In 1987, I performed the lead in Foxfire, a play with songs, by Susan Cooper and Hume Cronyn, based on the Foxfire books about Appalachian culture and traditions in North Georgia. I loved being Annie Nations. I adored the young man who played my husband, and still call him “Hector.” I remember once in rehearsal when I was supposed to be angry, and my Hector just wasn’t giving me anything to work with – the audience would see any reason for me to get angry. So I told him I really, really needed him to get angry or annoyed – something. And he said, “But how can I get angry at those sweet brown eyes…” I’ll always love “my” Hector (hi, Andy!).
Foxfire was a natural choice for the theater department at Western Kentucky University, and I was beyond honored to be in the show. It remains one of the most special, wonderful experiences of my life. But I didn’t really know the story of Foxfire, not until years later. In case you don’t know the story: the Foxfire series began in 1966, when a high school class in Georgia interviewed their relatives and local citizens about their youth and young adult days, their traditions and culture, and how things had changed for them over time. The stories were published in a magazine, and those stories are also expanded and published in books. The content is written as a mixture of how-to information, first-person narratives, oral history and folklore.
I found The Foxfire 45th Anniversary Book: Singin’, Praisin’, Raisin’ last year at the Texas Book Festival and finally got around to reading it this year.
I have mixed feelings about it.
Any project that is working to preserve the voices of elders and their culture from their youth and younger days deserves to be lauded. If you have enjoyed listening to your own grandparents and elderly family members talking about their youth and early adult days, whether they lead a rural, urban or somewhere-in-between life, you know how precious those stories are, and the appeal of the Foxfire stories won’t at all be a surprise to you. This particular book is a good representation of what the series generates annually and regularly, and if you aren’t familiar with rural white culture beyond stereotypes on TV and in movies, this is a good introduction – it’s best to pop on a bluegrass soundtrack to get the full effect. And if you are familiar with this region and love its music and land and food culture – as I do (I’m from Kentucky), you also will love it as it lovingly, reverently talks about such – you may even find, like me, hearing the people in this book telling stories and situations you have heard from your own family members. It also is a great example of what could be done in regions all over the world: young people going out into their own communities and preserving the stories of their elders. If you are looking for a monologue for an audition or other drama performance, this provides outstanding source material.
However, there are some uncomfortable insights that some readers will experience, at least I did: the presence of black Americans in the area is almost completely ignored, not only in the choice of storytellers but in the recorded memories of the storyteller. There ARE black Americans in Appalachia – Google it if you don’t believe me. There are no mentions in this book of the ugly sides of historic mountain life, like child marriage or racism. There are also idealizations that just simply aren’t true, not only by the storytellers but by the editors, like this from the start of the chapter entitled “Knoxville Girl: Crime Close to Home”: “Crimes were rare and murders were virtually unheard of… ” That is just patently not true. The overall perpetuation of poverty as “beautiful” in this book makes me uncomfortable. I appreciate what the book honors, but I just so wonder how many stories get left out because they might make local people not look quite so noble and honorable.
It was also disturbing to find out that the founder of the project molested young children, which I did when I did a little online research in writing this review. I’m so glad the project has survived that disturbing association – I hope MercyCorps does as well. But all I could think that’s a perfect example of what I mean: bad things happen everywhere, including in Appalachia. No place is paradise, no time is a perfect time. We need to acknowledge the bad with the good.
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