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The newest release by Larry Arrowood is a work of historical fiction about life in Eastern Kentucky. We Saved Ourselves, Kinda is a series of interwoven stories revealing reality in the Appalachian region of Eastern Kentucky during the fifties and early sixties. Though the customs of the highlanders were sometimes unorthodox, and oftentimes the outcomes lacked the ideal results, they prized their independence. To capitulate to government assistance could relinquish cherished freedom, a freedom they guarded with suspicion and aloofness.

These tales from the Cumberland Plateau will bring a chuckle and maybe a tear. Get ready to decipher the strange vocabulary of the mountain folk. Ponder historical facts and discover the blue-skinned people living on Troublesome Creek. Reflect upon the pain when young men left the mountains to serve their country in a distant land. Contemplate the impact when seven million people chose to leave small communities in the Appalachian region and migrate to cities where they worked in factories and rented rundown, houses that lacked both a yard and a front porch: two cherished elements of their tradition. And consider how, through tough times, they managed to save themselves, kinda.

If you enjoy historical fiction and find this era of Eastern Kentucky history to be interesting, you won’t want to miss this great book! Available in both paperback and hardcover from your favorite online or independent retailer or right here on WoodsongPublishing.com.

“You Matter to God” by Larry Arrowood, published by Woodsong Publishing, has reached the #1 position in Amazon’s Religious Sermons category, signifying the book’s resonating impact on readers.

Larry Arrowood’s work, available in paperback and hardcover, is a collection of impactful sermons exploring themes of divine love and individual significance in the eyes of God. It offers profound spiritual guidance and insight for a broad audience.

The book’s success is a reflection of its meaningful message and its ability to touch the hearts of those on a spiritual journey. Larry Arrowood and Woodsong Publishing extend their heartfelt thanks to readers and supporters who have made this achievement possible.

Winter had its challenges in my Appalachian community. Few houses could boast that they had insulation, and none had central heating. Most simply had a coal stove in the corner of the living room. During the fall, each household made winter preparations by scavenging for enough coal to last the winter. We’d learned about hard work from Preacher Charlie’s sermons: “Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise” (Proverbs 6:6).

It was in the cold of winter my widowed Grandma passed, leaving her two teenage sons to fend for themselves. My uncles knew about the Bible ants, but they stretched the context of the verse a mite too far as they prepared for winter with a Robin Hood mentality: stealing coal from passing trains.

The distant whistle of an approaching train brought Billy and Fred running. Feigning innocence, they smiled and waved at the engineer, before grabbing long willow poles hidden in the weeds by the tracks. As the train rumbled by, gusting their hair and driving dust into their squinted eyes, they stood their ground: David against Goliath. Lowering the poles against the top of the passing train, any coal lying on the edge hit the pole and came flying to the ground. The boys tossed their poles into the weeds and gave a friendly wave to the conductor—as if he didn’t know their scheme. They gathered their bounty with delight. Yes, they were expeditious, like the ant—and they looked like ants silhouetted against the huge freight train roaring by.  

I’d like to justify their actions by remembering they were teen orphans. After all, they weren’t taking from the local folks; conversely,  they simply made a few chunks of coal disappear from passing trains. What’s that to an empirical corporation like the Vanderbilt’s? Anyway, the coal could’ve fallen off on its own. And it might’ve hurt someone in the process. So, they could have been doing the train company a favor. After all, it seemed a molehill to the giant company shipping the coal, but it meant a warm house for a couple orphaned teenagers.

Poor decisions that produce a measure of success can create habits of monstrous proportions. When Fred bought his first car—a big yellow ‘55 Buick, straight from the lemon line in Detroit—his excitement sizzled when the engine blew. But he and Billy concocted a plan. They pointed the car towards the edge of a steep embankment, Fred accelerated the knocking engine and leaped from the car as it crashed through the brush towards the North Fork of the Kentucky River. Fred’s miscalculated exit sent him skidding on his elbows—a bit harder than the soft upright landing he’d anticipated. The fake accident turned out a mite more realistic than planned: Fred’s cuts and bruises were proof.

My Momma and Daddy seldom argued, but this event brought on a near-divorce. Momma defended her baby brothers’ honor, after all, she’s named her sixth child after him. But Daddy challenged the collision as something other than an accident. So, Momma went into her silent routine for a couple of weeks until the incident lost momentum as the local gossip at the general store. The insurance company paid up, and Uncle Fred eventually healed up, but the car, upside down at the bottom of the hill, leaked enough lubricants into the North Fork to attract prospectors from Shell Oil. After these many years, I wonder if it’s still there: quite a treasure if someone should choose to restore it.

Woodsong Publishing’s note:

If you enjoyed this blog by author Larry Arrowood, you can take a look at his book, Troublesome Blue, which shares a similar theme of stories from the Appalachian region. Here’s the link: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/troublesome-blue-larry-m-arrowood/1115416647?ean=9780989229111

Time passed slowly in the Appalachians. A year seemed too terribly long to judge time; we judged time by seasons and events. This gave us a safety net from the mundane; still, time crept by sluggishly at best. The farthest we planned ahead was the next major event: Easter, Decoration Day, Labor Day, Halloween, Election Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. That took us to a new year, and the cycle started over. This worked best for us.

There was one more major event: the annual revival meeting. Our isolated community missed the cut on the evangelists’ list of preferred churches. Instead, we made the when-you-absolutely-have-no-other-place-to-preach list. That made us more vulnerable to the upstarts and the has-beens, not to mention the charlatans. And they somehow managed to find us.

News of the revival spread like wildfire in a forest carpeted with pine needles. Gossip fanned the flames, some saying that the evangelistic team might be snake handlers. Heated arguments erupted at the post office, with varying opinions as to the sanctity of such in church. But no matter if you were for or against, folks packed out the church house for the service.

The opening Friday night was hot and sticky, the dead-end road to the church was dry and dusty, and the open windows to our unpainted, clapboard church facilitated the mosquitoes that were thick and hungry.

Me and a friend wondered if the evangelistic team was a snake handlers. And if they were, we speculated as to whether the snakes were real or fake rubber snakes like those won at a carnival. Our curiosity stirred, so we decided to have a look. Upon investigation, sure enough, we discovered a wire-mesh cage in the back of the preacher’s beat-up station wagon.

The crowd gathered long before the service started, talkin’ a plenty. The older folks gathered around the evangelistic team, welcoming them top our community. Children played tag, while the teenagers joined in a game of drop the hanky. So, a couple of seven-year olds hanging around the station wagon provoked no undo suspicion. The snakes seemed real enough, but they weren’t moving, so we poked some sticks through the wire mesh. Sure enough, they were real. The more the snakes struck at our sticks, the more we prodded them. They were mighty riled up before we slipped leisurely away to settle on the pew farthest back in the church house, nearest the door, with a window view of the station wagon. We anticipated the service might be a tad more excitin’ than the evangelistic team anticipated.

The women fanned while the children climbed over the slatted, wooden benches. The men wiped sweat, the teenagers passed notes and shy glances, and we two boys were grinnin’ sheepishly. The praise singers finished, and Pastor Charlie took a love offering for the evangelistic team, whose absence, by this time, created a noticeable concern. But I could see the evangelistic team through the open window, huddling at the back of the station wagon like generals deciding a war strategy. They eventually entered the building, absent their snakes, but carrying a guitar, bass fiddle, and some tambourines. Preacher Charlie turned the service to them and they began to sing.

The latest novel by award-winning author Larry Arrowood.

Larry Arrowood’s storytelling is alive and well in his latest novel, God of Our Fathers. In his tenth title, the three major religions of the world clash in Professor Christopher Stone’s college classroom, and the conflict escalates when someone murders his wife, Eden, in a bombing—a bomb intended for him.

This Christian novel is fraught with suspense while it takes the reader on an intellectual journey through culture, history, and geographical locations full of colorful scenes and fun facts.

Hello all!

After a few months of overhaul, our site is back up! During our absence on the web, we have printed two new titles and have a third ready to go to press. Some of our previous titles are no longer being printed, but we will continue to add new. We hope you find a title that captivates your attention, and we trust that you will keep coming back for more. Kindest regards!

Larry Arrowood

Author/owner Woodsong Publishing