Tag Archives: Jack Beck

Breaking News! Listen Soon (link included) to Hear Wendy

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Wendy has branched out into yet another frontier, broadcast journalism

So after six months of intense education and training as one of their newest Folkways reporters, my first Inside Appalachia story went out Sunday morning. It will run for a week, and then on to the next round.

Wendy…
…and Jack listening Sunday

I have three more stories in the works (no spoilers) and will be looking for more interesting ways to bring folkways to the airwaves in the future. Hint, hint….

The first of anything is usually not one’s best, but the experience was made easier because the people taking me on the hunt were Shawn Means and Amy McLaughlin. Back in 2017 I saw a small advert appear briefly on an Appalachian scholars site, offering a creative residency at Lafayette Flats, a boutique vacation rental in Fayetteville, West Virginia. They gave you all-utilities and one of the flats free of charge; you would buy your own food, have a good time, make art.

The instant I saw it, I wanted to be that artist, but it was competitive, so there was no sense in getting my hopes up–until the day Shawn called to tell me the good news.

I wrote my first novel there (Bad Boy in the Bookstore, Sidekick Press) and have kept up with them casually since then. They were nature enthusiasts even then, so when the mushroom topic came up, I knew where to turn. And my friend Beth O’Connor introduced me to Den Hill. I’m planning to buy an inoculated log from them this winter.

So it went well, and there’s a real kick to hearing something you’ve worked hard on being enjoyed by people. It’s kinda like writing with sound, this radio work. And I look forward to doing more of it. Meanwhile, please enjoy the entire episode, including my mushroom story, via this link, and remember: there are old mushroom hunters, and there are bold mushroom hunters, but there are no old, bold mushroom hunters. Be well and safe!

https://wvpublic.org/mushroom-mania-soul-food-and-aunt-jeanie-inside-appalachia/: Breaking News! Listen Soon (link included) to Hear Wendy

Flying Machines–

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Jack’s guest blog today – – –

Some friends came past the house yesterday, walking their dog, and we got in conversation. They had recently visited a small airfield that is home to a gliding club and that immediately set off a memory for me.

When I was about seventeen years old and heavily into building model planes, I saw an advert in the magazine I subscribed to. It was for gliding vacations at a flying club in Yorkshire. One week of lessons with accommodation and meals.

All my previous vacations had been family affairs by the seaside.

Off I set, by train, to Thirsk, and then by bus to the small village where the lovely old inn was situated, and where I’d be staying along with the others who’d booked up. The village was near the foot of a steep cliff, and the field that was home to the gliding club was on the top.

The way the days went were – after a large breakfast at the inn we got into an ancient land-rover and drove up the hairpin bends to the flying field (and sometimes I got to drive!). Then some theory lessons in the clubhouse, as delivered by the chief instructor, who was Polish and had flown Spitfires during WW2. He was a real character! Then a series of flights – each one starting by hooking the glider to a cable attached to a large winch, being hauled up to around 200 feet, releasing the cable, and then sailing over the cliff.

But then, wonder of wonders, it was like sitting in an armchair in the sky. No engine noise and no whirling propeller in front! Then the search was on for rising air, either a thermal of warm air or an updraft from the cliff face.

The gliders weren’t the sleek machines of today – this was the 1950s and the club had rather boxy Slingsby sailplanes with side by side seats – one for the pupil and one for the instructor. The factory where they were made was nearby, and one of our day trips was to see them being constructed.

The only scary moment I remember is when, as we were floating along at about a thousand feet, a twin jet RAF bomber screamed past us heading to a nearby base.

Ah – memories!

Come back next Wednesday for more from Jack