Rich: Missing a couple of good mothers

It is not without a stab of pain that I, sometimes, drive past a spot where once stood a hometown restaurant. Nothing remains of it, other than paved parking.

Rich: Mountain quare, Southern eccentric

It has been duly noted here how odd are my ways or how my thinking doesn’t always line up with genuine logic. Any Southerner, born and bred, has charming degrees of eccentricity. In the Southern reach of the Appalachians, however, many of us have a heaping helping of oddness.

Rich: Everyone comes with a story

If your path has ever crossed with mine, if we have ever spent more than 10 minutes in conversation, or if your mama ever stopped me in the grocery store, there is an excellent chance that you’re in a story. A stranger pulled up beside me on a sidewalk the other day.

Rich: Charlie Horse

The Summer after we married, I gave Tink his most treasured gift. A handsome, brown, and white painted horse who came with registered papers and a sophisticated name Tink changed to Charlie in honor of his great-great-grandfather, Charlie Tinker, who worked for President Lincoln in the White House.

Rich: A Yankee saves a bit of The South

There are many compliments that I can give to my husband, Tink. Firstly, he is a devoted man of God. He rises early each morning to spend two hours in Bible study. Daddy would be proud of that. And that he reads the King James Bible, albeit the New King James.

Rich: Turning holy into profit

Easter and Christmas have always been yearly highlights to our family though never because of gifts – in a time when children received presents only for birthdays and Christmas – or egg hunts and new dresses.

Rich: A longing for Julia Reed

It is no longer clear to me when I read first the words of Julia Reed. But it is quite vivid as to when I moved from being a reader of hers to being a fan. For years, I had devoured her articles in New York fashion and Washington news magazines.

Rich: Kindnesses both remembered and forgotten

It happens to all of us. We do kindness for someone and then never think of it again. But it isn’t forgotten by the person who received the kindness.

Rich: Maybe it’s just me

Most readers of my wife’s column know that I am a transplant. Some might say that I’m an interloper or intruder. Since moving to the South, I’ve encountered only extreme warmth and hospitality. Yet, I still regard myself as the “odd man out” if only in my own home. Or is it just me?

Rich: Mama learns a few things

In the Appalachian years of Mama’s childhood, there wasn’t a lot of learning to be done other than that which comes from hard times and harder work. Scattered throughout the widespread communities were one-room schoolhouses.