A Southern Journey from the Summer 2017 issue.
The grass was up to my waist as I crouched down on the side of Interstate 20 a few miles outside of Van. Insects buzzed around my head, and I tried not to look for snakes or ticks. Instead, I alternated my gaze between the blue sky and the man and woman standing on the shoulder of the eastbound lane, my teammates. Darby held a sign that read simply, ATLANTA. Aaron’s sign was more elaborate; on the back, he pasted photographs that showed people sliding down waterfalls, which he’d use to explain the race when speaking with a driver. I was forty yards behind them, out of sight of the oncoming cars, guarding a pile of packs. It was 7:45 A.M. and traffic was sporadic. The 2016 Great Hitchhiking Race was underway, and we were hoping our first ride would take us well out of Texas.
A short story from the Summer 2017 issue.
It was said about the blind woman who ran the concession stand in the lobby of the county courthouse that she could tell by touch the difference between a one- and a five-dollar bill. Judges, lawyers, felons, and their long-suffering kin spoke of her so-called sixth sense. She was aware of the rumor, which she attributed to ignorance.
An installment in our weekly series, The By and By.
I cannot tell you how exciting it is to see this surge of young people saying, “We’re pretty clear on what our values are. We’re pretty clear on what we want our futures to look like, and here are some ways we’re getting there. And we’re not asking permission. We’re just doing it.”
A conversation with South Carolina-born comedian Rory Scovel.
When I’m onstage and there’s an audience there, I don’t know if it’s because your back is sort of against the wall in that moment to deliver, whatever reason it is, it somehow works, it somehow pops right. Specifically, that Southern guy character that I do. I even joke that I know that guy better than myself.
An installment in Chris Offutt’s Omnivore column, Cooking with Chris.
Magic and cooking are based on the same principles of transformation, cutting and restoring, vanishing and reappearing. A blue handkerchief suddenly becomes red! A woman sawn in half returns intact! A coin disappears from the hand and reappears in a child’s ear! An egg becomes an omelet!
A short story from our Summer 2017 issue.
I opened my eyes and looked at the patient. Her eyes were open, too, wide and lively against the tautness of her face. They were the same eyes of my aunt Lydia who had once pulled up her shirt to show me the large birthmark on her stomach—darker than her skin, shapeless like a stain. She looked at me, and I looked at her, and as the people around us prayed for her recovery, she smiled at me.
A story from our 2001 Southern Music issue.
I first heard Charley Patton thirty years ago, on a two-LP compilation called The Story of the Blues, which I won in a contest. My adolescent ear was immediately sucked in by the mystery, the wit, the slyness, and the expressive variety of the performances of Blind Boy Fuller, Memphis Minnie, Texas Alexander, Leroy Carr, Barbecue Bob, Bessie Smith, Big Joe Turner, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Otis Spann, Blind Willie McTell, and the rest.
An installment in our weekly story series, The By and By.
As soon as we entered the town, a warren of stone houses perched on a ridge, maybe home to five hundred, I got the feeling of something vaguely sinister ahead, as you do before entering a particularly violent bar or a house party in meth-land.
Jessica Ingram’s Road Through Midnight: A Civil Rights Memorial explores forgotten sites of the civil rights era. The project “is the result of a deep questioning of American racial history and ideas of collective memory, of how we mark historic sites—or don’t mark them.”