‘An Imaginative Proclivity’: Gary Carden and “Stories I Lived to Tell”
In “Stories I Lived to Tell: An Appalachian Memoir” (The University of North Carolina Press, 2024, 152 pages), 89-year-old storyteller and writer Gary Carden spends much of his time revisiting his youth and childhood.
Notes from a plant nerd: Playing with a full deck
Dear reader, yeah, I mean you. You who are reading this while holding the paper in your hands or scanning through on your computer, tablet or phone. Yeah, you. I am so deeply grateful to you for reading my articles. This marks the 52nd column that I have written for The Smoky Mountain News, with one running every couple of weeks for the last two years or so. That’s one for each week in the year. One for every card in a deck.
The Olympics: a beacon of hope in challenging times
Just when global news hit a fever pitch and there was little to hang onto in the way of goodness and humanity, the 2024 Paris Olympics began, which has offered many of us a much-needed reprieve and countless reminders of hope and triumph.
‘We ride these waters dark and dusty, so ride my people ride’
Hello from Room 26 at the Thunderbird Lodge within earshot of Interstate 90 on the outskirts of the small city of Mitchell, South Dakota. Most notably the hometown of the late politician George McGovern, the 1972 Democratic nominee for president.
This must be the place: ‘Lost man singing for his soul, I saw it on Rio Bravo’
Hello from Room 205 of the Dude Rancher Lodge on North 29th Street in the heart of Billings, Montana. It’s 10:29 a.m. Already 82 degrees with a hot sun. Expected to top out ‘round 100 degrees when all is said and done on this Wednesday.
This must be the place: ‘I’m headed for the Bozeman Round and it’s goodbye to Old Missoula, sleepy town’
Hello from 26,982 feet above Southern Appalachia. Somewhere near southeastern Kentucky. En route to Minneapolis, Minnesota. Over an hour flight delay leaving the Asheville airport. Ground speed is 539 miles per hour. About 760 miles to our destination. One hour and 41 minutes left before touchdown in the Twin Cities.
This must be the place: ‘In the woods from far away, from across the fields and pastures, in the cool misty morning air’
Hello from atop the roof of my parents’ 1840 brick farmhouse. Some 20 feet up on the back end of the structure. It’s hot as hell walking across the old roof in the midday sunshine and heat of early summer in the Champlain Valley of Upstate New York.
Beneath the traditions, let’s consider our democracy
When our three children were young, we had a regular July 4 tradition. For probably about 15 years, we would head to Bryson City for the Firecracker 5K, a very low-key road race that starts downtown and heads out toward Deep Creek and then back.
This must be the place: ‘17 has turned 35, I’m surprised that we’re still livin’
Hello from the coast of Maine. About an hour northeast up along the shoreline from Portland. The small, quaint community of New Harbor. More specifically, Pemaquid Beach Village.
This must be the place: ‘Oh to live on Sugar Mountain, with the barkers and colored balloons’
Hello from the Merritt Parkway in south-central Connecticut. It’s bumper-to-bumper traffic and has been since we skirted New York City and headed east. Exit 60 is Hamden, Connecticut, a town that I called home during my years attending Quinnpiac University.
