Monday, February 6, 2012


It is amazing how memory works,after deciding to write this,I remember that time had smooth out and worn over my memories of of my grandfather.I felt not even enough for a paragraph ,Let's see ,his name was John also,he was very tall and when he walked into a room you were aware of his presence. When he was quiet ,you knew he was there. He loved the spiritual "Bringing In The Sheaves"When I was telling Builder about my grandfather,I told him
it was many years before I knew the song was not about bring in sheep.I wore that like with a smile my grandfather laugh a lot ,like I did when I was a younger man .

My grandfather was a coal miner

In the evening he and his friends would gather in the kitchen to drink and discuss the day and union business.Looking back I think that maybe all of them were secretly alcoholics maybe from the grind, boredom and the unspoken fear of being down there in the mines. It was a job they had families .

Some of my memories are of place,my first train trip to Kentucky. I was born in the lush green Alabama foothills of the Appalachians mountains , so this new place with its' heights and hollows was dizzing for me. I spent a lot of time feeling safe in the kitchen, listening to tall old men telling tales and laughing into the night.

My grand father was a coal miner he died of black lungs. ,

1 comment:

  1. So cool, what an honor that my photographs can elicit your memory expressed so beautifully in your your poetic prose, of your grandfather, a coal miner in Lynch, Harlan County, Kentucky. thank you.