We rumble our way through graveyards and the skeletal remains of homes, barns and churches, hollow shells of dreams long abandoned. Symbols of hope rot along the roadside, surrendered to time. As we wind deeper between farms and forests, the ruins grow fewer but more desolate, as if we are entering a place few dare to tread. The Appalachian mountains, w…
© 2026 Waylon Graves · Privacy ∙ Terms ∙ Collection notice
Substack is the home for great culture



