I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

Above is the beginning line of the 1914 poem by Joyce Kilmer about trees. Those of you following these articles about "rightly dividing the word of truth", might ask: What in the world could a poem about trees have to do with interpreting the Bible. Well the short answer is, EVERYTHING!

Two Union County self-storage facilities have a new owner, Jay Gulledge, and he’s delighted to be doing business in Union County.

“I’ve found that the people here in Union County are responsible, hard-working, nice people,” he said. “It’s rewarding to serve a population that is mostly hard-working folks that are doing their best to take care of their families every day. Union County is a friendly, straightforward place do to business.”

In just a little more than a month, years of volunteer work and planning will bear fruit as the Sharps Chapel Book Station opens in its new location, the restored Historic Oak Grove School at 412 Oak Grove Road, Sharps Chapel. The school has been painstakingly restored by Preservation Union County volunteers. The book station will move into half the space, with the remaining space available for event rental through the Union County Mayor's Office.

Not too long ago, I was honored to get to serve as hostess at the first Big Ridge Park Welcome Center. Many people stopped in during the Big Ridge Park Annual Blue Grass Festival. Some people stopped in just to see inside the building or to talk Union County history. One of the things I learned, or was reminded of, is that this little building was the first building in Union County to have electric lights switched on as a result of establishment of the Tennessee Valley Authority and the construction of Norris Dam. I did say “lights”–the building has two overhead lights.

Lieutenant Dan
Have you found Jesus yet, Gump?
Forrest Gump:
I didn't know I was supposed to be looking for him, sir.

There are jigsaw puzzles that depict a general store with goods displayed on shelves as well as placed around the store. A few steps into the door and you were at the counter. That's the way it used to be. “Well, hello there, Mrs. Stimer. How are you today?” The grocer knew all his customers.

Mother only shopped once a month. That was the way Dad was paid by the farmer he worked for milking cows twice a day and doing field work. Forty dollars a month and a tenant house to live in. We had it better than most in those dreary days of the Great Depression.

Mincey’s Musings
Year One, Week Six

Comforting Cat

An old country song goes, “I remember the year that Clayton Delaney died”. I remember not only the year, but the date and month that Frank Mincey died.

Before the internet, before television, before telephones and radio, even before newspapers came to be, storytelling was one of the best forms of entertainment. Folks would huddle together on the front porch, around the fire place, near the pot belly stove in grocery stores, at the grist mill, or anywhere a few could conger to hear someone tell a tale. Story telling has been recorded throughout the world, but nowhere does it have a more colorful and entertaining history than here in the Appalachian Mountains.

Adapted by Shirley McMurtrie

I look back to the days what are gone
When living was simple and plain.
We rushed to the ole stove to be warmed
When chilled by the frost and the rain.

To the end of our days, we'll never forget
Our regular Saturday scrub.
Needed or not, the water not hot,
By the ole cook stove, in the tub.

We loved that ole stove for the things that it made:
The puddings, the pies and the cake,
The jelly and jam and savory ham,
Roast chicken and tasty Swiss steak.

Mother's favorite candy was a vanilla fondant cone dipped in chocolate, but making it was beyond her expertise. No matter, she could buy a small bag of it whenever she went to town. Other than the infamous Hersey Bar, it was the only candy I knew in those years. I can still see her at the counter in Woolworth's pointing to her favorite candy and saying, “I'll take ten cents worth of those, please.” The clerk would hand her five or six in a small brown paper sack. On the way home, one piece for each of us was a special treat.