Thomas Scott McKenzie: Spook In the Night
Another great tale straight from the 2000 archives.
Lynn Veach Sadler: Bell, Pol, and “Miss Bird”
Fresh from 2000 archival goodness. Published again as we peruse our backfiles... enjoy.
Travis Ray Cole: Poetry
We always loved Mr. Cole's poetry, this is republished from 2000. Let go of your notions of spellcheck and correctness and just read ...
Marsha Nicholson: Snapshots *originally published 2000
Marsha Nicholson, a middle manager by day, freelance writer by night, is most consistently occupied with exploring where she fits into her Appalachian heritage, and vice versa.
Duane Locke: Collection of Poetry
From Sept. 2000. Republished and reignited. Duane Locke was one of our first Mule Friends of the new century.
Doug Tanory: “Avon” and “Hollywood Park” Poems
Originally published in 2000, coming out again today from the archives.
Don Cooper: Amos
First published in 2000, we found this in the Mule archives and we'd like to put it up -- front and center -- once again.
Jeanne Lupton : Morning Glory Blue
The best thing about this essay besides the essay itself? We've asked Jeanne to write more for us. Betcha' can't wait until next month ...
Southern Legitimacy Statement: I grew up in Virginia and live in Norhern California now. In imagination and memory Virginia will dwell within me as long as I live as a place of summer rain, the brilliant maples of October on Barton Street, cozy nights and peaceful walks in the woods at Skyland, a walk in a blizzard up to Columbia Pike to buy a jug of Gallo Port, wanting poems in a bottle, and such memories that make a life that's a lot about the place where it happens.
Cynthia Ezell : Mountain Laurel
Southern Legitimacy Statement
In my house, Saturday nights meant fried chicken and mashed potatoes and Buck Owens on the little black and white that sat in the corner by the fireplace. Like a proper southern man, Daddy grew all our vegetables, raised beef cattle and filled the freezer with venison. My mother taught me how to make hot biscuits and red-eye gravy when I was in elementary school. Our neighbors sometimes called the police when our rabbit hounds got a bit stirred up and bellowed all night. I never knew there were people who did not put sugar in their iced tea, didn't eat cornbread with their white beans, and didn’t say y’all when addressing more than one person until I went to college. I never wanted to go anywhere else. Why would I? The South has Emmy Lou Harris, the Mississippi River, Flannery O’Connor, flaming red azaleas, catfish and stone-ground corn grits.
Tim Bullard : The Little Red Man
Tim is the oldest of Mule Friends. He is one of my very first true online friends. His talent as a writer speaks for itself. His southern legitimacy transcends a statement. Welcome back to the Mule, Tim.
April Winters : Mommy’s In a Better Place
Southern Legitimacy Statement
Grammy used to make the best rhubarb pie. Her meals were the type where every inch of the long table was covered with food: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn-on-the-cob, and vegetables from her garden, all topped off with rhubarb pie. Yum! She expressed her love for her family by making sure we all had full – I’m talking really full – tummies. She had a quick wit and what she called a “hillbilly” accent. She may not have been book smart, but she sure was love smart.
William Wurm : Junior Hoarder
SLS...I have only become more Southern since I last submitted anything. The story series is inspired by West Alabama (going there soon to prepare for deer season) and is written in Ocean Springs, MS.
Anthony Marshall : What Remained
SLS: I live in the REAL south, South Carolina, and, while that statement alone should legitimize my southerosity, please indulge me. I own a wardrobe sprinkled with camouflage shirts, pants, hats even though i do not hunt. When I was young, my parents told me total bullshit stories of how my grandmother, sometimes great grandmother depending on how much PBR she had drunk, (Always a female ancestor), was a Cherokee. As I grew older and realized how many of my fellow southerners had this ridiculous mythological Cherokee ancestor I quickly ditched the story. As I type this, I am wiping the slime off of my boiled peanuts on my camouflage pants and airbrushed wolf-howling-at-the-moon-while-sitting-next-to-an-indian t-shirt that I bought from the flea market.