Lottie's Legacy - What's it all about?

I had a great time last Saturday talking to friends, old and new, about Tennessee Mountian Stories, and Lottie’s Legacy. I was asked many times, “What’s it about?” Well, that’s a good question, and I’d love to tell you.

Lottie’s Legacy is a story unlike my other books. It completes a Trilogy with Margaret’s Faith and Gracie’s Babies, following the lives and spiritual walks of a mother and her two daughters. Lottie Berai Ingle is Margaret’s younger daughter, but the book opens later in Lottie’s life. In fact, we immediately learn that Lottie will contend with a life-altering disability.

We talk a lot about physical and emotional disabilities today and that open dialogue has dispelled a lot of myth and stigma. Living with a disability now is vastly different that it was even fifty years ago.  Today, we see men and women in wheelchairs living full and productive lives. People who battle emotional conditions have access to stabilizing and mind-clearing medications. These accomodations are relatively new.

Lottie’s Legacy is set in the 1920’s, some seventy years before the Americans with Disabilities Act would be signed into law. Did you see this article on The Stories last year about wheelchairs? It wasn’t until the 1930’s that they were commercially available and even then, there were no ramps on houses, stores or offices. Even if you could get a wheelchair, you still faced a social-stigma. President Franklin Roosevelt required either a wheelchair or leg braces, which he worked hard to hide from the American voters for fear these devices would cost him the White House.

While I don’t know what it would be like to live with a disability, I can imagine how I might react. I’m afraid I would spend way too much time feeling sorry for myself and focusing on all the stuff I could no longer do. And, that’s what we see Lottie begin doing.

But God…

Is that an amazing conjunction? We fail, but God… We doubt, but God…

Many (if not all) of us have times that we feel worthless. “What can I possibly do for The Lord?” As you read through Lottie’s Legacy, you walk with her through the process of yielding to God’s will and plans. You will see how God can use someone that seems unusable.

Maybe, you will even see how God has been wanting to use you!

Announcing a Complete Trilogy

Well, friends, it’s been a long time since I told you there was a new novel available. I am now thrilled to announce that Lottie’s Legacy is now complete.

In the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing some dates and locations where you can get copies. This weekend, I’ll be at the Homestead Tower’s Apple Festival with hardback copies.

The paperbacks will be along shortly.

Please come back to the blog over the next couple of weeks and I will tell you more about Lottie and the story and her legacy.

Waitin on the Train

I lifted my face to the cool  breeze as it tossed a loose paper across the platform. Heat settled around this place and the scent of coal smoke permeated the air. A whistle sounded in the distance and I began to bounce my knee in anticipation. In the distance, the rumble of steel against steel promised the pending arrival of the iron beast we all awaited.

As the rumble grew louder, a piercing whistle joined in. All eyes unconsciously followed the clamor. It was hard to say what I saw first, the black of the smoke or of the steel. As the engine rolled to a stop, near the platform, the whistle gave way to the persistent ringing of the train’s bell that called everyone to action.  

The conductor swung his upper body from the open door and his voice joined the cacophony of sound. As he called out commands, steps were placed at each car, baggage carts positioned and people rose from their seats, gathering their belongings together. Passengers stepped down, some with bags in hand ending their journey, others scanning the crowd for the peddlers who would supply food, drink or newspapers.  Those peddlers were young boys balancing wooden trays strapped around their necks. As they wove their way through the crowd they began to call out, “Apples, Pears, Ham Sandwiches, Fried pies, Bread and Cheese”.

The tap, tap of a gentleman’s cane drew my eyes. A man in overalls passed with a wooden cart following behind him. Children laughed and ran around a weary woman’s skirts.

Through all of this, the train engine sat hissing lowly, ever reminding us that she was the queen of this place. She was the one that needed to be fed the black coal. The white steam seeped from the boiler hinting that water would be required before miles could be covered.

In no time, the conductor called, “All aboard,” and the crowd started to move as one.  The engine began to breathe out steam and smoke, growing louder with each puff. As the clamor reached a crescendo, billows of soot hung close to the smokestack. Men darted to pull away the steps, doors were slid shut. Everyone settled into seats, some waved as friends bid them farewell.

I recently sat on a train platform, closed my eyes and imagined it was 1900 and I was the one waiting on the train.  In my imagination, I was about to embark on a grand expedition. Sadly, my trip lasted only 15 minutes and circled Dollywood’s theme park. But the sounds and smells of the steam engine were absolutely authentic.

The 192 engine Dollywood is operating is the real deal, manufactured in 1943 and originally used in Alaska.  Steam locomotives are monstrous machines that transformed the American landscape, opened up the western half of the country and revolutionized logistics.

We’ve talked here before about how the arrival of the Tennessee Central changed the Cumberland Plateau. Prior to the 1890’s, the vast natural resources of the Highland Rim were virtually locked away from the growing cities of Nashville, Knoxville, Chattanooga and beyond. We’ve also explored how the culture of the mountain people remained unaffected for so long due to our remote location. Once the railroad began running, all of that changed.

I think there is something incredibly romantic about riding the rails. I don’t know if it’s because it’s a glimpse of a bygone era or if it’s because you can sit back and see the country you’re traveling through. I find myself rushing around so much that I miss the world that’s passing by me. Even when I’m driving, the wheels in my head are running away with plans and thoughts of what I need to do when I get where I’m going.  Do you think the folks on those grand expeditions a hundred years ago were able to sit back and enjoy the view from the train window?

We Planted Half the Mountain in Corn

Corn has popped up green in fields everywhere around the Plateau.  It reminds me that my Grandpa used to say, ‘We planted half the mountain in corn and grew enough to feed an old mule and a milk cow.’ While it may have been a slight exaggeration, corn has been a staple crop on the mountain since the first settlers arrived.

As a Future Farmer of America, I learned that the cross section of an ear of corn frames the organization’s logo because it is grown in every state in the union. In 2022, the USDA reported Tennessee alone produced 163 million bushels of corn. A man and a mule could manage 5 acres. He would hope for 30-40 bushels per acre while today’s farmers are netting over 100 bushels per acre. 

Corn is used in the production of everything from corn meal to crayons with high-fructose corn syrup sweetening a myriad of commercial foods. And of course we are increasingly dependent on corn additives to our fuel.

None of these facts were relevant to my grandpa – nor any of his generation – as they spent day after day with hoe in hand chopping out a corn crop.

I’ve always been told this mountain is not a good place to grow wheat. However, last year 725 acres of the grain were grown across Morgan, Cumberland, Fentress, Putnam, Overton, and Pickett counties. The University of Tennessee says that wheat can be successfully grown in every county of the state. Two or three generations ago, they held to the belief that wheat simply couldn’t be grown here.  There are only a couple of stories of people growing a little field of wheat. Once they had it harvested, they then had to figure out where and how to have it ground.

There was a grist mill for grinding corn in nearly every community. On any stream, a mill brake could be established and grinding commenced. As gasoline engines became more prolific, they began to be used to run mills as well.

It is my understanding (largely from the same source that taught me we couldn’t grow wheat) that grinding flour is a more involved process. I do know from my home-grinding operation, that cleaning wheat is fairly involved. Immediately after harvest, the chaff must be removed. Then, heavier particles must be sifted out. I wonder if these extra steps may have been as much of a deterrent as the climate challenges.

About 1930, the nearest wheat mill that I’ve heard of was in the area around Nine Mile. From my house, that’s an hour’s drive on paved roads running 55 miles per hour (or more).  Can you imagine taking a wagon load of wheat on that trip?

A hundred years ago, every family had a corn patch. They grew corn to feed that mule and milk cow my grandpa talked about. They grew corn to grind into meal for the predominate bread in a mountain home. They grew some corn to eat – surprisingly, this was the least of their uses for corn.

What we now call “field corn” (because to us it’s good for nothing more than animal feed), was gathered at the stage of “roasting ears” (that’s a full ear but not yet dried and by the way we universally pronounce that as roast’neers), parched and eaten. The best way to preserve corn was by making hominy.

Everyone in  the family went to the corn field – father, sons, daughters and mother. My cousin Clyde Whittaker remembered visiting his grandparents Billy and Ida Key,who lived in Martha Washington and he was taken to the corn field. Grandpa, his children who were still at home, and any visiting grandchildren, all headed to the field as soon as they’d eaten breakfast and tended to the stock. Grandma took a little time to clean up from the morning meal and do some housework then she joined them and chopped right alongside the rest of the family. As the noon hour approached, Grandma left the field early to head home and cook a hot lunch.

Without herbicides or tractors-and-cultivators, hoes were used to free the corn crop of encroaching and nutrient-robbing weeds.

When the corn matured and temperatures began to cool, the harvest began. No mechanized pickers entered these fields. Instead, the corn would be shocked up to await removal by wagon. Now, these shocks are cute when we build and display them with mums and pumpkins in October. They were essential in the mountain fields where wind and driving fall rains might flatten dried corn. So, a few stalks would be left in the ground to hold everything upright then surrounding plants were cut and leaned against them before being lashed together. Sometimes, corn would be brought into the homestead and shocked against a barn wall. 

Removing the outer shuck of a whole crop of corn was an occasion for a party – many hands make light work, right? Corn had to be shucked and shelled before you took a turn to the mill.

By wintertime, every family was surely glad to be finished with the corn crop and thankful for a yield sufficient to keep man and beast alive through the coming, cold months.

Memorial Day Reminder

Today is Memorial Day.  I will fire up the grill and throw on burgers and dogs and generally chill out. Many of you will spend the day at the lake (it’s a little chilly on the mountain to consider that) and lots of folks will spend time with family and friends.

I was reminded yesterday that the predecessor to Memorial Day was Decoration Day. Now, we’ve talked many times about Decoration Day here – and we’ll surely revisit that subject again.

I want to argue that Memorial Day is different – and for many of you who served under the Red, White and Blue I know it’s a much heavier day.

Just to recap, as I’ve mentioned here before, following the Civil War, Confederate widows and families sought to remember their fallen heroes and dedicate one Sunday each year to tend to their graves. This holiday quickly grew to cover all graves.  Every church designated a special Sunday when we’d dress in our best, travel to family burial grounds, lay flowers and reminisce. It is a joyous day with family, friends and neighbors.

Today, we have over 16 million, living veterans (according to USA facts). While most of those men and women will tell you that today is about their fallen comrades and not them, I still want to urge you to stop for a  moment and consider the price these vets have paid and the burden they carry for your freedom.

Many Americans today have scarcely been touched by war. As awful as the 9/11 attacks were, that was a single dark day for us. Many people around the world live with rockets and bombs exploding on a regular basis. Almost 22 years since the terrorist attack, we’ve cleaned up the mess and built a memorial. In Israel, Ukraine, Iraq, Afghanistan…I can’t even make a whole list of the countries where you can see today the evidence of war and terror. If you will look around at your neighbors and communities, you can probably see the scars here too. Some Americans start each day strapping on a prosthetic limb or settling into a wheelchair because war stole a foot or leg. Maye the appendage was saved but no longer works properly. Have you seen eye patches or burn-scars?

And then there are the innumerable, invisible scars our veterans carry. The lost heroes we memorialize on this weekend were their brothers in arms. What is often only a name on a wall for us was a dear friend for them.

Today I implore you to remember them, both living and dead. Thank a veteran when you see them – if they are willing to wear a cap or shirt proclaiming their service then you must be willing to voice your appreciation. And please pray for them, especially today.