In honor of the Hallowe’en season, Misty Skaggs brings you a special series profiling some of the honest-t’-god granny witches from the Appalachian hills and hollers.
i did a really fun coupla’ interviews over at Rabble Lit for Halloween. they’re about Appalachian folk magick and the granny witch tradition. read ‘em! sheesh, i’m giving you the evil eye from here...
I grew up believing that there are things in the world that can’t be understood or explained away. Ghost stories were embellished as they got a little wear, sure. The attic haints, and eerie lights in the woods, and the big black dog trotting up like Death on four quiet paws; those came from a true place. They were believable and believed. They had a point of origin, and they had purpose. The spirituality I witnessed growing up sprouted in the woods as much as it rose up from the aisles of a church. It had an earthy quality. Stars came down to meet plowed ground and make the green beans grow. And where I grew up, witches were real. There’s one in my family lore. Great-Papaw’s Papaw’s second wife was the bad kind of witch. The kind who cursed your crops and would give your baby the croup. Great-Papaw referred to the woman only as Asshole Annie, but he didn’t find it funny when we kids giggled over the cuss word. Asshole Annie was serious business, and Great-Papaw took up the serious business of makin’ sure a tree was planted on her grave to keep her malevolent spirit six-feet-down to stay. There were other witches, too. Women with gifts, women who might be called a little tetched behind their backs, but never called a witch at all. These were women who dug herbs for teas and poultices, and used the deep forest to cure deep wounds...
