Hindman Settlement School

At the Forks of Troublesome Creek

Knott County, Kentucky

Site of the Appalachian Writers Workshop

Uncle Sol’s Cabin, on the campus of The Hindman Settlement School

Drawing by Deborah Ann Cidboy

http://www.hindmansettlement.org/

I’ve been a part of the Appalachian Writers Workshop each summer since 2002. Hindman is a first class learning experience but the true believers know it’s much more. Hindman is a pilgrimage, a chance to remove oneself to a special place populated by people who love and respect Appalachian literature and music and food and culture and each other. It’s a total immersion experience, mentally challenging, spiritually uplifting, and emotionally draining at the same time. Here some of my reflections on Hindman.

The Gates of Hindman

There are no gates at Hindman. No gates in, no gates out. The Bridge over Troublesome is open to all. There is no gate to bar people at the Settlement School from going out to the community. You cannot find a barrier to prevent the people of the community from coming onto the campus, as they often do.

You will never find the gate through the wall that separates you from the other people at Hindman. There is no gate, because there is no wall. You can walk right up to anyone and have a conversation, share a laugh, have an argument if you need to. They will be writers, teachers, musicians, maybe all three. They could be great or small in the eyes of the outside world. At Hindman, they are the other people singing grace in the breakfast line.

There is nothing to stop your spirit from soaring up the mountainside into the morning mist. Other spirits are there—May Stone, Katherine Pettit, Jim Wayne Miller, Albert Stewart, James Still—their spirits will touch your spirit. Folks will see the mist in your eyes and know you have been touched.

There are no gates at Hindman. You may go there. But, know this. Even though there is no gate, you may find it very difficult to leave.

Farther Along

They made me feel welcome in their way, made a place for me at their table of story and song and joy. They read poems of comfort and heartache, stories of promise and remembrance. They encouraged me to read one of my stories. They gathered around and said my story was good.

They made a place for me when they sang. They were old songs, songs brought over from Ireland and Scotland and made into the songs of the mountain people. I joined in, night after night, singing songs of praise and longing and faith. One song in particular struck a chord within me, a song about living in the sunshine, a song with the words Farther Along.

I knew there would always be a place for me at the Forks of Troublesome. I knew I would make another pilgrimage, farther along, unto these templed hills.

Go to the Water She arises early, scarcely dawn. There was a long, gentle rain during the night. The creek will be up and she needs to be the first to see it. She slips into her jeans and a shirt and her walking shoes. She finds her sketchpad. Outside, the air is clean and cool. The soft first light filters through the upreaching pines. She savors the calming sweetness of it for a moment, then surrenders to the pull within her soul. Go to the water, go to the water. Take the path down to Troublesome.
The Bridge over Troublesome Creek	Troublesome Creek is doing its best to live up to its name. The rain that fell on the wooded mountains all around has found its way down into the swollen creek. Troublesome is up, all right, up nearly to the bridge, threatens to spill over its banks. She stands on that bridge, the fabled Bridge over Troublesome, and looks into the power below. The rushing water whispers to her, makes her a promise. She nods and lets them fall from within her into the flowing water. Exhaustion, fear, doubt, longing, all of them. She lets them go, lets the water carry her torments and troubles away. She thanks this water colored by the soil of the mountains from whence it came. She opens her sketch pad, makes a few quick lines, writes a few words, enough to capture and retain the moment.
She turns and walks toward the aroma of fresh coffee. She will tell her friends why she has a new lightness to her step. They will appreciate the story and her telling of it. They will understand. They, too, have been to the water.