Each classroom commemorated the holidays by displaying the handiwork of its students. The teachers of Guthrie Elementary were Houdinis when colored construction paper, scissors, and tape were placed in their hands. Armed with simple articles they could lead the decorating of an otherwise bland classroom and transform it into a celebration of the current season. If there was an open house or PTA meeting before the end of the first semester, a tour of each classroom was a must-do to observe the pupils’ artistic talents.

Each season had its signature secular character. Easter was represented by a bunny, Halloween was celebrated with pumpkins and goblins, and Christmas was depicted by the jolly old elf in red. A plethora of turkeys and cornucopias were drawn on construction paper lining the hallways to signify the Thanksgiving season. I never understood the meaning of cornucopias at Thanksgiving. I struggled to pronounce the word correctly. One teacher told me it was also called a horn of plenty. Because of the odd shape, I never thought it would be very functional when used for harvesting.

Each student in the primary grades drew a turkey to take home over the Thanksgiving holiday. The pattern for the universal decoration was the hand turkey. The hand turkey could be drawn by any and everyone. Preadolescent Picassos would place their hands on a sheet of construction paper and trace around it from one side of their wrist to the other. When completed, they would lift their hand and draw a straight line to connect the space between the starting and ending points. Next, they would connect the lines at the bottom of their fingers. The outline of their four fingers would serve as the bird’s tail feathers. Their all-important thumb would be the head of their avian creation. None of these masterpieces were complete without stick legs and feet.

After the completion of the outline, the students raced to their crayons to add life to the artwork. Everyone added color to the turkey’s tail feathers. The fall colors of red, brown, and orange were the most common. The heads of the birds were the main focus of attention. After drawing the beak and filling in the eyes, proper placement and coloring of the wattle and snood became the priority. We were not aware of the technical terms of the turkey’s anatomy. Instead, we called these the beard or gizzard and head feathers. There were some years that we tried to make the wattle and snood one red headpiece like an Egyptian Pharaoh headdress. Some of the more creative students added grass under the turkeys’ feet for effect. We were proud of the creations of our fertile young minds.

As I reflected on Thanksgivings past, I realized my life has been a cornucopia full of blessings, my horn of plenty has overflowed. I am thankful for the handprints that touched a paper cross. I am thankful that my children’s and their friends’ lives have reflected the cross they touch daily. I am eternally thankful for the blessings from the teachers at Guthrie Elementary-the teachers who labored tirelessly and whose hands touched my heart and left their prints to help me be the best person I could be. I am thankful for all the wonderful memories this extraordinary ordinary old man has of growing up in Guthrie.

I am most thankful for those of you who read my ramblings and call or send notes of encouragement along the way. Specially, that gives our past a shared story that will live on.

The Haley Family wishes a Happy Thanksgiving to our Robertson County readers!

-30–30–30-

Steve Haley spent his childhood in Guthrie, KY during the 1960s and 1970s. He loved to recount the stories of his extraordinary ordinary upbringing in a small Southern town with his many friends.

***********************************************

A Man’s Way of Looking at Things Thanksgiving According to the Man of the House.

Thanksgiving is a wonderful holiday. It is a day when families get together, eat a big meal, watch football and give thanks for all the blessings in their lives. At least that is how it looks from this man’s recliner.

A few weeks before Thanksgiving, my wife starts talking about who is coming for dinner. She makes the guest list, calls everybody, and somehow manages to invite people I did not even know we knew.

Then she goes grocery shopping. I have to admit, she takes Thanksgiving very seriously. She comes home with enough groceries to feed a small army. There is a turkey, potatoes, dressing, green beans, cranberry sauce, rolls, pies and several other things I cannot identify.

She spends the next couple of days cooking. Every now and then she comes through the living room and asks, “Are you going to help me?” I always say, “Just tell me what you need.” She usually says, “Never mind. I’ve got it.” I have learned that when my wife says, “I’ve got it,” the safest thing this husband can do is stay out of the kitchen.

On Thanksgiving morning, she is up early. By the time I get out of bed, the house smells wonderful. She is already cooking, cleaning, setting the table and making sure everybody has what they need. I do my part, too. I stay out of her way.

When the guests arrive, she welcomes them, serves the food and makes sure everybody has plenty. I sit at the table and do what I can to support her efforts by eating the food she worked so hard to prepare.

After dinner, I make another important contribution. I move to the recliner. By then I am full enough that getting up would probably be bad for my health. The football game is on television, and I figure somebody has to keep an eye on the score. Meanwhile, I can hear dishes rattling in the kitchen.

My wife comes through carrying a stack of plates and gives me that look. I say, “That was a wonderful dinner, honey.” She says, “Thank you.” Then she goes back to the kitchen. I settle deeper into my chair.

And that is when I realize just how much I have to be thankful for. I have a wonderful wife, a house full of family, a full stomach, a good football game on television and a recliner that is exactly where I need to be.

I am especially thankful that my wife has never asked me to explain exactly what my contribution to Thanksgiving was.

I’m pretty sure she already knows.

***********************************************

When Blount County Was Young By Linda Kay Baker

Anyone who has spent much time studying Blount County history has probably heard of Inez Burns’s book History of Blount County, and they know the book is an important source for learning about the people, places, and events that shaped our county. Long before Blount County was established, the land between the Tennessee River and the Great Smoky Mountains was home to the Cherokee people. Rivers and creeks wound through the valleys, including Little River, which receives water from Crooked Creek, Pistol Creek, Nails Creek, and Ellejoy. Other creeks, including Abram, Nine Mile, Six Mile, Four Mile, Baker, and Boyd, flowed through the southern and western portions of the county.

Settlement by newcomers began in 1785. Robert McTeer established an early fort about one and one-half miles south of what is now Eusebia Church. As settlers made homes in the area, churches became important gathering places. Eusebia Church was organized in 1786, followed by New Providence Church in 1792 or 1793. Many of the earliest settlers were Scotch Presbyterians, and their faith helped shape the communities they established.

On July 11, 1795, Blount County was established by an act of the Territorial Assembly. Maryville was laid out that same year. The new county needed farms, stores, tradesmen, and other businesses to serve its growing population. Most early settlers had little money and depended on farming to provide for their families. Cotton became an important crop, and by 1802 several men owned cotton gins. Those owners included Thomas Berry, James Scott, Samuel Houston, William Stanfield, William Lowry, and Patrick Collins. These gins helped farmers process their cotton and made the crop an important part of the county’s early economy.

Maryville also had people who provided the goods and services residents needed. The early merchants included John and Josiah Nichol, Lowry and Waugh, and King and Montgomery. Samuel Love was a hatter and hotelkeeper, James Turk was a saddler, and Caldwell was a tailor. Physicians Alexander McGhee and Edward Gaunt cared for the sick, while Jesse Wallace and James Garner kept hotels. John Woods and John Montgomery were millers, and Gideon Blackburn served as a minister.

As the years passed, lumber became another important industry in Blount County. The forests supplied wood for homes, buildings, and other needs, helping support the growth of the communities. Farming and local businesses continued to play an important part in the lives of the people who settled here. News also found its way into print. In 1837, F. A. Parham established the *Intelligencer*, the first newspaper in Maryville. From the first settlements to the growing town of Maryville, Blount County developed through the work of ordinary people who farmed the land, opened businesses, practiced trades, and served their communities. Their names and contributions have been preserved in the pages of local history.

***********************************************

The Primitive Baptist Church in the Cove By Linda Kay Baker

The Primitive Baptist Church stands in Cades Cove, part of Great Smoky Mountains National Park, one of the nation’s most visited national parks. Explore historic cabins, churches, and the gristmill against a backdrop of stunning mountains. You may even spot deer, turkeys, or black bears.

For more than a century before the park’s establishment, Cades Cove was a community of homes, schools, churches, and other buildings, not a vacation destination or local day trip. Before European settlers arrived in the early 1820s, the Cherokee traveled through the valley and hunted deer, elk, bison, and bears. Settlers cleared farmland and built log homes, barns, mills, smokehouses, corncribs, and churches.

Neighbors helped one another, turning tasks such as making molasses, gathering nuts, and raising barns into social gatherings.

Cades Cove’s population grew as families arrived and children were born. Many households had ten or more children, who often attended classes in nearby farmhouses where teachers boarded. Schoolhouses were built later. Designated a “historical area” in 1945, Cades Cove is now managed and maintained by the National Park Service to reflect its early settlement days.

Faith was central to life for Smoky Mountain settlers. Before the Primitive Baptist Church was built, Cades Cove residents traveled through the mountains to Sunday meetings in Millers Cove and Wears Cove. They also attended old-fashioned campground revivals in Tuckaleechee Cove, now Townsend.

Founded in 1827, the Cades Cove Baptist Church met in homes until October 1832. It later split over biblical interpretations concerning temperance societies, Sunday School, and missionary work — disputes shared by many Baptist churches in the Smokies. In 1841, members adopted the name Primitive Baptist Church to distinguish their beliefs from those of other Baptists.

Many locals called it the Old School Church. The small congregation worshiped in a log building until the white frame church was built in 1887. The church from which the Old School group split retained Cades Cove in its name and added Missionary, becoming the Cades Cove Missionary Baptist Church. Locally, the Primitive Baptist Church is known as “Hard-Shell” and the Missionary Baptist Church as “Soft-Shell.”

The Primitive Baptist Church was built by hand. Look up at its wood-planked ceiling to see the carpenters’ handprints in the sap where they placed the boards. These marks were among my most interesting discoveries about the church. I asked several people, many now deceased, how the handprints came to be. They explained that work gloves were scarce, so builders coated their hands with rendered hog grease to protect against splinters while installing the ceiling. The grease left prints they expected to fade, so they were not concerned. I’m glad those marks remain for us to see.

Primitive Baptist members were said to be unwavering in their faith in God and their religious convictions. Generations of the same families worshiped there. Primitive Baptists believe that Christ alone saves the elect, so missionaries cannot “save souls.” They also note that mission work is not among the church’s gifts listed in Ephesians 4:11. Disagreement over missions was one reason they split from other Baptists.

On your next visit to Cades Cove, stop at the Primitive Baptist Church. From Cades Cove Loop Road, take the next left after the Oliver Cabin.

These personal photos were taken in the summer of 2022. Look closely and you may spot the handprints, though they are much clearer in person. Perhaps it’s time to add Cades Cove to your bucket list.

The Primitive Baptist Church in the Cove Photos by Kenneth Baker Jr.

***********************************************

A Little Library Card and a Long History of Sharing Books by Linda Kay Baker

Some of the things we save over the years turn out to be more important than we ever imagined. I have kept my first library card from the A. K. Harper Memorial Library in Maryville, Tennessee. It is a small reminder of a young girl who was ready to explore the world beyond her own front door.

I received my driver’s license on my sixteenth birthday in 1968. Three days later I got my first library card. I was ready to enjoy my new freedom, and one of the first things I did was drive into town and visit the library.

After I got that little card, I spent every minute I could in the library. I loved having so many books at my fingertips, but I was also interested in the history of Maryville and Blount County. I began researching the people, places, and events that had shaped the community where I lived. I did not know then how much that interest would become a part of my life.

The story of library service in Blount County began long before I walked through the doors of the A. K. Harper Memorial Library. It started with people who recognized that others needed access to books.

Mrs. Jane Alexander had a private library of 500 books that she loaned to others. The Tuesday Club also recognized the value of making books available and maintained a library in rooms at its clubhouse. These early efforts helped lay the foundation for a public library that would serve the wider community.

Blount County’s first public library opened in a room on the second floor of a building at 108½ Broadway in Maryville, above the Service Barber Shop, just east of the Cusick Street intersection. Later, the George Toole House was moved to the rear of the Maryville Post Office and became another home for the library.

The next library was the A. K. Harper Memorial Library, at the corner of South College Street and East Church Avenue. A. K. Harper had served as mayor of Maryville from 1907 to 1909 and again from 1911 to 1913. He was killed in action during World War I, and his widow wanted to build a library in his memory. The building was dedicated in 1931.

That was the library I came to know as a sixteen-year-old girl. I spent as much time there as I could, turning pages, following questions, and learning about the history around me. The building held more than books. It held stories about the people who had lived here, the places they had built, and the lives they had shaped.

As the community grew, so did the need for library space. A new building was constructed at the corner of McCammon Avenue and McGhee Street, In 1999, the county purchased the former Sky City property for another new library, providing a larger space for the community.

My visits to the library did not end with my childhood. Over the years, I made many trips there, sometimes with my family. This photograph shows my granddaughter Sophia Walker leaving the Maryville library. Her brother, Jackson Walker, took the picture during one of our many outings.

When I look at my old library card, I see more than a faded piece of paper with my name and address written on it. I see a young girl who had just turned sixteen, earned her driver’s license, and discovered a place where she could follow her curiosity wherever it led.

Years later, I would continue researching family and local history and sharing those discoveries with readers of Blount and Beyond. I could not have known that when I first drove into town with my new freedom and walked into the library.

It all began with a little library card and a love of books. But the story reaches back even farther, to a woman who shared her books with others, a club that recognized the same need, and a community that eventually opened its own public library.

I am glad I kept that little card. It reminds me that a lifetime of learning can begin with something as simple as a library card and a curious mind.

***********************************************

Greenback and surrounding area topic of new history book By Linda Braden Albert

A new history book was recently released by the Greenback Historical Society on the history of Greenback and surrounding area. Called “Boards, Blood, and Boundaries: Greenback Architectural Project (G.A.P.),” the book is meant “to preserve and present the history of land ownership within the community, recognizing the families, individuals and stories connected to each home,” according to information from the book.

Lanny McCollum, president of the Greenback Historical Society and one of the primary authors of the book along with his wife, Anita King McCollum, said the project was born in March 2020 at a board meeting of the Greenback Historical Society when he made the motion to create a committee, called the Greenback Architectural Project. The goal was to provide information and photographs on existing homes of importance to the community that were at least a century old. He said, “We knew there were so many houses that could have been on the National Historic Register but the whole process was so expensive, it was out of the reach of most people. So we thought we’d come up with this project and we would create a little coffee table book with these houses in it.”

What began as a small project featuring 12 sites soon took on a life of its own. “By the time we got done researching, we had over 600 deed references that are listed in this book,” Lanny said. “We have 10 family trees, 72 color pages, 38 structures, 13 index pages, a section on GraveConcerns, 312 black and white pages for a total of 384 pages.” Structures include homes, churches, business establishments and the Greenback Heritage Museum.

GraveConcerns was started by Lanny and Anita McCollum after he was told about an overgrown graveyard on private property with a stone bearing his last name. This turned out to be his great-great-grandparents. One other marked grave and several unmarked graves were discovered as the two worked to clear the cemetery. This led to even more interest in their family roots and GraveConcerns was born. Its mission is to locate and restore pioneer cemeteries along the Little Tennessee River. To date they and several volunteers have remediated more than 10 cemeteries.

Committee members dedicated many hours of meticulous research, which involved verifying the age of the structure. To do that, they researched deeds, but Lanny said that isn’t as easy as it sounds. Loudon County, where Greenback is now located, was formed in 1870 from parts of four counties, including Blount, Monroe, McMinn and Roane, so researching took them from Loudon County to these parent counties, as well. Greenback was originally a part of Blount County.

The title of the book arose from this research.

“To track the houses, we had to track the deeds, and to track the deeds, we had to track the families,” some with roots in this area prior to Tennessee statehood in 1796. “So the boards are the buildings, the blood is the families and the boundaries are the deeds and the maps,”

The book contains 35 chapters featuring century-old structures surviving in Greenback, Jena, Morganton, Hughes Hill, Coytee, Glendale/Centerville, Meadow and Trigonia.

“It started out being a book about houses and wound up being a regional history book, not just the city of Greenback, the region around Greenback,” Lanny said

“Boards, Blood and Boundaries” is well worth adding to your local history collection. It is available at the Greenback Heritage Museum, 6725 Morganton Road, Greenback; which is open 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday. Cost is $40 cash or check. For information, visit Greenback Historical Society on Facebook.

***********************************************

Alvin C. York National Park By Jackson Walker, Student ECCA

In Pall Mall Tennessee, Alvin C. York National Park hosts a World War 1 fair. In the fair they had multiple vendors showing and selling relics from the first World War. They had multiple workshops and seminars on The Great War. In one workshop they showed off several weapons from the First World War including bayonets, pistols, and several types of rifles from multiple countries.

They also had a fun workshop of making your own dog tag. The fair wasn’t the only cool part, the venue, Alvin C. York National Park, they had a mini museum on Alvin and had his home and his gristmill. You can also get a look at what the trenches in World War 1 might have looked like with replica trenches built behind the barn. You can also see his burial site on his property, but when we went it was closed.

In the Visitors center you can find this mini museum along with souvenirs and World War 1 era gum and candy. In the fair they also had a replica plane from the First World War that was 80% the size of the plane they were replicating. Along with the plane they had a nice Model-T Ford. With the fair they had historical reenactors who were apart of the Pall Mall Doughboys, a reenactment group based in Pall Mall, and they provided stories and information for people at the expo. You can find them on Instagram @pallmalldoughboys. You can find Sgt. Alvin C. York National Park at https://tnstateparks.com/parks/sgt-alvin-c-york.

Almost 4 miles down the road you can find Forbus General Store. It’s a nice family store with great food. When I went, I got the Double Bacon Cheeseburger, probably the biggest burger I’ve ever eaten. It was pretty good, but the thing to get are the Pinto Beans. They are the staple food of Forbus and for a good reason. They also had a wide variety of regional honey, jam, and salsa to choose from along with several cookbooks and puzzles.

Overall the town of Pall Mall is a great weekend trip for any history buff or lover of home cooked meals and a friendly small town.

Photos by Jason Walker and Jackson Walker

Public Domain Photoe of York

***********************************************

Precious Memories: My Great Grandmother’s Eyeglasses by Linda Kay Baker

A few years before my Aunt Iona passed away, I had a nice, long visit with her. We talked about many things, but eventually our conversation turned to family history. During our visit, she remembered her grandmother Wilson’s eyeglasses. We talked about how the glasses had hung on the living room wall at her mom and dad’s house. I remembered seeing them there when I was a child, but I never gave them much thought. Granny had lots of things hanging on her walls.

Aunt Iona told me that after her dad, my grandpa, died, she had acquired the eyeglasses. She went to her bedroom and returned with my great grandmother’s glasses. I was excited to see them again, but I never imagined what happened next would become such a precious memory.

I very gently put the glasses on and looked at the world through the same lenses as my great grandmother Wilson had used. I tried to imagine the good times she had seen through them, along with the tears she might have shed behind those very same lenses.

As I sat on Aunt Iona’s living room floor, surrounded by family photographs, we talked about how my great grandmother had lived. Aunt Iona remembered the time she had taken me and a few other family members to the Wilson cabin. As she reminisced about her grandmother, my mind wandered to a question I could never answer. What had Grandmother Wilson seen through those eyeglasses?

Through those lenses, my imagination could see her little boys running around, climbing trees, skipping rocks in the nearby creek, and working in the garden. I could see her baby girl, my grandmother, sleeping in her cradle.

Looking at my own hands, I imagined my great grandmother beating the dirt from the family’s clothes with a stick. Then I pictured her big iron washpot with a fire burning beneath it. Using her homemade lye soap, she would wash the family’s clothing, wring out each piece, and hang it on the line to dry.

Through those glasses, I imagined the inside of her cabin. The beds were made, supper was cooking in the fireplace, and she was making bread for her family. After supper, the children gathered around her, with the baby on her lap. In my mind, I could almost hear her reading from the Bible to those precious children. When it was time for bed, she tucked them in before returning to the chores that still needed doing.

Get Linda Kay Baker’s stories in your inbox

Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.

Remember me for faster sign in

My mind raced as I tried to picture all the things my great grandmother might have seen through those glasses. I imagined the happiness she felt watching her children grow, but I also thought about the heartbreak of losing a child and the difficult moments that every family experiences. If only those glasses could talk!

I did not know then how much more those glasses would come to mean to me. After Aunt Iona passed away, her children held a yard sale. They decided not to keep the things that remained, and whatever did not sell was thrown away. One of my cousins later told me that she remembered someone giving her a dime for the eyeglasses. She had not known they belonged to our great grandmother.

I was heartbroken when I learned what had happened. Those glasses had survived for so many years, passed down through our family until they were no longer recognized for the family treasure they were. The person who bought them could not have known their history, either.

Thankfully, I still have a photograph of the eyeglasses and an old photograph of my great grandmother and her family beside their cabin. The original family photograph is very fragile, but it remains a precious link to those who came before me.

The glasses themselves are gone, but I can still remember the day Aunt Iona brought them to me. I remember gently putting them on and wondering about the life my great grandmother had seen through them. I cannot know all the things those lenses witnessed, but I can imagine, and I can share those memories with the generations who come after me.

If only those glasses could talk! They might tell us stories we never knew. Until then, the photographs and the memories we preserve will have to speak for them.

Standing: Bunt Sloan (a neighbor), Kathern Wilson, Ance Wilson, George Wilson, Harvey Wilson. Seated: Sarah Ellen Cagle Wilson holding Willie Wilson, Tom Wilson, Parrott Wilson.

***********************************************

Our Smoky Mountain Bears: What Happens When Winter Comes? by Mary Elizabeth Winslowe

As the weather turns colder and the leaves begin to fall, many people wonder what happens to our black bears when winter arrives. Do they find a den, curl up, and sleep until spring? The answer is a little more complicated than that.

Black bears do not spend the entire winter in a deep, uninterrupted sleep. Their winter rest is different from the hibernation of many small animals. A bear’s body temperature drops only moderately, but its heartbeat and breathing slow down, allowing it to live on the fat it stored during the warmer months. A bear can remain in its den for long periods, yet it may wake up and leave when conditions are right.

Fall is an important time for bears. They spend much of their time searching for food and eating as much as they can before winter. This period of intense feeding is called hyperphagia. Acorns, berries, nuts, and other natural foods help bears build the fat reserves they need to get through the colder months. When food is plentiful, a bear has a better chance of making it through winter in good condition.

You might think a bear would choose a cave for its winter home, but our Smoky Mountain bears have other ideas. Some den beneath fallen trees, among rocks, or under thick brush. Others find hollow trees. In the Great Smoky Mountains, bears have even been found resting inside hollow standing trees well above the ground. A tree that looks ordinary to someone walking through the woods may provide a bear with a safe place to spend much of the winter.

Winter is also the season when mother bears give birth. Cubs are usually born in January or early February while their mothers are in their dens. Newborn cubs are tiny, helpless, and dependent on their mothers for warmth and milk. The mother remains with them as they grow stronger. By the time the family leaves the den in spring, the cubs have grown considerably, although they still have a great deal to learn.

Not every bear follows the same schedule. Weather, food supplies, and the bear itself can affect when it enters a den and how long it stays there. A stretch of warm weather may bring a bear out for a while. That means a bear seen during winter is not necessarily sick, lost, or behaving strangely. It may simply be going about its business.

Even when bears are less active, we should remember that they are wild animals. As the weather cools, people sometimes forget that bears may still be moving around their neighborhoods. Leaving garbage cans unsecured, keeping bird feeders full, or leaving pet food outdoors can attract a hungry bear. Once a bear learns that people provide an easy meal, it may return again and again, creating problems for both the bear and the people who live nearby.

If you see a bear, give it plenty of room. Never approach it to take a picture, try to feed it, or attempt to drive it away. In Great Smoky Mountains National Park, visitors are asked to stay at least 50 yards away from bears. If a bear is near your home, keep your distance and contact the appropriate wildlife authorities if it presents a safety concern.

Our black bears are part of what makes the Smoky Mountains special. Learning how they prepare for winter helps us understand them a little better and reminds us that sharing these mountains means respecting the wildlife that calls them home.

So, when the cold winds blow and the mountains settle into winter, remember that our bears have their own way of weathering the season. Some will spend long stretches tucked away in their dens, while others may venture out when conditions allow. Spring will bring the mothers and their growing cubs back into view, giving us another reason to appreciate the remarkable wildlife living right here in our own backyard.

Photo by Kenneth E. Baker Jr

Source:National Park Service’s information on [black bears in Great Smoky Mountains National Park](https://www.nps.gov/grsm/learn/nature/black-bears.htm?utm_source=chatgpt.com) and the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency’s [black bear information](https://www.tn.gov/twra/wildlife/mammals/large/black-

***********************************************

Wheeler Homestead Photo and information provided by Amy Martin.

An old house can hold many memories, even when the years have taken their toll on the building. For one family, the old Wheeler homestead on Little River brings back memories of happy childhood weekends, farm work, shared food, and a friendship that lasted across generations.

During the Great Depression and the years that followed, one Knoxville family often traveled from North Knoxville to visit their friends, the Wheelers. The trips were more than social visits. The two families helped one another in a practical way that was common in earlier times.

The father of the visiting family would help the Wheelers with farm work, including killing hogs. In return, his family received garden produce and hog meat. While the men worked, the children’s grandmother helped with canning, preserving food to feed the family in the months ahead. For the children, those weekends meant time with friends and the freedom to play together on the farm.

The memories were happy ones, and the friendships became an important part of their childhood.Years passed, and the families no longer saw one another as often. Yet the friendship was not forgotten. In 1991, John Wheeler attended the grandmother’s funeral in Knoxville to pay his respects. His presence was a reminder that even after decades apart, the connection between the families remained.

Today, the old Wheeler homestead still stands along Little River, but its condition is a sad sight for someone who remembers it in better days. The woman who shared this family story recalls the place as the setting for some of her mother’s happiest childhood memories. Seeing the old house now brings back those memories and sadness over what time has done to it.

The house is more than an aging building. For those who remember it, it represents a time when neighbors and friends depended on one another, work could be exchanged for food, and children formed friendships that stayed with them long after childhood ended.

Does anyone remember the old Wheeler homestead on Little River? Are there Wheeler family members who remember the house and the families who visited there? Perhaps someone has photographs of the property as it looked years ago or memories of the people who once called it home.

Our thanks to Amy Martin for sharing the photograph and family memories that made this story possible.

***********************************************

Rainbows, Double Blessings, and a Pot of Gold by Linda Kay Baker

The other day, I looked out from my front yard and saw a double rainbow. Naturally, it made me think about some of the things I heard growing up. We had all sorts of sayings about rainbows, and like many old sayings, they were passed down from one generation to another. We did not always know where they began, but we remembered what we had been told.

One of the things we heard was that a rainbow over your house meant your home would be blessed. If you were fortunate enough to see a double rainbow, that meant double blessings. I have to admit that I liked that idea, and seeing a double rainbow from my own front yard seemed like a good time to remember it.

Of course, not every rainbow brought good news according to the old folks. We also heard that if a rainbow appeared over a field, another storm was coming, and it might damage the crops. For families who depended on their gardens and fields to help feed their families, a bad storm was something to worry about. A pretty sight in the sky could bring a little concern when there was a crop to protect.

There was another saying about the time of day when a rainbow appeared. A rainbow in the morning meant rain or a storm was approaching, while a rainbow in the evening was supposed to mean fair weather was on the way. There is some truth behind this old weather sign. In our part of the world, weather systems often move from west to east. A morning rainbow usually appears in the western sky, while an evening rainbow often appears in the east. This can offer a clue about the weather, although it is not a promise of what will happen next.

Then there was the pot of gold. Whenever we saw a rainbow, someone was likely to say that they wished they could find its end because we sure could use the pot of gold waiting there. The old Irish tale of a leprechaun guarding treasure helped make that story famous, and it has given children and grown-ups a reason to dream about finding a fortune.

Of course, we know that a rainbow does not have a real beginning or end waiting for us to find. It is formed when sunlight shines through water droplets in the air. The light bends and reflects inside the droplets, separating into the colors we see. A double rainbow forms when the light reflects twice inside the droplets. The second rainbow is usually fainter, and its colors appear in reverse order.

Knowing how a rainbow forms does not mean we have to give up the old sayings and stories. Science can explain the beautiful colors, but it cannot take away the memories we attach to them. Those sayings remind us of the people who taught us to watch the sky, pay attention to the weather, and find a little hope in an ordinary day.

I suspect there are many more rainbow sayings, legends, and beliefs than the few I remember. Perhaps your family had a different saying, or perhaps you were taught the same ones I heard growing up.

What did your parents or grandparents tell you about rainbows? Did a rainbow promise blessings, warn of a storm, or send you searching for a pot of gold? I would enjoy hearing the old sayings you remember, because those little pieces of our past are worth keeping.

***********************************************

The Day We Crossed the River on a Ferry

by Linda Kay Baker

A few weeks ago, my husband and I were out for a Sunday drive when we crossed a bridge over the Tennessee River and it brought back a memory I had not thought about in quite a while. We had once crossed that same river at that very spot, but we did not cross it on a bridge. We crossed it on a ferry.

That memory took me back to a trip we made years ago with our daughter. We were on our way to Dayton, Tennessee, traveling down I 75, through Decatur and onto Highway 30. We were driving our 1992 Caprice, and none of us had any idea that getting to Dayton was going to include something none of us had ever done before.

When we reached the river, signs directed us toward a parking area beside the water. My husband noticed the cars were lined up and pulled in behind them. I was wondering what everybody was waiting for when he told me we were going to cross the river on a ferry. That presented us with a small problem. None of us had ever been on a ferry, and we did not know what we were supposed to do or how much it cost.

There was a woman in the car ahead of us, so I got out and explained that it was our first time there and none of us had ever crossed a river on a ferry. She kindly told me we were in the right line, that a man would collect our money when we reached the front and how much we needed. I do not remember the amount now, but I remember that it was a small fee.

I got back in our car and we waited our turn. Before long, we were driving onto the ferry. I had seen ferries in Florida, but I had always thought of them as something interesting to ride while on vacation. This was different. This ferry was not there for tourists. It was there because people needed to get from one side of the Tennessee River to the other.

The ferry we rode was the Washington Ferry, also known as the Hastings Locke Ferry. It had served the area for generations, carrying people and vehicles between Decatur and Dayton. By the time we made our trip, a bridge was being built to take the ferry’s place, but we did not know any of that. We were simply trying to get to Dayton.

Once we were on the ferry, we enjoyed the ride. There was something pretty special about sitting in our own car while the boat carried us across the river. We watched the water and enjoyed an experience none of us had planned on having that day.

The bridge eventually opened, and the ferry made its last crossing in 1996. I had always thought of ferries as something from the past, something that carried wagons, livestock and people across rivers before bridges became common. I never dreamed that we would actually need to use one ourselves.

That is what makes the memory special to me now. We did not set out that day looking for a piece of Tennessee history. We simply followed the road, saw the signs, got in line and asked a stranger what we were supposed to do.

Funny how memories work. We can pass the same place for years without giving it much thought, then one ordinary Sunday afternoon, something brings the past right back to us. A bridge that we hardly notice now reminded us of sitting in an old Caprice, waiting in line beside the river and wondering what in the world we were supposed to do.

We thought we were simply taking a trip to Dayton. Instead, we ended up with a little piece of Tennessee history that we did not know we were collecting at the time. Now, every time we cross that bridge, I think about the day we crossed the river on a ferry, and I am mighty glad we got the chance to do it.

Photo of postcard of Old Washington Ferry (around 1960) According to the writing on the back of the postcard: when this photo was taken Cleo Jenkins had been operating the ferry for 29 years, photo for the postcard by Jimmy Cunningham

***********************************************

The Woman Behind the Badge Della Buis Riley of Claiborne County, Tennessee

Photo from Ancestry,com

A sheriff’s badge is a small object, but sometimes it carries a story worth remembering. At the Tennessee State Museum in Nashville, a gold badge bears the words “Mrs. Frank Riley,” along with “Sheriff” and “Claiborne County, Tenn.” The woman behind that badge was Della B. Riley of Tazewell, a Claiborne County woman who was elected sheriff in 1932.

According to her obituary notices published in 1989, Della was the first woman elected sheriff in Tennessee. At a time when few women held such public offices, she took on a responsibility usually associated with men. Her story is an interesting part of East Tennessee history, and the details preserved in her obituary help us understand the woman who wore that badge.

Della was already familiar with the work of the sheriff’s office before she was elected. Her husband, Frank K. Riley, had served as sheriff of Claiborne County, and Della worked as a deputy sheriff during his time in office. She also served as deputy county clerk and deputy trustee, and later became chief clerk of Selective Service Board 13. These positions gave her experience in county government and public service long before her name appeared on the ballot for sheriff.

In 1932, the voters elected Della to succeed her husband. She served until 1934. Her husband then returned to the sheriff’s office for another term. The records establish the order in which they served, although they do not explain why he returned to the position.

Della did not wear a sheriff’s uniform, according to an account from her daughter, Imogene Ault, included in a newspaper obituary. Instead, she reported to the jail on working days and carried a small gun in her purse. That detail offers a glimpse of how she went about her duties in an era when a woman serving as sheriff was unusual enough to attract attention.

Her responsibilities were not limited to wearing a badge or holding an office. An account from the Tennessee State Museum describes her involvement in a murder investigation concerning a local farmer. According to the museum, Della worked with Knoxville police, and a father and son admitted to the crime. The museum also reports that her part in the case was later featured in a national true crime magazine. Although the surviving account leaves questions unanswered, it shows that her work could involve serious investigations.

Della and her husband were also prominent farmers in the community. Her obituary tells us that she continued raising beef cattle on her Tazewell property throughout her later years. In fact, she walked over her property the day before she died. She was 89 when she passed away on October 13, 1989, at Claiborne County Hospital.

Her life included more than public office and farming. She was a member of New Tazewell Methodist Church and a charter member of both the Sodalitas Club and the Dogwood Homemakers Club. The General Federation of Women’s Clubs also presented her with a citation recognizing her achievement as a woman who had broken new ground in public service.

There is another detail that makes the badge especially interesting. It identifies her as “Mrs. Frank Riley” rather than using her own first name. That was a familiar custom of the time, when married women were often identified by their husbands’ names. Yet Della was the person elected to the office, the person who carried its responsibilities, and the woman whose work earned recognition.

Della Riley’s years as sheriff lasted from 1932 to 1934, but her story reaches beyond those two years. She had worked as a deputy, served in several county offices, won an election, and continued to work her farm into old age.

Her life reminds us that the history of East Tennessee was shaped not only by the men whose names appear in public records, but also by women who stepped into roles that were unusual for their time.

The badge preserved at the Tennessee State Museum gives us a reason to look beyond the name stamped into the metal and remember the woman who wore it.

Della Riley was not simply a curiosity in a history collection. She was a public servant, a farmer, a wife and mother, and a woman whose place in Tennessee history was earned by the work she did.

***********************************************

A Day Trip to Claiborne County and Beyond

Some of the best day trips are the ones that take us to places we may have passed many times without knowing what we were missing. Claiborne County, in the northeastern corner of Tennessee, has history, mountain scenery, and a few surprises along the way. Add a trip across the state line into Virginia, and there is something for history lovers and children alike.

One place I always recommend is the Abraham Lincoln Library and Museum at Lincoln Memorial University in Harrogate. I have visited the area since I was a child, when my mother’s niece lived across the road from the college, so the university and its surroundings are familiar to me. The museum is well worth a stop, even for those who have visited before. Its exhibits tell the story of Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War through artifacts, documents, photographs, and other items from the period. The visitor experience gives you plenty to see and think about, and it is a good place to begin a day exploring this part of East Tennessee.

From Harrogate, head toward Tazewell, the Claiborne County seat. Here you can find two historic places that may surprise travelers who have never stopped to look for them.

The Old Claiborne County Jail is a reminder of an earlier time in county history. The historic building dates to an 1819 rebuilding of an earlier jail on the same site. Its stonework and brick construction make it different from the buildings we see today. Anyone interested in the history of sheriffs, courts, and law enforcement will find it especially interesting. Tours are arranged through the Claiborne County Historical and Genealogical Society, so visitors should check ahead before making the trip.

Another stop is the Rose Gulf Station on Main Street in Tazewell. Built in 1930 by Carson Rose, it operated as a service station until 1956. The town later restored it to preserve the appearance of an old Gulf filling station. It offers a glimpse of the days when a small station served travelers and local residents, long before modern convenience stores and busy highway travel became the norm. It is a small place, but sometimes the ordinary buildings of the past tell us just as much about daily life as the grand ones do. Check ahead to make sure it will be accessible when you visit.

After exploring Tazewell, continue toward Cumberland Gap and cross into Virginia for a stop at Wilderness Road State Park near Ewing. This is a place where history and family fun come together. The park has a visitor center with a frontier museum and a film about the Wilderness Road, the route used by generations of travelers moving through the mountains toward lands farther west. Visitors can also explore Martin’s Station, a reconstructed frontier settlement that helps bring the challenges of life in the 1700s to life.

And then there are the buffalo, or bison, that make this stop special for children. We have taken our grandchildren to see them. Before reaching the state park from the Tennessee side, there is a privately owned herd that can be easy to miss if you do not know where to look. We also stop there to view the bison. Seeing these large animals grazing is a treat for young and old alike. Because the first herd is privately owned, visitors should remain on public roads and respect the property.

The history of this region is worth remembering, too. Cumberland Gap was a natural passage through the Appalachian Mountains, used by Native Americans long before European settlers traveled through it. In the late 1700s and early 1800s, the route became important to westward migration. Today, the mountains still surround the roads and communities, and it is easy to understand why this passage played such a large part in our country’s story.

A trip like this can be enjoyed at your own pace. Spend time at the Lincoln Museum, look for the old jail and restored Gulf station in Tazewell, and finish the day across the Virginia line with frontier history and the bison. Be sure to check museum hours and tour arrangements before leaving home, since smaller historic sites may not be open every day.

You do not have to travel far from East Tennessee to find places that teach us something new. Sometimes a familiar road leads to a building we never noticed, a piece of history we never knew, or a memory our grandchildren will carry with them for years to come.

***********************************************

From Nashville to the Moon: The Factory That Made a Million Socks a Week by Linda Kay Baker

Sometimes the story of an ordinary object leads us to an extraordinary place. A pair of socks may not seem like something worth writing about, but for many years, a factory in Nashville, Tennessee, turned out millions of pairs for people across America. Its story included a hardworking immigrant family, a helping hand for people fleeing persecution in Europe, and an unexpected connection to America’s journey to the moon.

The story began with Jacob May, who came to America from Germany in 1879. He was only eighteen years old and reportedly had seven dollars in his pocket. He did not speak English when he arrived, and his first work involved selling goods from a pack he carried on his back. Eventually, he earned enough to buy a horse and wagon and continued selling merchandise.

May later settled in Nashville, where he saw an opportunity to build a business making hosiery, the name commonly used for socks and stockings. In the 1890s, he established Rock City Hosiery Mill. The business grew, and in 1908, he moved it to a new location in South Nashville near the railroad. The company was incorporated as May Hosiery Mills in 1909.

Working alongside his sons, Mortimer and Dan, Jacob built a successful manufacturing business. After his death in 1946, his sons continued the family enterprise. The mill expanded into a group of brick buildings along Chestnut and Houston streets and became an important Nashville employer.

Hundreds of people worked at the factory, many of them women. Making socks required more than operating knitting machines. Workers also finished, inspected, and paired the socks before packing them for shipment. The company supplied major department stores throughout the country, and at its height, the factory reportedly produced about one million socks a week.Yet the May family’s contribution reached far beyond the hosiery business.

During the 1930s, as the Nazi government increased its persecution of Jewish people in Germany, members of the May family worked to help relatives, friends, and other Jewish families escape. Mortimer May traveled to Europe to assist people seeking a way out. The family helped more than 200 Jewish refugees reach safety in Nashville, where many found jobs at the hosiery mill.

For those who had left their homes under frightening circumstances, the factory offered more than a paycheck. It provided a chance to support their families and begin again in a new country. The same business that supplied stores across America also became a place of refuge and opportunity. Then came an unexpected connection to another historic chapter. By the 1960s, the United States was preparing to send astronauts to the moon. The space program required careful attention to every detail, including the clothing astronauts wore beneath their spacesuits. According to accounts of the factory’s history, May Hosiery Mills received a government request to manufacture all-cotton socks for the Apollo program. Cotton was selected in part because of concerns about static electricity from synthetic materials.

That meant socks made by Tennessee workers became part of America’s remarkable effort to explore space. Astronauts, including Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, wore socks supplied by the Nashville mill.

Think about the people working inside that factory. They were knitting, inspecting, finishing, and pairing socks, much as they had done for years. They may never have imagined that their everyday work would become connected with a journey to another world.

In July 1969, Apollo 11 made history. Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked on the lunar surface while Michael Collins remained in orbit around the moon. Millions of people watched the event on television, witnessing something earlier generations could scarcely have imagined.

The socks were a small part of that achievement, but their story reminds us that great accomplishments depend on the work of many people. Not everyone involved in a historic event stands in the spotlight. Some do their part in factories, workshops, and other places far removed from the cameras.

As the years passed, May Hosiery Mills faced changes in ownership, competition, and the changing hosiery industry. Manufacturing at the Nashville plant ended in the 1980s, closing an important chapter in the city’s industrial history. The old factory buildings remained, eventually finding new uses.Today, the story of May Hosiery Mills is about much more than socks. It is the story of an eighteen-year-old immigrant who built a successful business, a family that helped people escape persecution, and factory workers whose products reached places they might never have expected.

The next time you pull on a pair of socks, you probably will not think about the moon or the people who once found a new beginning in a Nashville factory. But ordinary objects sometimes carry extraordinary stories.

In this case, a Tennessee business left its mark both on the lives of people seeking safety and on one of the greatest adventures in human history. Its story traveled from the streets of Nashville all the way to the moon.

Public domain photo

**********************************************

National Register of Historic Places: The Samuel Frazier Home by Linda Kay Baker

Long before Blount County was established, Native Americans lived in and traveled through this part of East Tennessee. White settlers began arriving in the area during the late 1700s, and the land eventually became part of the county we know today.

Blount County was established on July 11, 1795, making it the tenth county created in Tennessee. This was before Tennessee became a state. The territorial legislature formed the new county from portions of Knox and Jefferson counties and named it for William Blount, governor of the Southwest Territory. Maryville became the county seat and was named for Blount’s wife, Mary Grainger Blount.

Over the years, the county boundaries changed several times. In 1870, a large portion of western Blount County became part of the newly formed Loudon County, along with land assigned to other counties.

One historic building that has survived these changes is the Old Stone House, located off Big Springs Road in Friendsville. It is listed on the National Register of Historic Places as the Samuel Frazier Home.

The house is believed to have been built sometime between 1750 and 1772, although its exact construction date is uncertain. When it was built, this area was part of North Carolina. From 1784 to 1788, the land was claimed by the short-lived State of Franklin. It later became part of the territory south of the Ohio River, and in 1796, it was within the newly established state of Tennessee.

The Old Stone House remained in the same location while the governments claiming the surrounding land changed. In that sense, it witnessed the changing boundaries and governments of the region without ever having to move. Early deed records from 1796 described the house as “old,” suggesting that it had already stood for some time.

The house also has a connection to the Civil War. A battle between Confederate and Union forces took place across Big Springs Road from the building. The Union soldiers are believed to have been an advance group of General William Tecumseh Sherman’s troops as they moved through Blount County.

During the fighting, a cannonball reportedly struck the house. When repairs were made, a red brick was placed in the wall to mark the spot where the cannonball hit. That small detail helps bring the history of the building to life, reminding us that historic places were not simply bystanders to the events around them.

The Old Stone House is more than an old building. It is a reminder of the many changes this region has experienced, from its earliest settlement days through the formation of Tennessee and the years of the Civil War.

Photographs by Linda Baker Photographs were taken in both winter and summer, black and white and different viewpoints along the road.

Sources:

BlountWeb, History of Blount County: http://www.blountweb.com/history.htm](http://www.blountweb.com/history.htm)

Tennessee History Project, “Circa 1812: Samuel Frazier House”: [https://sites.google.com/site/tnhistoryproject/home/1810s/circa-1812--samuel-frazier-house](https://sites.google.com/site/tnhistoryproject/home/1810s/circa-1812--samuel-frazier-house)

***********************************************

When an old newspaper column gives us more than names

Even a hundred years ago, folks in Blount County knew how to mix a little work with a little fun. An old newspaper clipping from July 31, 1914, gives us a peek at everyday life around Walker’s Chapel.

The Sunday school folks at Walker’s Chapel were talking about having another picnic and hoped to return to Chilhowee. Apparently, one good picnic was not enough! There were memories to make, food to share, and another outing to look forward to.

There was a little competition going on, too. The Rocky Branch boys had defeated the Chilhowee boys in a game, 15 to 3. That must have given the winning team something to brag about, at least until the next time the boys met!

The clipping also mentioned Homer Brewer working at the Egors boys’ sawmill, a reminder that while some folks were planning picnics and playing games, others were busy earning a living.

It is easy to think of our ancestors as spending every waking hour working, but they enjoyed getting together just as we do. They went to church, planned outings, cheered for their teams, and kept up with what their neighbors were doing.

That little newspaper notice has survived for more than a century, giving us a glimpse of ordinary people enjoying ordinary days. I wonder if those Sunday school members ever imagined that someone would still be reading about their picnic plans in 2026

***********************************************

Fall Sports Fever by Kayla Lain

When the leaves turn gold and the air gets chilly, fall sports take over our lives. Football fans bundle up in blankets, volleyball parents hold their breath with every serve, and soccer fans chase the action from one end of the field to the other. Cross country parents sometimes spend half the race trying to figure out which runner is theirs!

The players give it their all, the cheerleaders keep everyone fired up, and the band makes sure nobody forgets where the home team is playing. Meanwhile, parents and grandparents brave cold bleachers, unpredictable weather, and snack bar prices, all for the chance to cheer on their favorite athletes.

Win or lose, fall sports bring families and communities together. We may leave with sore throats, cold toes, and lighter wallets, but we’ll be back next season. After all, once you’ve caught fall sports fever, there’s only one cure: cheering for the home team!

The Fall Sports Fan

The leaves turn red, the winds blow cold,

The fans arrive, both young and old.

With blankets, jackets, cocoa, too,

There’s nothing that a fan won’t do!

The football flies, the crowd yells loud,

The volleyball girls make everyone proud.

The soccer ball goes left, then right,

While parents cheer with all their might.

Cross country runners race through the trees,

While fans chase them in the autumn breeze.

The band plays on, the trumpets blare,

And Grandpa wonders where he left his chair!

We cheer through rain, through wind, through cold,

For every young athlete, brave and bold.

Our voices crack, our fingers freeze,

But we’ll be back next fall, if you please!

For win or lose, one thing is true,

There’s nothing like a home team cheering crew.

And when the final whistle blows,

We ask, “When’s basketball?” Heaven knows!

***********************************************

Henry Ford’s First Gasoline Engine by Linda Kay Baker

ry FoHenrd’s first experimental gasoline engine, tested in 1893. Photo by Linda Baker

Sometimes, an invention that changes the world begins in the most unexpected place. For Henry Ford, one of America’s best known automobile pioneers, an early experiment with a gasoline engine took place right in his own home.

On the evening of December 24, 1893, Henry Ford tested his first experimental gasoline engine on the kitchen sink after supper. He had built the engine using scrap metal for its parts, working with what he had available rather than waiting for everything to be perfect.

Getting the little engine to run took teamwork. Henry spun the flywheel while his wife, Clara, helped by hand feeding gasoline into the intake valve. For ignition, Henry ran a wire from the ceiling light bulb. It was a home experiment unlike the Christmas Eve activities most families would have been enjoying.

This was not yet an automobile, but it was an important step in Ford’s early work with gasoline powered engines. Years later, his name would become known around the world for helping make automobiles more accessible to ordinary families.

It is interesting to think that this early experiment took place in a kitchen rather than a factory. Before the automobiles, assembly lines, and great manufacturing plants, there was a man trying an idea and a wife helping him see whether it would work.

History often remembers the finished invention, but the first attempts can be just as fascinating. Henry Ford’s kitchen sink engine reminds us that big changes can begin with simple materials, a little ingenuity, and someone willing to help.

Henry Ford’s first experimental gasoline engine, tested in 1893. Photo by Linda Baker

Source:

The Henry Ford, “Henry Ford’s ‘Kitchen Sink’ Engine, 1893.”

[https://www.thehenryford.org/collections-and-research/digital-

collections/artifact/224715](https://www.thehenryford.org/collections-and-research/digital-collections/artifact/224715)

***********************************************

Where the Water and Wind Speak

There is something about sitting beside a creek or standing near a lake that can make a man stop and think. You can watch the water move over the rocks, listen to the wind through the trees, and realize that some things in life are bigger than anything we can control. We may spend our days trying to fix things, make plans, and take care of our families, but there are times when the best thing we can do is sit still and remember who is really in control.

The Bible says, “He maketh the storm to calm, so that the waves thereof are still.” Psalm 107:29. I have always liked that verse because life can feel like a storm sometimes. The wind gets strong, the water gets rough, and we wonder when things will settle down. Yet God is not surprised by the storm. He is there even when we cannot see what is coming next.

Water has a way of reminding us that life keeps moving. A creek does not worry about the rock in front of it. It simply finds another way around it and keeps going. Maybe there is a lesson in that for us. When something stands in our way, we may not be able to remove it, but with God’s help, we can find a way forward. There are many things about God we cannot see with our eyes, but we can see the evidence of Him all around us.

Sometimes a man thinks he has to have all the answers. We are taught to be strong, solve problems, and keep moving. But faith does not mean having every answer. Sometimes faith means being willing to stand beside still water and say, “Lord, I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I know You will be there.”

Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” Maybe that is something we all need to do more often. Turn off the noise. Sit beside the water. Listen to the wind. Look at the trees and the sky. The world around us is still telling the same old story. God is here. He has been here all along.

The next time you hear the wind or watch water moving down a creek, take a moment to listen. You may not hear God’s voice with your ears, but you may feel His peace in your heart. And sometimes, that is all the answer we need.

***********************************************

Sixteen Tons: A Song That Hit Home in Blount County

by Linda Kay Baker

Some songs are more than music. They tell stories about how people lived, the work they did, and the sacrifices they made to provide for their families. For many people in Blount County, Tennessee, the song “Sixteen Tons” brings back memories of a time when families left the mountains to find work in the coal mines of Kentucky and neighboring states.

During the 1940s and 1950s, many families from our area sought better opportunities away from home. Coal mining offered work, but it was hard, dangerous labor. Men spent long hours underground, working in conditions that most of us today can hardly imagine. Their families depended on their earnings, and the men often carried the worries of providing for those waiting at home.

One song that captured the hardships of a coal miner’s life was “Sixteen Tons,” written by Merle Travis in 1946. Travis grew up in a coal mining family in Muhlenberg County, Kentucky, and understood the struggles that miners and their families faced. His song told of a man who worked hard but still found himself in debt, with little hope of getting ahead.

The song became even more famous in 1955 when Tennessee Ernie Ford recorded his version. Born Ernest Jennings Ford in Bristol, Tennessee, he was already a popular country singer and radio and television personality. His recording of “Sixteen Tons” had a distinctive sound, with a steady beat and his memorable finger snapping. The record became a tremendous hit, reaching the top of both the country and popular music charts. It eventually sold millions of copies and became one of the best known recordings of his career.

Although Merle Travis wrote the song, Tennessee Ernie Ford brought it to millions of listeners. His deep voice and unusual musical arrangement helped people hear the song in a new way. In 2015, Ford’s recording was added to the Library of Congress National Recording Registry, recognizing its lasting importance in American music.

For people here in Blount County, however, the song’s meaning reaches beyond record sales and music charts. It reminds us of families who left familiar mountains and communities to make a living in the coalfields. Some returned home when they could, while others made new lives in Kentucky and surrounding states.

My husband’s family has a personal connection to that history. His mother was from western Kentucky, and his grandfather and most of his uncles worked in the coal mines. Their experiences bring the subject closer to home for our family. The song reminds us that behind every coal miner was a person with a family, responsibilities, and hopes for a better future.

When we listen to an old song, we sometimes hear more than the words and music. We hear the stories of people who lived through the times it describes. “Sixteen Tons” reminds us of the men who worked underground, the families who depended on them, and the sacrifices made to put food on the table.

Do you remember Tennessee Ernie Ford singing “Sixteen Tons”? Did someone in your family work in the coal mines of Kentucky, West Virginia, another nearby state or even here in the state of Tennessee? Perhaps your family was among those who left Blount County in search of work.

I would enjoy hearing your memories and stories. They are part of our shared history, and they deserve to be remembered.

Sources: Library of Congress, “From the National Recording Registry: ’16 Tons’ by Tennessee Ernie Ford (1955).”

[https://blogs.loc.gov/now-see-hear/2021/07/from-the-national-recording-registry-16-tons-by-tennessee-ernie-ford-

1955/](https://blogs.loc.gov/now-see-hear/2021/07/from-the-national-recording-registry-16-tons-by-tennessee-ernie-ford-1955/)

Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum, “Merle Travis.”

[https://www.countrymusichalloffame.org/hall-of-fame/merle-travis]

(https://www.countrymusichalloffame.org/hall-of-fame/merle-travis)

**********************************************

My Sunset after a windy storm. God Art sky features are so lovely. Have a night of Peace friends. Be blessed❤️

***********************************************

HEALTH WARNING: The purpose of this article is to preserve Appalachian folklore and traditional beliefs, not to offer medical advice or suggest that these practices are a safe substitute for proper medical care. If you have a health concern or injury, consult your doctor. For a serious injury or medical emergency, seek emergency care or go to your local emergency room.

The Blood Verse by Linda Kay Baker

Have you ever heard of a Bible verse being used to stop uncontrollable bleeding? I have heard of it all my life. Whenever someone was bleeding and Granny could not get it to stop, she would repeat a Bible verse. That verse is found in Ezekiel 16:6. If you have never heard it, I will share it with you here. “And when I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live; yea, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live.”

Granny always said the verse did not work for everyone. I have never tried it myself, but she shared the knowledge with me. She said it had been handed down through our family. I suppose she wanted to pass it along to me, too. I cannot tell you whether it works, but Granny believed it did. She said it had been used for both people and animals. I only have her word for that, but her word has always been enough for me when it comes to what she believed and what she said she had witnessed. Granny had faith in God and believed He could do anything. She also told me she had seen the verse used by people whose faith was weak or who had no faith at all.

Over the years, I have heard other people talk about the blood verse. Some believe it must be repeated three times while saying the injured person’s name. Others say the knowledge is passed down through a family from male to female to male. I have also heard people call it witchcraft. Granny’s explanation was that the verse had been handed down in the family and that faith and belief in God were part of it. I am content to share the tradition as she taught it to me.

I am not telling you that this verse will stop bleeding, nor am I asking you to believe that it will. I am sharing a piece of Appalachian history and a family tradition that Granny considered important enough to pass along. People have held many beliefs and customs over the generations, and some are still remembered long after the people who practiced them are gone.

Whether you believe in the blood verse or not, it is part of the stories handed down in some Appalachian families. I leave it to you to decide what you believe, while remembering that a serious wound needs proper medical attention.

“And when I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live; yea, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live.” Ezekiel 16:6

***********************************************

A Thanksgiving Tradition in the Great Outdoors by Mary Elizabeth Winslowe

I love animals of all kinds, but I have other interests, too. One of my favorites is spending time with family, and Thanksgiving has always been a special time of year for us.

For years, our family has celebrated in a way that is a little different from the traditional Thanksgiving dinner around the dining room table. Cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents gather at a picnic area in a state or national park to cook a wonderful meal outdoors. It gives us a chance to catch up with relatives we may not see often enough, share plenty of laughter, and enjoy the beauty of the season together. To us, it is the perfect Thanksgiving celebration!

Whether you enjoy a scenic hike, a picnic, or a not so traditional feast like ours, the great outdoors offers plenty of opportunities to make lasting memories. Many state and national parks are beautiful places to explore during the fall, with colorful leaves and peaceful surroundings. You can take a walk along a scenic trail, enjoy a meal outside, or simply sit back and appreciate nature’s beauty.

I do have a couple of pieces of advice for anyone planning an outdoor Thanksgiving. First, always have an indoor backup plan in case the weather does not cooperate. Second, if you happen to have an Aunt Lou in your family, think twice before eating her deviled eggs. Bless her heart, but despite her best efforts, she has not improved them in the nearly 30 years I have known her!

However you choose to celebrate, enjoy your Thanksgiving, cherish the time you spend with family and friends, and make some new memories along the way.

***********************************************

.Dorsey, the Dog Who Carried the Mail by Linda Kay Baker

Imagine living in a silver mining town in California during the 1880s. There are no cars, no paved highways, and no mail truck pulling up to the post office. Getting letters and newspapers to a nearby mining camp means traveling over rough, rocky trails. It is a hard job, but one unusual mail carrier proved equal to the task. He had four legs, a furry coat, and a tail that wagged. His name was Dorsey, and he was a dog!

Dorsey’s story began in Calico, California, a silver mining town in the Mojave Desert. In 1885, Dorsey was known for carrying mail between Calico and the nearby mining community of Bismarck. The route covered about three miles round trip over rough terrain, and the miners depended on that mail to keep in touch with the outside world.

Dorsey belonged to the Stacy brothers, who had connections to the post office and a store serving the mining camps. The trip between the two communities was difficult, but Dorsey proved he could handle it. A special mailbag was fitted to his back, and he became a dependable carrier of letters and newspapers.

Although the basic story of Dorsey is supported by historical accounts and an old photograph, some details of how he began his mail carrying career have been told differently over the years. Even so, the image of a dog making his regular rounds through the mining country is a memorable part of California’s history.

Dorsey’s story eventually caught the attention of television audiences. In 1957, the popular Western series Death Valley Days aired an episode titled “The Calico Dog”. Like many programs of its time, the show brought an Old West tale to life for viewers at home.

It is easy to imagine the miners looking forward to seeing their four legged mail carrier arrive. While other dogs might spend their days chasing squirrels or sleeping in the sunshine, Dorsey had a job to do. He carried news from one community to another, helping people stay connected in a time when communication was not nearly as easy as it is today.

The next time you complain about waiting for a letter or package, remember Dorsey. He did not have a delivery truck, a GPS, or even a uniform with a name tag. He had a mailbag, a mountain trail, and a job to do. And he reminds us that sometimes the most memorable heroes in history are not the people we expect. Sometimes they have four paws and a tail.

A note from the editor’s desk: The Smithsonian National Postal Museum has a historical account of Dorsey, including an old photograph of him wearing his mailbag. It was a good source for this article For more information about Dorsey Read the Smithsonian’s account of Dorsey at (https://postalmuseum.si.edu/guest-post-calico-dorsey-americas-mail-dog?utm_source=chatgpt.com).

***********************************************

The Day I Locked My Family Out of the Car by Cathy Turnmire Huskey

When I was about eleven years old, my family took a little picnic trip toward Clingmans Dome. Daddy, Mama, my older brother, my younger brother, and I were together that day. My little sister had not come along yet.

Back then, folks could pull off beside the road and enjoy a picnic in the mountains. We had just parked on the left side of the road and were standing on the grass beside the car when another vehicle passed by. Someone in that car called out, “There’s a bear up the road!” That was all I needed to hear! I jumped into Daddy’s car, rolled up every window, and locked the doors. There I sat, safe and sound, while the rest of my family was left standing outside!

Oh, my goodness, what a mess I had made. Looking back, I realize I could have gotten my whole family killed by locking them out of the car if a bear had really been nearby. After a little while, I let them back in.

We never did see a bear. The funny thing is, I have never known why I was so afraid of bears. I cannot remember ever seeing a scary movie about one, and I do not remember anything that might have started that fear. I always liked Smokey Bear, so that certainly did not explain it. Maybe I had a bad dream sometime when I was little.

Whatever the reason, I have never forgotten that day. Daddy and Mama did not fuss at me or get on to me. I suppose they figured it was just something a child might do. Perhaps they knew that sometimes a little fear can get the best of us, even when there is nothing to be afraid of.

All these years later, I can laugh about it. We went to the mountains for a family picnic, heard that a bear might be up the road, and I promptly locked my own family out of the car!

And the bear? We never saw hide nor hair of it.

Photo of 1950s postcard of the Great Smoky Mountains

**********************************************

Alfie Finds Home: A Bear, a Book, and a Mother’s Surprise

***********************************************

Sometimes a story begins with a little bear wandering through a yard. Sometimes it begins with a few words spoken from a front porch. And sometimes, those simple moments lead to something nobody expected, including the person who wrote the story.

That is how “Alfie Finds Home’’, a children’s book by Troy Huskey, came to be. Inspired by a real bear that visited his family’s property, the book carries a message about the wildlife that calls our beautiful mountains home.

Troy Huskey grew up in Walland, Tennessee, and graduated from Heritage High School. He now works for the Blount County Highway Department.

Today, we are celebrating Troy becoming a published author with “Alfie Finds Home”, a children’s book inspired by a little bear that once visited his family’s property.

When asked what gave him the idea for the book, Troy explained that Alfie was a little bear who had been run out of his mountain home because of pollution and all the building taking place. He wanted to tell a story that would help people think about what happens when development changes the places where wild animals live.

The bear’s name has a story of its own, and Troy’s mother, Cathy, had the honor of choosing it. One day, Alfie was strolling through Cathy’s yard. She watched the little visitor and decided that if he was going to keep hanging around, he needed a name. As Troy tells it, his mother said, “If you’re going to hang out here you need a name,” and decided that Alfie suited him.

Picture of the real Alfie

Cathy remembers the encounter just as fondly. She said the bear seemed a little uncertain about what to do with himself. He would slowly walk around, looking at things without bothering anyone. She even wondered whether his mother had sent him out into the world before he was quite ready.

Cathy had never been especially fond of bears, but this one was different. She found herself feeling sorry for the little fellow. The last time she saw him, she stepped onto the porch and found him standing alone in the yard. That was the last time she saw him. He had not returned in several weeks, and Cathy admitted that she missed him. She even wondered whether he might not have liked his new name!

Troy remembered Alfie as a very small bear. He said the little fellow did not even weigh enough to leave a paw print in the mud. But Alfie left something behind that no paw print could show. He left an idea that grew into a book.

When Troy was asked what he enjoyed most about creating it, his answer was simple and touching. “Knowing I was doing it for my mom,” he said. He knew Cathy loved reading and children’s books, so he decided to make one for her.

Imagine Cathy’s surprise when Troy walked down to her home, handed her the book, and said, “Here Mom, this is yours.”

She had no idea he was planning such a gift. Troy told her that he had written a book about Alfie. Cathy was amazed and delighted by the unexpected present.

The message Troy hopes readers will take away may be the most important part, he wants people who move to our mountains and build homes here to remember the animals that already live among us. He hopes they will learn to live alongside wildlife rather than trying to drive it away. As Troy explained, when bears appear in towns or other populated areas, they may simply be looking for the home they once knew.

It is a message worth remembering here in Blount County, where our mountains, forests, and growing communities meet. Wildlife belongs to this landscape, too. As our communities grow, it is important to remember the animals that share these mountains with us.

Troy’s book is available on Amazon, and I hope readers will take an interest in “Alfie Finds Home”. The story began with a bear who wandered through a yard, a mother who gave him a name, and a son who wanted to do something special for her. It became a book with a message for all of us.

Cathy had one more thought to share. She once dreamed of trying her hand at writing children’s books herself, perhaps little Bible books, but she let that dream pass her by. Now, seeing Troy write a book of his own has given her a wonderful surprise.

Her words made me think about how many people have put their own dreams aside because they believed they lacked the ability, the time, or the opportunity to follow them.

You do not have to be a professional writer to tell a story. You do not have to have perfect spelling or know every rule of grammar. You can ask someone to help you put your thoughts on paper. You can begin with a childhood memory, a family tradition, a favorite animal, or something that happened in your own backyard.

You may be young, or you may have lived long enough to fill several books. You may have written for years, or you may never have written anything beyond a letter. None of that means you have nothing worth sharing.

Troy had an idea about a little bear, and he turned it into a book. His mother had a dream of writing children’s stories, and now she has the joy of seeing her son accomplish something she never expected.

So do not count yourself out before you begin. Somewhere inside you may be a story waiting for its turn. Everyone has a story waiting to be written. No matter your age or writing ability, your story is worth giving a chance.

***********************************************

To your last breath

“I will sing to the Lord as long as I live. I will praise Him to my last breath! May He be pleased by all these thoughts about Him; for He is the source of all my joy.” Psalm 104:33–34 TLB

I started listing things I’m thankful for our heavenly Father, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, my wife, my children and their children, my church, my friends, my dog, my nation, my health, the air I breathe and the ability to breathe it, the clean water I drink, the food I eat, the pain that warns me not to do certain things any more, the beauty of nature and how it sings, the Bible in my own language, the hope, meaning and purpose He gives, the technology He provides, the ability to think and the intelligence to uncover the clues He’s left and figure out where all this came from and how it works, for singing and the way it opens up the part of us nothing else can, the relationship He offers in love, and then He led me to Job 38.

There He reveals some of the things He does behind the scenes, that are far beyond my ability to comprehend. We’re just now discovering things like the intricate interconnections of the heavens and between systems here on earth. I had to stop in awe and wonder. I praise Him for being who He is and for loving us so much. And I praise Him for you.

Participate in a G*D fearing, Bible teaching, Jesus loving church this weekend. Happy Thanksgiving.

Love, les

***********************************************

The December edition is coming November 29, 2026 with submissions due on Thursday November 26, 2026.

All articles are published verbatim.

Writers generously share their work free of charge, creating a magazine filled with stories, history, and reflections for readers to enjoy. Every piece is family-friendly, uplifting, and meant to preserve culture and inspire connection, with no current politics.

Photo by Kenneth E. Baker Jr.

Please share our Magazine with your family and friends. Thanks.

DISCLAIMER: This magazine is a compilation of research and stories from my family and friends. All articles are published exactly as submitted, preserving each writer’s original work and style.

Please note there may be misspellings, incorrect dates, or other errors; I apologize for any mistakes you may find. If you wish to submit an article, ensure it is family-friendly, free of current political content, and does not include copyrighted photos unless you have permission. I may request photo permissions to avoid legal issues. Please write in standard sentence form unless vision issues require all caps. Thank you for your cooperation.

Copyright © 2026 by Linda Kay Baker. All rights reserved. No part of this magazine may be reproduced without prior permission from Linda Kay Baker, except as provided by United States copyright law.