An Ode to the Storytellers

His name was Dale and he welcomed us to the Monterey Depot Museum, our visit a last-minute substitution for a hike that had been postponed due to rain.

It was not a big museum; the first room contained a model train display, and the larger, second room was filled with artifacts from the area’s rich mining and railroad traditions. But Dale, despite being almost completely blind, knew every inch of the place and gave us a personal tour, telling story after story until that little museum showed us a little corner of the world where "the hilltops kiss the sky".

With a soft drawl, he pointed out different objects as he described coal mines, miners’ strikes, moonshine stills, homesteads, and a railroad that connected it all. Like any master storyteller, Dale could recall names and spit out dates, all while weaving history and legends and folklore that kept us totally engaged.

Dale reminded me of my father, who loves to spin tall tales and will often sing a ballad right there sitting at the kitchen table; he reminded me of grandparents and uncles and visiting preachers who sit in rocking chairs on rickety porches, talking and entertaining and telling stories with humor and cliff hangers and impossible heroics; he reminded me of Story Keepers, those gifted individuals who are walking libraries of histories that, one day, will be lost.

At the end of our visit, Dale encouraged us to visit a local site called Bee Rock, an overlook on the Cumberland Plateau. He provided detailed directions, and fifteen minutes later we were standing on the overlook, surrounded by hemlock, pine, rhododendron and mountain laurel, breathing in the views and grateful for the storytellers …

the Dales of this world.