Special Events


Maybe it was sitting day after day in The Hub and hearing those timber trucks thrum from Wilmington to Asheville, or listening to tobacco farmers talk about “big leg” and “blue mold,” how the cooks barged through the aluminum swing doors to replenish the steam table with vats of fried chicken and okra and I’d hear for a split second gospel singing from the kitchen. The waitresses at The Hub kindly replenished my coffee as I filled legal pads with scribbled poems, one after another – enough poems for what looked like a book. The book that would become Anson County. And then our son, Jacob, was born – a baby boy – an event that can surely be explained by science, but not satisfactorily by my lights. The muse is always an unfathomable presence.

--Joseph Bathanti