Month: February 2025

Best shoes

Tell us about your favorite pair of shoes, and where they’ve taken you.

My est shoes are old, soft soft that take me anywhere I need to go.

Starry Night Part 1

This is excerpt from my book https://www.amazon.com/Everything-Smells-Just-Like-Salad-ebook/dp/B01IVUXROQ

Like most of the people we knew, we didn’t have a car, so we never went anywhere at night we couldn’t walk, except for once. Mama got the news that there was to be a brush arbor revival in Cuthand, hosting a guest evangelist! To my everlasting amazement, we were going! We put quilts in the back of the wagon, since we’d be getting home long after dark. We hopped up in the wagon dressed in our best, headed for the revival, in a holiday spirit long before dark. I had no idea what a revival was, but couldn’t have been more excited than a kid headed for the fair!

We pulled up to find dozens of wagons parked next to a brush-arbor in a clearing, a simple roof of branches on a make-do support sheltering rough benches. Though it was summer, a few small fires were smoldering, their smoke intended to discourage mosquitoes. Before long, the song leader got us fired up with a rousing rendition of “Onward Christian Soldiers.” The singing was wonderful, but eventually gave way to the Hell-fire and brimstone sermon, something that didn’t thrill me nearly so much.

It was late by the time the preacher concluded the altar call, releasing us. After visiting a bit with our neighbors, we headed for home, long after the time I was usually in bed. I lay in the back of the wagon with Annie and John on the quilts, looking at the magical night sky. Travelling under its full moon and sparkling stars was a gift. A slight breeze cooled us, keeping the mosquitoes at bay. As the horse clomped along, Mama and Daddy told stories and talked amiably. With all those I loved around me, I never wanted this night to end.

 

This is from my book Everything Smells Just Like Poke Salad, available on Amazon.  Click on link to right to purchase.  I’d be grateful if you’d leave a review.

to be continued

Looking for Jesus

imageThe drunk stumbled up on a tent revival meeting just as they started up the baptizing.  The preacher put his arm around him, asking him if wanted wanted to find Jesus.

“Why sure!”

The preached dunked him, bringing him up spitting and sputtering.

“Did you find Jesus?”

“Naw!”

The preacher dunked him again.  “Did you find Jesus?”

“Naw.”

The preacher dunked him again, holding him under a while.  “Now, did you find Jesus?”

“Well heck no!  Are you sure this is where he went in?”

Rocky the Rocking Horse

Share one of the best gifts you’ve ever received.

This is Rocky. Santa brought me this lovely fellow for Christmas. He was the biggest thrill of my life. We must have bounced thousands of miles together. In my mind, he transformed into a gorgeous black stallion when I climbed aboard.

Mother Always Loved Them Most

Mother and Daddy were bipolar, as a couple, not individually. Daddy was generous with tales of his life on the wild side intended to edify and occasionally entertain.  In his youth, he’d selfishly used up the family quota of sin, carousing, drinking, gambling, fighting, and honky-tonking to his heart’s content.  Reforming after marrying Mother, he Continue reading →

Cute Crocheted Belts for Your DIY Pleasure!

I made these cute crocheted belts for a friend. Each took less than 2 hours and cost nothing. Both were made from scraps in my yarn and craft stash.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=bHq83DVtZAk&si=umflW8KRbtCli5Qv

Follow this link to find easy pattern on youtube. I did simple adaptation for blue belt with D rings. If I were selling these, what should I ask?

PREACHER JAMES JETHRO HUGHETT AND THE GOSPEL TENT© Harvey Hughett

Guest post by my friend Harvey Hughett. Please vist his facebook site Musing Appalachia

I first heard of Jethro when I read a classified advertisement in The Roanoke Virginia Times newspaper in 1969.

“Wanted, Circus or Gospel Tent. Call JJ Hughett at (703) XXX XXXX.” Curious, I called, and our friendship began. He explained that he was a minister and desired to buy a large tent in which to hold church revivals. I told him that I didn’t have a tent for sale but that both he and I spelled our last name the unusual H-U-G-H-E-T-T way and that I was confident that we were related. At that time, I was teaching at Virginia Tech and had an interest in genealogy and where my people came from. I learned that most Hughett ancestors in the USA, at one time or another, had lived in nearby Floyd County. My wife and I had spent considerable time roaming the county looking for the gravesites of my relatives and we found many.

Jethro invited us to visit with him and his wife the following week. He lived in a modest but comfortable home and promptly greeted us at the door. Immediately, I knew that we were related. He asked how I knew, and I said, “Because we both inherited the Hughett ugly genes.” At the time, I was in my mid-twenties and still awkward with my words, and he was in his forties.

He laughed, blew off the back-handed compliment, and invited us to sit a spell. While it is not debatable that Hughetts often had some homely-looking men, Hughett women that I know of frequently more than made up for it by being beautiful, in both looks and personality. Why the Hughett genes split up this way by the sexes, I can’t explain, but at any rate, Jethro and I resembled each other with some minor differences. We established that our relationship was tied to a common ancestor, FIVE GENERATIONS BACK! In nearby Indian Valley.

Jethro had an interesting and unique face. I had trouble looking him in the eyes because his right eye would look straight at you, and the other just floated around. I’ll guaran-dang-tee you that when faced with that, one has to look away. Being young and dumb in social graces (another Hughett man trait), I asked what had happened to his eye. He kept talking as if he’d not heard me and never answered that question. We chatted a bit more, and I asked him again and he still ignored the question. I finally gave up and we moved on to another topic of conversation…the circus tent.

He explained that he pastored a small church and wanted to expand the congregation and get God’s word to more people and that a big gospel tent would be perfect. He could fold it up and move it from community to community for frequent revivals. He had the backing for a loan for enough money to buy a used tent and a few more chairs. He would use a pickup truck, trailer, and portable pulpit with a stage he already owned. He also had a sequined “preaching suit” on layaway in Roanoke. With a big tent, he could be up and spreading God’s word more broadly in no time.

About a year later, he called and invited my wife and me to a revival on the outskirts of Pulaski in his new tent. We assured him we’d be there and put it on our calendar.

It was an evening event with close to a hundred people in attendance. And it was impressive! He had a choir singing and a nice sound system that even passing cars could hear as they drove by on the rural community highway.

It turns out that Jethro was not a laid-back preacher but an old-time pulpit stomper who could make the tent shutter when he got on top of his game. I wasn’t prepared for either the volume or variety of words that blessed the congregation that evening. At one point he did “the stomp.” It startled me when he stomped the wooden floor and made a loud sound that caused the portable pulpit to rattle and dust to rise. This was symbolic of stomping the serpent devil’s influence out of our lives. He challenged the “old debbil” himself throughout the sermon and, as a finale, called a few members forward to be healed by the laying on of hands. Luckily, the offering plates were filled with enough money to make a good dent in paying off the tent and accessories. Obviously, he was in his element and glad that he’d repented his earlier indiscretions as a young man and was now leading other lost souls to the path of righteousness.

Then, he did something else that caught me off-guard (I declare this is true). He held up two photographs, one of his wife and one of his daughter, and said that he felt something terrible would happen to them unless someone made an offering to the Lord on their behalf. Two old ladies on the front row eagerly opened their purses, pulled out fifty-dollar bills, and gave them to the preacher. He gave each of them a photograph, and the meeting continued with hallelujahs.

A few months later, I got another call from Jethro, wherein he invited me to a prayer meeting at his home. My father, Harvey Sr., was visiting us, and he and I were honored by the invitation.

When we showed up at his house, there was a circle of eight chairs in his small living room, all filled with women except for him, my dad, and me. The meeting started with a short sermon by Preacher Jethro, followed by an invitation to all in attendance to share things they needed to pray for.

The first one to speak up was a lady in her forties who complained about her husband’s drinking habit. From there, they went around the circle. The next lady explained that her married son had run off with a “cheap, hussy woman” from Christiansburg and was living in sin with her down in Shawsville. The next woman described how her husband came home drunk and beat her regularly and she wanted God to do something about it. And they kept going around the circle until they came to my father. My daddy was a devout Hardshell Baptist who was raised attending the small Mountain Valley Church in Mohawk, Tennessee.

I still shake my head, but the following totally blindsided me. My father didn’t hesitate to point his finger at me and said, “This is my son. He is a heathen, and he don’t believe in the same God that we do. He tolerates churches what believes in baptism by sprinklin’, woman preachers, and churches that accept queers into their congregation!”

Note: I do not belong to such a church as he described and I don’t know what got into him to say that. I try not to be critical, but it is true that I tolerate people and their right to believe what they want. This was always a point of contention between me and my father, and he obviously used that occasion to take a jab at me.

Apparently, his assertion struck a sensitive nerve with everyone, and all (but me) quickly got down on their knees, folded their hands, and started earnestly praying for my soul…out loud! Simultaneously! And forcefully! I remained seated on my chair and watched in disbelief as this was happening. It was surreal. I remember thinking I’d give anything to have a videotape of that event because no one would ever believe me. It was apparent to me that each person tried to out-pray the person kneeling next to them, both in loudness and biting criticism of such a sinner as me. Forget the philanderers and the drunkards; their attention was focused on me.

After about ten minutes of praying, louder by the minute, each person essentially preaching a sermon of repentance targeted directly at me, they said “amen,” and without a good-bye, put on their coats, and, one by one, everyone went home. The next day, my dad returned to East Tennessee, and I was glad to see him go.

Preacher James Jethro Hughett cut off communication with me from that day forward.

Later, in comparing notes with my wife from our first meeting, while Jethro was ignoring my question about how his eye came to be the way it was, she was getting the “straight scoop” from his wife. She explained that back in Jethro’s sinning days, his first wife had shot him in the eye with a .22 revolver, rendering the controlling muscles useless. She went on to describe how his wife had divorced him and, after he became a preacher, he once interrupted his sermon in a church service, pointed at her in the congregation, and proclaimed that God had told him that she was to be his wife. She took him at his word, and they were married. He was in his forties. My wife remembers her saying she was just over sixteen at the time of the inspired sermon. As I inferred earlier, he had a face that would stop an eight-day clock, and she was very attractive. I kept track of Jethro and learned that probably because of the age difference, he died much earlier than she did. But I am pleased to tell you that their marriage was a happy one and, literally “Made in Heaven.”

I once reminded my wife of the technique that Preacher Jethro had used to obtain a young wife and my usually mild-mannered spouse told me that if I even seriously thought of doing such a thing remotely like that, she’d shoot me in the face too, then proceed to shoot me several times below the belt. My wife never lies so I took her at her word.

Our differences notwithstanding, I liked Jethro and remember putting fifteen dollars in the revival collection plate, a lot of money for my young family in the mid-sixties. The closing of that tent revival meeting was memorable, too. He said, “Thank you all, thank you, thank you everyone, and I thank you even more than you know. I look forward to someday meeting you on God’s shining shore…and I hope that we all make it.”

One can’t make this stuff up. This story is true. I changed some names to keep kinfolks from getting irritated with me. And I’m not being critical of the folks who torched me. They were sincere and I was…well, in the wrong place at the wrong time. That happens to me pretty often.

Please hit LIKE and SHARE my stories with your Facebook friends. And FOLLOW this site for all kinds of weekly stories about Appalachia’s interesting people and occasional food items…including a popular Hillbilly product or so made from corn or wild herbs that grow wild in Appalachia and are known to make one frisky. And the next time you see a tent revival; I encourage you to attend. It’ll do you good.

Patriotic

Are you patriotic? What does being patriotic mean to you?

Yes. I am patriotic but I definitely not MAGA. I love this country and freedom. However, I am appalled to see the words patriotism and Christianity used to promote racism, hatred, and exclusion.

BERTHY HOPS A TRAIN(God’s Hillbilly Warrior Goes Yondering, Part 3 of 9)© Harvey Hughett

(This is a guest post by my friend Harvey Hughett. Please visit his facebook site, Musing Appalachia)

It was late spring of 1965 when my great-aunt Berthy embarked on her most daring adventure yet. She had always been a woman of action, never one to sit idly by when there was excitement to be had. So, when she heard the distant whistle of the train approaching Bulls Gap, she knew it was calling her name.

As part of her strategy to conserve money on the trip to Chattanooga, she planned on boondocking rather than paying for motels. She didn’t have relatives to stay with where she was going. She didn’t know it at the time, but this journey would be filled with unexpected challenges and enough mishaps to dissuade her from taking any other trips for a long time. But she did pick up new experiences, change some lives for the better, saw new scenery, and collected on the debt owed to her by Mrs. Gooch.

Shortly after her daughter, Nova, had joined the WACs and left home, she packed her bag, kissed her cats goodbye, and started walking towards where the train had to slow down near Whitesburg. She knew the train schedule and had two hours to get settled into place.

She hid in some bushes, and when she saw the train slowing down enough for her to make a move, she ran out from her hiding place and, with a deep breath and a quick prayer, leaped onto the moving train, her heart pounding with excitement. And so began the adventure of a lifetime, one that would take her from the quiet hills of East Tennessee to the bustling streets of Chattanooga. God’s Warrior was on her way to see Rock City!

Bertha’s trip wasn’t without some close calls. As she made her daring leap onto the moving train, her foot slipped on the gravel, and she almost lost her grip on the grab iron or handhold. For a heart-stopping moment, she dangled precariously, her legs flailing as she struggled to pull herself up and into the boxcar.
Just as she thought she might fall off; she managed to hook her arm around another metal rung and haul herself aboard the moving train. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Once she was safely aboard, she let out a breathless laugh, realizing just how close she had come to a very different ending to her adventure.

She laughed and waved when she saw two of Bryant Gulley’s boys throwing rocks by the railroad. They’d seen a figure jump onto the boxcar, but when Berthy waved at them, their eyes about jumped out of their heads in disbelief. They’d watched her near-miss and frantic scramble to climb onto the train but didn’t have a clue the crazy person was Aint Berthy until she waved. She knew the boys would tell their parents, and she’d have a lot of explaining to do.

The Southern Railway route from Bulls Gap to Chattanooga included several major stops. The train traveled through Morristown and Knoxville, a major hub, before continuing on to Chattanooga. The journey was very scenic, with landscapes parallel to the valleys and rivers of the Appalachian Mountains. Along the way, she made note of all the stops and slowdown areas for the train. She kept those in mind for the return trip.
After hopping the first train of her life, Berthy was energized to finally be off and adventuring again. She was a total mountain woman infused with mountain ways and a streak of wanderlust in her blood that most didn’t have. She was self-confident and afraid of nothing. Since she had been released from Knoxville’s Lions View Hospital, she was careful to keep a low profile and, for a while, backed off a bit on her preachings against sinning.

Nevertheless, because Berthy was convinced that she was a Warrior for God, she was obligated to move out of the shadows from time to time and do something more constructive than just sit in her mountain cabin and crochet and paint scriptural warnings on the backs of turtles and turn them loose in sinner’s yards. She loved “yondering.” Life was always more interesting when she was traveling.

The clackety-clack of the train soothed her in a way she didn’t think possible. Life was good!

Berthy was surprised to find two people in a corner inside the train car. At first, she was alarmed and grasped her petticoat to make sure that her sidearm, Hercules, was still within easy reach. It was a young couple huddled together. They looked up, startled, as Berthy settled herself on a crate. The girl, with tear-streaked cheeks, clutched her boyfriend’s hand tightly.

“We’re from Greeneville,” the boy explained. “We’re running away to Knoxville to git married. Her stepfather… he’s a bad man. He’s been trying to make her do things the preacher said she shouldn’t do.”
Berthy asked, “What are yore plans when you git to Knoxville?” The boy responded, “First, I gotta git a job so we can buy a marriage license and find a place to stay. Then, we’ll see what happens from there.” Berthy recommended that they change their plans and get married by a preacher first, then look for a job before they got into trouble.

She reached into her petticoat and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “You take this and buy yoreselves a marriage license. And make sure you get married proper with a preacher—a good one, not one of them fancy seminary-trained preachers. You gotta watch out for city preachers, they preach stuff they memorizes from books written by who knows who and preachin’ stuff they think up on their own. You need to find a good old mountain preacher, preferably one who cain’t read and ain’t very smart. When they preaches, they rely totally on God and not danged books what might be inspired by man. You shoulda have let Preacher Hughett over at Mohawk marry you up. He cain’t read, and everthing he says is inspired by the Almighty. He just repeats thoughts that God puts in his head while he’s at the pulpit. He don’t use his own words, which could mess up God’s message.”

Then, she handed the money to the boy and said, “I like you’uns ’cause you want to do the right thing, and I’m goin’ to help you sum more.” At this point, she pulled out her enchanted crystal. When the light hit it a certain way, it sparkled, and inside it were some lines that sort of looked like a cross. She’d gotten it years earlier from a granny woman who taught her how to use it to cast spells and put place hexes. She explained, “They’s bad hexes, and they’s good hexes. I call the good ones “blessing hexes.”

Berthy then extracted two gravels from a pouch in her petticoat, whispered a few words, and passed the crystal over them several times.

“Here, y’all take these,” she said, handing one to the boy. “Keep it close, and you’ll find a job. And you,” she said, giving the other to the girl, “stay true to God’s commandments, and everthang will work out well. You’ll find the happiness and peace yore looking for. But remember, no sinning before you get married, or the blessing will become a curse in yore life.”

The couple thanked her profusely, their spirits lifted by her kindness and the promise of a better future.
As the train chugged along, Berthy thought about her own journey. She was on her way to Chattanooga to collect a debt from an old neighbor and wondered what might lie in store for her on the tracks ahead.

Aunt Berthy had a secret she rarely shared because people thought she was crazy when she did. The people at the mental hospital in Knoxville didn’t believe her and kept her there an extra two years after she explained her special powers to them. She truly believed that she possessed a magical ability to see glimpses of the future. It was a talent passed to her by Granny Woman. She used it sparingly, knowing the power it held. As she gazed into her enchanted crystal, she saw a vision of the young couple, happily married and surrounded by children. Knowing she had set them on the right path brought her a sense of peace.
Aunt Berthy’s crystal had shown her many visions over the years, each one adding to her wisdom and guiding her actions. Here are a few notable ones:

During one terrible winter, Berthy saw a vision of a bountiful harvest in the coming year. She shared this vision with several local farmers, encouraging them to plant extra rows despite their doubts. Her prediction came true, and she picked up some credibility.

Berthy once saw a vision of a neighbor in distress. She went to their home and discovered they were struggling with sickness and financial troubles. She gave them some of her herbal elixirs, chopped some firewood for their stove, and fixed some cornbread and beans. When she felt they would be OK, she returned to her cabin.

In one of her more mysterious visions, Berthy saw a hidden treasure buried at the base of an old oak tree on the hillside not far from her cabin. She followed the vision and unearthed a fruit jar filled with silver dollars. She saved these to give to needy people and didn’t use the money for herself, feeling that God had directed her to the stash.

Berthy created special concoctions made of different herbs and plants that grew in the mountains and used these to help heal people. In their preparation, she used the crystal to bestow blessings on the contents of each bottle she prepared.

Another time, she was sitting in a rocking chair on her porch, holding the crystal, when it seemed to get warm. She held it to the light, peered into it, and a vision began to form. She saw a young woman, pale and weak, lying in a small, dimly lit room. The woman was coughing violently, and Berthy could feel the desperation in the air. Berthy recognized the woman as Effie Cobb, a Mountain Valley Church member known for her kindness. She had been sick for weeks, and the doctors had given up hope. Without wasting a moment, Berthy grabbed her pouch of herbs and remedies and set off towards Effie’s house.

When Berthy arrived, she found Effie’s mother sitting by her bedside, tears streaming down her face. “Berthy, I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. “Effie’s gittin’ worse. The doctors say they ain’t no more they can do.”

Berthy nodded, her expression determined. “We’ll see about that,” she said, pulling out her enchanted crystal. She held it over the girl, whispering ancient words of healing. Then, she carefully administered the herbal remedy to Effie, who drank it trembling. It was a recipe that Granny Woman had shared with her.
“Rest now,” Berthy said softly. “And let the herbs do their work.”

Berthy stayed by Effie’s side for hours, watching over her as she slept. Slowly, the color began to return to her cheeks, and her breathing grew steadier. By morning, the fever had broken, and she opened her eyes, weak but alive.

“Thank you, Berthy,” Effie’s mother said, her voice choked with emotion. “You saved her.”

Berthy smiled, her heart swelling with relief and satisfaction. “Hit weren’t me,” she said. “Hit was God.”
….

Berthy hadn’t been on the train long before she needed to use an outhouse. When the train slowed on the outskirts of Morristown, she grabbed her pack and jumped out. The year before, a train had crushed a car at an intersection in downtown Morristown, and the city council passed an ordinance that required trains to slow down to 5 MPH in town.

When she hopped off, she was drawn by the colorful lights and lively sounds of a carnival. She made her way to the carnival grounds and quickly found a restroom marked for women. As she exited, she bumped into a familiar face.

“Wanda? Is that you?” Berthy exclaimed.

Wanda, a young woman who had run away from an abusive father in Bulls Gap, looked up in surprise. “Aunt Berthy! What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” Berthy replied, her eyes narrowing. “I heard you run away from home. What are you doing here?”

“I’m in charge of the penny toss,” Wanda said, gesturing towards a nearby booth. “It’s honest work, and it keeps me busy.”

Berthy eyed the carnival skeptically. “You staying clean in the Lord, Wanda? Carnivals are full of sinning.”
Wanda smiled reassuringly. “I am, Berthy. I even meet with a Bible study group every Wednesday, along with some of the other carneys. We keep each other on the right path.”

Berthy nodded, satisfied with Wanda’s answer. “Good. You keep it that way.”

Wanda made Berthy promise not to tell her parents where she was because she was afraid that her daddy would beat her again and, this time, might kill her.

(to be continued)

If you like this story, you should scroll down my Facebook Page. I have nearly a hundred more stories from the same crazy family this one came from. I also have books for sale on Amazon. MUSING APPALACHIA: VOLUME 2: Wrestling with Life in the Flatlands.