The Broken Battalions
To simply “forgive and forget” would be a failure to honor the warriors in gray, Hayne laments.
Arkansas Traveler: Stories from the Highways and Backroads
Our EIC has a personal announcement.
One Of Our Treasures
Grandmothers have a way of capturing our hearts. No home is complete without those wise words and humorous tendencies.
A Night In The Cars
All kinds of people were encountered on the cars. It’s quite the place to watch bystanders, lest you fall asleep by the rocking of locomotion.
The Mountain Scenery In Virginia (Part 2)
A Southern writers attempts to communicate the beauty of the Natural Bridge, but struggles to find the words.
The Mountain Scenery In Virginia (Part 1)
Moved by peers traveling across the pond to witness nature, a southern writer pens about the beauty of the Virginian mountains.
Hiding Places In War Times
During the tumultuousness of The Civil War, families were often at the mercy of whichever band was passing through at the time. Cunningness was required for survival.
A Confederate Exile on His Way To Mexico
Written through the eyes of Sarah Ann Dorsey, this solemn narrative expounds on the post-war experience of confederate devotees.
Sharp Financiering
One man’s impeccable practices in the currency business. Mr. Thompson was known for his risk-free way of dealings.
The Book of the Dead
I suspect that few kinds of people spend more time poring over the dead than coroners, morticians, and southerners. But unlike the rest, southerners are most interested in digging them up.
The Kingdom of Heaven Suffereth Violence: Flannery O’Connor (A Personal Reflection)
I found her while crawling around on my hands and knees in a bookshop in Raleigh, North Carolina.
When the South Invented Christmas
Alabamians invented Christmas. Did you know that? Hell, I didn’t. I thought the only thing they invented was giblet gravy. But it’s true. In 1836, the old boys in Montgomery were the first to make Christmas a public holiday.
Local Color
For the last several weeks, the Southern skies have been the color of dirty cotton. Hot rain poured from the heavens like buckets of seraphic tears. Wet leaves rode the wind and attached themselves to anything not moving fast enough, like old barns and old men’s trucks. But now the rains have come and gone. Summer has done its work.
Place and Time: A Southerner’s Inheritance
It is nothing new or startling that Southerners do write, probably they must write. It is the way they are: born readers and reciters, great document holders, diary keepers, letter exchangers and savers, history tracers, and, outstaying the rest, great talkers.
Bulleit (A Review)
*Someone recently gave me a bottle of whiskey, 𝐵𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑖𝑡 it's called. Here's my little review. I have no idea how to pronounce it, but I've been saying it like "Bullet" to myself. And the more of it I drink, the more myself and I argue over its pronunciation.
What it Means to Be a Southerner
The Southerner who lives or travels in another part of the country is constantly called on to explain to the rest of the world his native land and its people; sometimes he is even called on to apologize for it.
