Because of the encroachment and abuse by mankind, the Atchafalaya, a remarkable reminder of what once was an unspoiled wonder, is slowly losing its battle to remain beautiful one cypress tree at a time.
Nothing ever comforted Christy Sasser as much as her Granny singing "You Are My Sunshine." This story is about where the sunshine went after Granny left this earth.
Derek Sweatman counts himself grateful to live within walking distance of a record store. But that doesn’t stop him from lamenting the ones that are gone.
As a high schooler in North Carolina, she became an “Azalea Belle.” Today, she no longer finds “room for romanticizing” what that role-playing was really about.
When David Phillips was a kid in Pikeville, Kentucky, he worshipped his grandfather. But Phillips didn’t realize his grandpa was black until after he was gone.
Twenty-five years after the release of R.E.M.’s “Automatic for the People,” Hugh Crawford recalls how the album helped him mourn his father and reminded him to live “a life filled with joy and wonder.”
It’s been two decades since songwriter Allison Moorer’s friend Tim took his own life. But she still has the mixtape he made her. A beautiful essay about life, pain, and the power of music.
Rini Jeffers spent a lot of time visiting little churches where air-conditioning consisted of a “paper fan with a funeral home on one side and Jesus on the other” — places much like the First Baptist Church of Sutherland Springs, Texas.
