Contributing to A Literary Field Guide to Southern Appalachia while living in Appalachia meant writing from inside a place that is not symbolic to me, but daily. This book asks writers to attend closely—to land, to species, to weather, to scale—and to do so without abstraction. My contribution came from paying attention to what was already shaping my days: the ways the natural world insists on presence, the way human histories sit quietly alongside streams, ridges, and woods.
Being part of this project affirmed that Appalachia is not merely a setting for narrative or metaphor, but a living system of relationships. Writing within that framework required humility and care—an understanding that the poem is only one voice among many, and that the land does not need interpretation so much as respect. The work reminded me that to live here is to be in constant dialogue with more-than-human life, and that poetry can serve as a form of listening rather than declaration.
This contribution felt like a commitment: to write with attentiveness, to honor the specificity of place, and to participate in a shared effort to render Southern Appalachia not as idea or myth, but as a complex, breathing presence—known best by those who stay, observe, and remain accountable to it.