Smokey Mountain Breakdown

...and letting the words bleed out.

I'm doing another one of those story a day things. Not here--over on Zoetrope. The Flashathon.

Anyway. Yesterday I wrote a story that hit me so hard, upset me so badly--essentially dredged up stuff I needed to look at, but hadn't for one reason or another. It's a fabulous story. I outdid myself. It's reviewing really well. But the emotional toll was pretty steep. I pretty much had to take to my bed. I felt teary and out of sorts all day.

I know there are writers who say all of their stories are like that. I can't do that. I hurt myself when I write one of those and need to retreat into plot and craft and recover. I need a few days of kitty and puppy stories.

Snake Church News

Don't know if you saw the article in this past weekend's paper--probably not if you don't have a snakehandling church nearby. Anyway, Kentucky is cracking down on the Signs following churches via the wildlife/snake trade route.

Pastor among suspects in illegal snake bust

Religious snakehandlers busted in Kentucky

Snake handling pastor arrested

All the articles have the same info. I'm familiar with Pastor Coot's name. I don't think Jimmy has much to do with the Middleboro church. I haven't had a chance to chat with him about what he thinks about it. Most of the signs followers catch their snakes from the wild, though every once in a while they will get an exotic to handle. I'm not sure if we will see something like this here in Tennessee with Jimmy's church. Hopefully not. I am concerned for him.

There's not a question of animal cruelty in these cases. These guys know snakes--really know them. I've never seen them maltreated and they are actually fond of them. They don't name them or anything, but they always remember certain ones.

I was expecting to be really busy today. I had to go to town and pay bills and do shopping. Then turn around and drive to Asheville for my rheumatologist appointment. But the doctor was ill and cancelled, so it turned out being not so bad. Except that I hadn't slept all night long. I hate that when I peek out of the covers and see the light coming over the mountain and know that I still haven't fallen asleep.

I stopped off at the Chinese for lunch and took a book to read since I was by myself. Pastor Jimmy and Pam came in. It was so good to see them! We talked about snakehandling and Popcorn Sutton and all that. I'm going to go back to his church this Sunday. He said the New York PBS station was doing a special on him.

Pastor Jimmy asked me if I'd be interested in collaborating with him on his Appalachian Folktales book. He's got 300 handwritten pages of research compiled. Of course, I'd love nothing better! But he does already have an editor and told him I wouldn't want to take a project away from Dr. Hood. He didn't seem to think it would be a problem, but I'd feel better knowing I wasn't snatching a project. But I sure would love to craft some of those folktales into proper stories. Oh, yes, I would!

He wants me to come by his house and see all of his research he and Pam have there at the house. I asked him about the beautiful verse books I saw in his church archives. He made those lovely things with the hand bound covers. He also makes dolls and walking sticks. I'm very eager to see those since I'm such a huge fan of folk art. I'd love to have one of my very own for my collection.

So...it was a good day after all. Not too rushed and I caught a nap when I got home.

It was the sort of idyllic spring day that made you thankful for living in the mountains. The sky was that amazing robin's egg blue and there was just a soft kiss of a warm breeze. The air was clear and it was a perfect day to be outdoors. I was going to attend my very first river baptism this day.

I had attended my first service at the Edwina Church of God in Jesus' Name the previous evening. I'm not quite sure what I was expecting.

Friend Scott and I had arrived a bit before the service that Saturday evening. They hold services at 7 p.m. on Saturday which is their actual sabbath. Then they also hold another service on Sunday afternoon at 1 p.m.

We met a couple of professors who were also there to observe the service for the first time. One taught folk history and the other taught Medieval literature. Jimmy showed us the archives. The small closet was a treasure trove of the history of his people and the Jesus' Name Snakehandlers. There was an amazingly carved snake box that Jimmy said was over 100 years old. As I stood in the small room, my eye was drawn to some hand bound journals. The patch-worked leather of the covers were saddle stitched by hand and lovingly worn. I carefully picked one up and found each page covered in hand written scriptures. There was something sacred about them. Something holy. You could sense it when you touched them. I didn't know who they belonged to or when they were created, but they were works of art.

Service was about to start so we sat with the professors in the back pew.

The service began with a prayer and moved swiftly into the singing. After the group hymns, the people were invited to come up and sing individually...to offer a joyful noise to the Lord. All of the singing is done a Capella. Friend Scott got up and sang filling the little church with his vibrant baritone. People couldn't help but picking up a tambourine or clapping. Jimmy's wife, Pam, sang several hymns despite what must have been terrible pain from a recent ear operation.

I couldn't help but be completely caught up in the singing. I found myself dropping all of my Anglican church stiffness and clapping in time with the music. Every once in a while, someone would raise a palm in the air. I wasn't sure what it meant, but I wanted to do it too.

One of the pre-teen girls got up and did a rendition of Maybelle Carter's "In the Highways". Everyone applauded wildly and in truth, she sounded remarkably like the track from the "Oh, Brother, Where Art Though" soundtrack.

Requests were taken from the congregation to remember people in prayer, offer thanks, or to say how thankful they were for God's blessings.

Then it was time for Jimmy's sermon. He started out by asking us to turn to a certain scripture passage in the Bible. Jimmy's sermon can only be compared to watching one of the great blues masters perform live. He starts out slowly with the passage, then rifts into related passages. The words all ran together, sort of like listening to an auctioneer, but slower and more musical. His breathing during the sermon is seamless. You can only tell where it begins and ends by the occasional "heh" at the end of a phrase. It is music. I was clearly listening to music. It was hypnotic and completely engrossing.

I found myself rocking back and forth. I just couldn't stop myself. My foot tapped on the floor. Friend Scott looked at me a few times quizzically. He was used to this. I was not, yet I found myself being swept away in the cadence of Jimmy's masterful use of language, tone and cadence.

Jimmy would get to the end of a long stream of words, and finally lose breath control. He would shout, "Woooo! Hallelujah!" Then he's take a deep breath and start all over again.

As he progressed into the sermon, his face changed. He seemed more intense. Jimmy, and all of the Jesus' Name followers typically have a very blissful expression on their faces, I've noticed. This was different, this expression. I think I was witnessing "the anointing".

He made his way toward the snake box. I, with the two professors, had eagerly looked over into the pulpit area before the service to look at the jewel-toned copperhead in the box on the floor.

"I feel like a tourist!" One of them said.

I felt awkward as well. I come from a spiritual background redolent in incense and hushed voices where one never claps in church. It is steeped into my bones.

Jimmy bent down to get the snake out of the box. The little girl who sang earlier dashed to the back of the church. They do not allow children near the snakes. Children are never allowed to handle them. With very few exceptions, you must be 18 to practice the taking up of serpents. They do not take this lightly.

Jimmy pulled the lovely and deadly copperhead from the box. He held it in one hand and then transferred it to the other. I watched, fascinated, as the snake twined in his hands without showing any sign of aggression. His wife, Pam, was softly speaking in tongues a few rows ahead of us. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but it was soft and rhythmic. We all sang.

Jimmy returned the copperhead to his box and sat down behind the pulpit. He was clearly exhausted. Living by the Signs seems physically taxing, whether by the force of his sermon or the amount of spiritual energy that seemed to infuse him during that time. I'm not sure. But it looked like a "good" tired.

We sang some more and offered more requests for prayers. I said how thankful I was to have found them. That I would most certainly be back.

And I did. The very next day for the river baptism. Sunday's service did not include snakes, but there was much singing and some guitar playing. Jimmy's sermon was yet another amazing spiritual blues rift. I wish you could hear this. It is truly amazing. I found myself better able to follow the cadence of his words the second time.

After the service, we all drove out to the French Broad River. There is a quiet spot near a railroad trestle where Big Creek flows into the French Broad. Scott and I let the professors follow us since we knew where we were going.

There were a few fisherman there when we arrived. They seemed to know what was getting ready to happen and left respectfully.

We got out and waited for everyone else. A train sounded down the track and we all moved from underneath the trestle to watch it clatter by, upsetting the quiet for a few moments.

Three little girls from the church arrived in their Sunday best and immediately jumped into the water, dresses and all. They were baptized this day, but I suspect they were more interested in an excuse for an early swim. The main one to be baptized was a serious young man.

While we waited on Jimmy to arrive, some of the church goers traded stories about their baptisms. They perform them in the river all year round in all weathers. An older gentleman, one of the Pack family, said that he was baptized in January. Scott said that when his mother was baptized, they had to break the ice in the creek. There's a bit of pride in all of this. But as cold as this water is in the summer, I can only imagine taking such a plunge in mid-winter.

Jimmy arrived and we all sang a bit of "Shall We Gather at the River", before he waded out into the deep part of the creek. The three little girls were dunked first. There was much giggling and Jimmy smiled as he lowered each of them backwards into the water. It was very gentle and sweet. They love and dote on their children in this faith.

The young man was more serious. This was a serious commitment for him. He repented his sins and now was ready to be born again into the Jesus' Name Snakehandlers. He may or may not ever handle snakes or drink "the deadly thing." Not everyone does. It depends on whether or not they are gifted with the anointing. But this is the all important first step.

Next, he baptized a woman a few years older than me. She shook and jerked a bit while Jimmy was doing the benediction. He gave her the option of going over backwards or forwards. She chose forwards and was dunked under that way. She came up glowing and saying "Hallelujah!" Everyone raised their palms in the air. I did too.

At one point during the service, Jimmy had looked straight at me.

"Ready to go get baptized?"

I said under my breath to Scott, "Did he just ask if I was going to get baptized?"

"Sure sounded like it." Scott deadpanned.

I didn't get baptized that day in the river. I just watched.

But it was lovely and touching and I think it might be something I'd like to experience. So, perhaps, before the summer is out, I'll ask Jimmy if he would baptize me in the river.

But I want to go backwards into the water.

Full immersion. That's what I'm into.