“Jackson lay in bed, listening for Raymond, but the only noise was the house talking. When the wind blew, the windows whistled softly in counterpoint, and the front door moaned through the crack where the moulding had broken away.

He turned over and looked at the red neon face of the clock. Three a.m. They were supposed to leave home at 3:30 a.m. to go deer hunting. These icy roads. He could have had an accident.”

“I would die from a covered bridge collapse. Of this I was certain. What would I think about on the way down? What would I say to Mama or Daddy or my big mutton-headed brother there beside me on the seat of the truck as we all tumbled into the brown, roiling water below? It would need to be something important, but not the usual I love you and all. Something original. Something no one else would think to say.”

At the Edge of the Past: Jenny Wiley’s Story and Its Relevance Today
by Edwina Pendarvis

Will the story of Jessica Lynch's capture and rescue in Iraq take on the mythic aspects of the tale of Jenny Wiley?

Read an excerpt.

Breaker Boy, Bootlegger, Bookworm, Bard
by Christine Goldbeck

A living treasure talks about mining coal and hard times.

Only continuous denial and negation can lead to an Appalachian aesthetic. Or can it?

A teacher of English to new immigrants provides her students with a powerful and precious gift.

Read an excerpt.

From old to new, straight to curved, roads, like people, can show off their personalities.

When he moves south to the mountains of Virginia, Jim Minick uses the navigation guides he learned as a boy to find his way home again.

Read an excerpt.

The sight of an ancient, mysterious bird is a reminder of why the author chooses to remain in Appalachian Ohio.

What new changes can the inhabitants of a small South Carolina valley expect now?

“Mid-August and even in the blue-hazed mountains the heat was oppressive along the river. The river was down, gray rocks showing a reddish skirt-hem below the accustomed water level. Less river-roil: The Upper Mills glided along in an oily hush and the trout were not stirring. Mr. Cole found that his reliable willow-leaf lure held no fascination for speckle, rainbow, brook, or brown; and so he stood in the middle of the bridge, staring down at the puny stream and consoling the four o’clock doldrums with a hand-rolled Prince Albert.”

Paying Attention in the Park by Bob Hinckle

Swallowed Story by Dory L. Hudspeth

An Appalachian Quilt by Jason Pettigrew

The Morning After the Storm by James Owens

Translation by Dana Wildsmith

Tent Dream by Kathryn Stripling Byer

Cecily Saylor by Elizabeth Howard

Passing Poems by Cathy Lentes

Mary Lightfoot by William Miller

Three Pottery Poems by Barbara Smith

Parting by Ned Irwin

Photo and illustration credits (from the top):Bart Galloway, Nancy Jane Earnest, Randy Snyder (Huntington Herald Dispatch), Christine Goldbeck, Lora Gordon, Don Wildsmith, Nancy Fischman, Sarah Minick, Scott Monson, Dot Jackson, Nancy Jane Earnest. Images may not be reproduced without permission.

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