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Appalachia has always been a center of artistic expression, and our gatherings are no different.  We want to share a sampling of the artistry which has swelled out of In Praise of Mountain Women over the years.

Poetry and song

Visual arts


Poetry and song


Let me be
the last leaf
lingering,
maple, sun-dappled
on mountain
meeting with sky.
Let wind tease and tempt me,
to float free for infinity
while I hang by a stem
for a time.
With faith that moves
mountains, yet let me
not waver but fly
like a flag in the east,
in solitary salute of final tribute
steadfast, forever
at peace.

By Sandi Keaton-Wilson

I was raised in Appalachia high up on a hill.
Sung to sleep at night by an old whipper-will.

I remember the length of the hot summer day
Each packed with hard work and equal hard play.

Running though broom sage up to my thighs
My arms and my face held up to wondrous blue skies.

Brilliant colored leaves announcing the fall.
Each tree in her glory so majestic and tall.

Mommy planning carefully how to buy coats and shoes
Hard frost on the ground now, not soft summer dews.

There were onions, red peppers and leather britches on a string,
Long bitter cold nights and hopes held for spring.

Stories told and songs sung to help keep us quiet.
Waking up mornings to see the snow left by night.

Tree frogs, birds, and crickets all start to sing.
Heralding a welcome to the long coming spring.

Flowers and trees bloom life’s cycle all new
The earth says there’s death here but there is life too.

I was raised in Appalachia high on a hill.
My body may leave here but my heart never will.

By Carol Honeycutt

Who I see around me are the women
Faces that have grown and changed since yesterday
And awakened I feel, enlightened I am
And humbled by the precious lives that
touch me, that touch me.

by Maureen Linneman

My mommy loved these mountains,
With all that she could be.
Somehow somewhere along the way,
She breathed that love in me.

These mountain streams they are my blood,
The wind it is my breath,
My love for these mountains will remain,
Even in the dark of death.

So when I die burn this hollow shell
And set my spirit free.
Then spread my ash all over these mountains,
For that’s where my soul will be.

--- By Carol Honeycutt

Visual arts

"My 'mountain women' experience filled me with the wonder of our diversity --- especially when we all dressed up for the costume party on Saturday night.  Thanks for the memories!"

--- Margaret Gregg
    10-12-93

Last updated 3/09.

Contact: Anne Leibig.  (276) 467-2437.
Webmaster: Anna Hess