by Carrie Kline
This is the breakfast of
who wants to know
listen if you will
family-style dining
chance encounters
mouths open with recipes
for buckwheat batter
old ways fermenting
small bubbles on the lips
of people who plant, feed,
hunt anything that moves.
Politicians with smooth faces
coiffed hair
feast on camaraderie
for sale--$7
with all the thin, pale coffee you want
and a free warm welcome.
Always the ready opener
“How're the cakes?
You like them sourdoughs?”
and the chance for stranger intimacy.
The proud, “I like
them buckwheats.”
Confessions,
“I never did like
them sour things.”
That and the weather--
past, present and projections--
the Almanac or people of the TV
a tiptoe on thin ice--
climate change
wading a dark mud puddle
seeking common ground
one eye trained
on an island of safety--
regular pancakes
buckwheats
or even a small
flaky biscuit.
II.
Philmore revs his way
from the coffee corner
a pot in each hand
one orange handle, one brown.
He surges slowly forward--
a steam train
winking up an incline.
“Some days
I could talk all day
about steam engines.”
Pause. Far away and before his eyes
he sees the old giants
in the roundhouse again.
“It was just like something alive.”
He looks at you
quarter smile
eyes a'gleam
sees steam valves
hot and hissing.
Rests his pots on the long table
looks you hard in the eye.
“Now you need a CDL
a license.
I drove
all them big
expensive ones.
No license
and nobody
showed me how.”
Those were the days
when grandpa
told a riddle once
set the cogs
in a kid's brain churning
for days
pondering
'til next Saturday
the kid set you down a cup of coffee
on grandma's oilcloth
and mumbled the answer
walking out, swallowing a grin,
smell of the morning buckwheats
sour and tantalizing
hanging on the wallpaper.
Poet Statement
These poems reflect community survival and conflict and, as always, efforts toward Talking Across the Lines, the name of our enterprise and podcast. Buckwheat Feed Among the Railroaders is a portrait of a community meeting ground centered around a localized culinary and bread breaking tradition people share weekly in Randolph County West Virginia from fall to spring, the sourdough buckwheat feed. Do not call them pancakes. They are buckwheats or buckwheat cakes. Pancakes are what you order if you don't like the sourdoughs, and that's acceptable. The buckwheats are shaped like pancakes and differ greatly from church to church to community organization. The Presbyterian's are downright lacey—and pleasant but mild mannered. The Orlena Methodist Church cakes are sour, but the Odd Fellows' are almost bitter, where Danny is at hand to make the softest scrambled eggs. You won't get eggs at Orlena. You could just go for a biscuit and sausage at Odd Fellows. That's what Philmore the coffee pourer always eats around say 10:30 when he has a moment. A lot of lore, remembrance and crossing of class and generational lines is fed by buckwheat cakes.
I am consumed with the making of bread and the breaking of bread, though I care not for bread. It is the stirring and whirring, pushing, grinding and fermenting that kindle me, the side step from politics and policies only to step back again with a fistful of dough or a mouthful once baked, and masticate awhile, feeling free to wonder together, dream the past and design a future where all mouths are full.
Carrie Nobel Kline has made her life along the Tygart Valley River in Elkins, West Virginia. She is half of a musical duo with Michael Kline, both playing guitar and singing in high mountain harmony. They are both folklorists, oral historians and lovers of life in the Allegheny Highlands.
Carrie has been chronicling the history and culture of Appalachia for twenty-five years. She and her partner Michael Nobel Kline document local experience in rural and industrial communities from Appalachia to Guatemala. They have worked most extensively in West Virginia, honoring and re-seeding the best of local traditions and travel with the Randolph County Saturday morning buckwheat feeds from fall to spring.
The Klines are known for their provocative oral history-based, music-laden audio production, now available on the Talking Across the Lines podcast.
Carrie holds an M.A. in American Studies from SUNY/Buffalo. She received a Rockefeller Fellowship from Marshall University to chronicle Appalachian resiliency in GLBTQ people, resulting in a 13-person staged reading, Revelations, which she continues to stage for academic and community groups. Carrie is a cultural heritage tour designer and guide.
The Klines operate Talking Across the Lines, a folklife and life story-gathering documentary and production enterprise. They have performed as a musical duo in Italy, Germany, and across the U.S. The Klines have worked extensively in festival planning, moderating panels, and showcasing narrative artists, always drawing out a diversity of voices and views. They teach classes in oral history gathering, Appalachian history and singing.
Tune into the Talking Across the Lines podcast.