Memoir

Trick-or-Treat . Content Warning.
Growing up, my cousins and I spent a lot of time playing in the horse pasture. Hidden deep within the thickest brush were marijuana plants growing in five gallon buckets. The plants were marked off with two strands of barbed wire to keep my papaw's workhorse from eating uncle Ronnie's crop. I stood at the base of the buckets, my head tilted back toward the sky as I looked up at those towering plants. Their wispy green leaves swayed in the breeze. Ronnie definitely had a green thumb; no matter what he grew, he raised nice, healthy plants.
By Kassie6 days ago in Chapters
Holidays in the Holler
Holidays were different in the holler. There were no Christmas shopping trips, no presents stacked high around the tree. The difficulty my grandparents experienced growing up influenced how they celebrated, making the focus of the holidays family and good food. They lived through the Great Depression. My mamaw was born in the 1920s. She told me a few stories about her life growing up. She was her daddy's favorite. When she spoke of him, I could hear the love shining through in her voice. Mamaw’s family worked farm fields. Being a little girl, she wasn't much help in the fields, but she cooked their dinner and supper. She was so small, she had to stand on a chair to reach the stove. Mamaw never talked about the Depression, although she lived through it.
By Kassie6 days ago in Chapters
Balanced Triads - Chapter 1
Greetings to the slepless and hopeless 🌙 Welcome to Balanced Triads. Genre: Dark Academia / Dystopian Sci-fi Schedule: A new chapter every Thursday , follow Matteo Andersson a behavioral scientist whose obsession turned human nature into a weapon. Now history books call him a villain, and he tries to defend himself in his memoir.
By Sellgren Stories9 days ago in Chapters
The Ol' Ford and The Banty Rooster
Papaw had an old Ford work truck he used to haul firewood and tobacco. He parked it up by the woodshed, and he always left the keys in it. One Sunday after dinner, my cousins and I loaded up in the ol’ Ford, and I was in the driver’s seat. I turned the key, and she rumbled to life. Exhaust smoke drifted through the cab, taking my breath for a second. I pushed the faded yellow button on the dash, sounding the horn. I was too small to know how to work a clutch or shift, but that didn’t stop us.
By Kassie9 days ago in Chapters
Happy are the Adaptable
My thoughts: I have never heard the word, meek, as to being able to "bend or adapt to God and life." The author* of this devotion* has imagined it. I think more along the lines of meekness being a "contained strength." The person who carried the character of that strength would have to also have to be full of patience to be able to keep their frustrations "contained." And then I think of patience being listed as a fruit of the Spirit. The author goes on to say we would need to be " strong enough on the inside to adapt to the outside ." The Bible said that if we could do that, we could inherit the earth.
By Shirley Belk11 days ago in Chapters
Lightning
Papaw leased land to raise tobacco across the road from his property. He kept an old pony named Lightning to work the fields. Lightning was a gelded red pinto, and he was as big around as a barrel. He was a gentle horse, but if he knew someone was afraid of him, he would pick, chasing them any chance he got. He ran Mamaw when he got the chance. If he was loose and caught Mamaw in the yard, he would run her back into the house.
By Kassie24 days ago in Chapters
Blocked Culverts, Clogged Ditches, and Family Feuds
When rain came down in the holler, it washed leaves and debris off the hills and into the creeks and ditches. Culverts would become blocked, and the water would back up, eventually running across the road and washing away the gravel. Papaw worked hard to keep the culverts cleared, sometimes working on them before the downpour had even stopped. He kept the ditches and creeks cleaned out from his house to the main road.
By Kassie25 days ago in Chapters
The Livestock Pond
Growing up, I spent summers fishing at a livestock pond across the road from my grandparents’ house. I fished with hotdogs, bacon, and balls of smashed bread. I would not touch fishing worms. I raided Mamaw and Papaw’s fridge for bait, grabbed my fishing pole, and headed to the pond. The pond wasn’t much bigger than a mud hole, but we thought it was the best. My uncle Ronnie stocked it with fish he caught from the river, and he built a nice dock to fish from. It was always peaceful there. Woods enclosed the water on all sides, and the surrounding trees were decorated with fishing line and bobbers. My cousins, Joseph, Leslie, and I weren’t the best fishermen, but we had fun. Cattails grew thick along the water’s edge. Colorful dragonflies glided over the water’s surface and rested on the soft cattails. Big bullfrogs croaked from the water’s edge. Bass flashed in the sunlight as they darted in and out of the stalks. Occasionally, a large catfish tail slapped the water, sending ripples rolling across the pond. We all reeled in fast and cast back out in the direction of the catfish, most of the time getting tangled in each other’s lines.
By Kassie26 days ago in Chapters
The Meaning of a Gift. Top Story - September 2026.
He walked the roads for months, picking up aluminum cans. I did not realize at the time that he didn't have the extra money to buy a bike for me. I just accepted it as the way he chose to make money. I don't know how much he made when he cashed the cans in at the scrapyard, and I don't know how much he paid for my bike.
By Kassie27 days ago in Chapters
Chaos in the Holler
West Virginia is often stereotyped as a place of poverty and uneducated, backwoods hill folk. My experience growing up here was nothing of the sort. However, I have met cousins raised out of state who were more like the stereotype for West Virginians.
By Kassie27 days ago in Chapters
Preserved in Memory
It's gone now. Leveled, burnt, and what remained buried. Maybe it is better this way. I understand why it had to be torn down. I know structures aren't permanent. Time and the elements would have eventually consumed what the vandals did not. We will not have to watch the change over the years as the house turned into a skeleton of block and tin.
By Kassie28 days ago in Chapters
The Heart of Appalachia
I was raised in the heart of Appalachia, up a dirt road holler in an old blockhouse my grandparents called home. The shelter of the holler shaded us from the heat of the late afternoon sun, but also kept us under a blanket of snow longer than we would have liked.
By Kassie29 days ago in Chapters