By Rebecca Stern for The Daily Yonder.
Broadcast version by Nadia Ramlagan for West Virginia News Service for the Public News Service/Daily Yonder Collaboration

In the halls of Southeast Kentucky Community & Technical College during the day, and on the grounds of Cowan Community Center at night, the Cowan Creek Mountain Music School [CCMMS], referred to by staff and participants as "Cowan," did more than just celebrate Appalachian music.

After two years of Covid-19 prevented a safe in-person learning experience, Cowan returned, this time with a renewed commitment to diversity and inclusion. The overall structure of the program has not changed. It features morning classes, with students ranging from kids to older adults, that are taught in a call and response style, rather than with written music. Lyrics are not googled. For tunes like "Groundhog," the beginner class created their own lyrics or got them from another staff member. Every afternoon, there are masters concerts, jam sessions, and workshops like beginning flat foot dancing and Old Regular Baptist line singing. At night, there are outdoor faculty concerts and square dances.

A More Diverse, and Inclusive, Appalachian Music School

What made this year's iteration of the music school unique were the extra steps administration took to make the old time Appalachian music camp and community more inclusive of people not traditionally represented or talked about in Appalachian music.

Efforts included a workshop on breaking the silence around LGBTQ+ people in traditional Appalachian music; a faculty member - an immigrant to Kentucky from Ecuador - who taught Andean music and instrument-making; and a public recognition of all the tunes Cowan teaches from the Appalachian repertoire that have links to the African-American community. There were classes on the African origins of the banjo, and the school welcomed a primarily-female Latin Alternative group, LADAMA, whose ensemble included four women from four different countries.

"I absolutely think [Cowan] is where we get to build the Appalachia we want for everybody," said Larah Helayne, a 20-year-old queer, Appalachian musician and teacher's assistant for the beginner banjo class at CCMMS.

During a workshop on the lived experiences of some of the LGBTQ+ staff at Cowan, Helayne and two other panelists spoke and led the community in songs about being queer in Appalachia and queerness in Appalachian music. Panelists, including Helayne and Sue Massek, a member of Reel World String Band, which is sometimes called "Kentucky's feminist hillbilly band," opened-up conversation about feeling a need to hide queerness when performing, experiencing microaggressions, and the lack of public recognition for queer people in Appalachian music.

"You have to understand that marginalized people, Black people, queer people, Latinx people, and other people of color have always been in Appalachia," said Helayne. "We have always been here and we always will be, and we're not going anywhere."

The Importance of Community

Community is integral to Appalachian music. Several times throughout the camp, participants were reminded that this music was meant to be played together, in jams with other instruments, not solo. Helayne spoke about the joy of finding themselves at an all-queer jam at the Parkway Inn (a traditional night jam spot, given that the Parkway is where most participants and staff stay during the week).

LADAMA members also recognized the importance of community in Appalachian music, sharing translations for words like "jam" and "square dance" in their own languages.

Maria Fernanda Gonzalez, a member of LADAMA from Venezuela, explained that "for us, it's important to come here to find the connections and the bridge that we can build with music that's made around community."

Fernanda Gonzalez also addressed the lack of gender diversity in the music industry, an issue that exists across borders. "As a woman ensemble that creates music, as a collective...we are writing original music and that's still rare... It's important to talk about the diversity of the music industry," she said.

"No matter what country we're from, we're still facing challenges as women," added Daniela Serna, a member of LADAMA who is from Colombia.

Change Is a Process

Staff emphasized that there are other important steps Cowan must take for diversity, equity, and inclusion. Helayne named some things they would like to see, like more faculty of color and an endowed scholarship for students of color, as well as pronouns on name tags to avoid misgendering.

Executive director Carla Gover said that making these adjustments, and giving audiences and program participants a fuller picture of Appalachian music, is very important to Cowan. But these changes are not seamless and don't always come quickly in a community that puts so much emphasis on tradition.

"There were concerns expressed about how we should be a music school and not explore political issues, fears of attack from right wing groups that have made trouble for some other organizations in Eastern Kentucky of late, and a worry that some parents might not let their youth attend camp if we openly speak about LGBTQ+ issues," said Gover.

Ultimately, the CCMMS administration decided that because Appalachian music has always been political - from songs about coal mining unions, to tunes about environmental awareness by artists like Jean Ritchie - Cowan would continue to strive for more diversity, inclusivity, and cultural-historical context.

Gover added that this year's focus on diversity and inclusion doesn't supplant the school's original mission to center the living traditions of Kentucky artists and educators. Cowan is still committed to honoring this aim, especially because there is a long history of non-Appalachians teaching, explaining, and performing Appalachian music. At times this has led to misinformation, harmful stereotypes, and even cultural appropriation for financial gain, what Gover jokingly calls faking "holler cred."

"We want to make sure that 'Y'all are welcome' means 'All are welcome,' and that folks of all stripes and persuasions can feel that. Which sometimes means creating a space for tender or difficult conversations - bookended by songs, of course!" said Gover.

After all, at the end of the day, Cowan Creek Mountain Music School is really about the music.

Rebecca Stern wrote this article for The Daily Yonder.


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By Kate Mothes for Arts Midwest.
Broadcast version by Mike Moen for Minnesota News Connection reporting for the Arts Midwest-Public News Service Collaboration

In Norway, the hardingfele, or the Hardanger fiddle, is deeply woven into the nation's cultural tapestry. From the earliest known iteration made in 1651 by Ole Jonsen Jaastad, the instrument originates from its namesake region, the western district of Hardanger, where it was traditionally used to play wedding music, dances, and other songs.

A Hardanger fiddle looks at first glance like an intricately ornamented violin, with a fingerboard and tailpiece often inlaid with mother-of-pearl, ebony, or bone. It is more lightweight, however, with four slimmer strings, ink decorations on the wooden body, and the scroll at the end often carved into the likeness of a dragon or wild animal.

Another key element of a Hardanger fiddle is the addition of sympathetic strings, which sit in a layer below those that the bow touches, vibrating when the instrument is played and adding a richness to the sound. "You are playing, generally, two notes at once whenever you play a Hardanger fiddle," says luthier Robert "Bud" Larsen, a side effect of the instrument's flat bridge.

Larsen, who is based in Brainerd, Minnesota, was introduced to the art of fiddle-making and restoration with the help of local violin-maker Gunnar Helland. Helland had emigrated to the U.S. from Norway in 1901. After stints in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, and Minneapolis, he established a shop in Fargo, North Dakota, to carry on his family's craft tradition.

"Our family moved into the same building where Gunnar had his shop," Larsen says. "We hung out a lot, and I was very interested in what he was building. When I was in the seventh grade, he gave me an old violin and helped me through the process of restoring it."

Larsen's lifelong love for the instrument was born. Over the next several decades, he would build at least 40 Hardanger fiddles and restore more than twice that many.

Preserving, and Evolving, Tradition

Troyd Geist, state folklorist of North Dakota, is a big fan of traditional culture and history. He focuses not only on the heritage of traditional arts but also sees the potential for craft to contribute to health and a sense of wellbeing. He heads an apprenticeship program where a master artist is paired with a younger person in order to pass along knowledge.

Geist is fascinated by how U.S. makers have gradually evolved the Hardanger fiddle over time. Though the instruments have maintained many of their recognizable features, their designs have become distinctly American.

"For instance, the fiddles in Norway would have different rosemaling designs and different flowers that they really focus on," Geist says. "And the head above the fret is often carved, in Norway, like a lion or a dragon. They do that here, too, but they also carve, instead of a lion or a dog head on the end of it, a buffalo head."

Larsen and others in the community who are passionate about the Hardanger fiddle liken the craft to being similar to language.

"We know that a language that is not willing to change will soon die," says Larsen, who was a linguist in Papua New Guinea for more than 20 years before turning to fiddle making. "If people say a language should be prescriptive and you should write it the way the dictionary tells you to, and speak it that way, then the language will die out because it can't change. And that's the same with Hardanger fiddle music. Because new music is being written, and it's being used in different genres as well, it will stay with us for a long time because the music has learned to adapt to people's interests and cultures."

Both Geist and Larsen agree that it's important to continue to teach others how to make the fiddles, which can sometimes take a novice apprentice up to two years to complete. Some makers seek to protect their secrets, but "if you're not willing to share broadly and freely, the tradition is going to die," Geist says.

A Generational History

First comes the making of a fiddle and then, of course, comes the playing. Arts Midwest's GIG Fund recently supported an event at the Historical and Cultural Society of Clay County (HCS) where more than 220 people attended a concert performed by the Fargo Spelemannslag.

A spelemannslag is a group of folk musicians, often dominated by fiddles.

The wintertime concert featured a song written two centuries ago by Eirik Medås. "Eirik's direct descendant, a high school student named Elsa Ruth Pryor, played a new song that she wrote herself, on a Hardanger Fiddle that she made herself," says Markus Krueger, programming director of HCS.

"Minnesota and North Dakota are the two most Norwegian states in America. For a lot of people in our community, this is the music of their childhood that they remember their parents and grandparents playing," Krueger says, reflecting on the significance of the event. "It's a symbol of Norwegian culture and heritage, and even more than that, it's a symbol of Midwest culture."

The concert featured performances by Bud Larsen and Loretta Kelley, the president of the Hardanger Fiddle Association of America. It was a meaningful showcase of a living tradition, passed down through generations.

"The immigrants brought their fiddles with them, and they kept playing them in America, says Krueger. "They kept making them in America. We still make them and play them today."


Kate Mothes wrote this story for Arts Midwest.

By Ann Thomas for Arts Midwest.
Broadcast version by Mark Moran for Iowa News Service reporting for the Arts Midwest-Public News Service Collaboration

Natural light floods through large windows lining nearly every wall of the Trappist Caskets production facility in northeast Iowa, wrapping it in view of New Melleray Abbey's 3,400 acres, 1,200 of which are abundant in timber.

The storage racks at Trappist Caskets, designed and fabricated by master welder Brother Dennis, stretch six caskets tall between the concrete floor and the rafters that span the length of the shipping bay. This area manages the ebb and flow of production and shipping. The goal is to keep them full at all times. Today, there are several vacancies-demand has been very high.

At first glance, the racks are overwhelming for their enormity, and the realization that each space represents an individual awaiting preparation for burial adds more gravity.

A wealth of midwestern natural resources, combined with the Trappist monks of New Melleray's need to financially support themselves through their own labor and maintain a life steeped in prayer, inspired its entry into casket manufacturing in 1999.

Each casket crafted by monks and employees at this facility in Peosta, Iowa, captures unrepeatable characteristics in walnut, oak, cherry or pine grain. But one casket on the shipping bay's floor this Tuesday stands out. Its design and far deeper red draw the eye quicker than all other cherry caskets in the shelving.

The lone casket served its owner first as a coffee table, its cherry wood aging in open air for 20 years. Rings left by glasses mark the lid's finish. With upholstering completed this morning, and its lid newly reinforced, this old cherry casket is on its way to the funeral home so as to serve the priest in death who purchased it. He will be buried in it within the next few days. Paul Pankowski, Production Manager for Trappist Caskets, notes it isn't uncommon for caskets to be purchased and turned into bookshelves, wine racks, and coffee tables, then for owners to eventually be buried in them.

The design for these have evolved since the cherry wood one was built. Recent interest in green burials necessitates biodegradable joinery and alternate handles, meaning designs continue to evolve.

Pankowski oversees all aspects of production on the circuitous workshop floor, and can identify by eye where boards moving their way through originated. He points out lighter tones that range through black walnut of Wisconsin and Missouri. Iowa's distinguishes itself from all others by richness of its depth, and the incomparable hardness of central Iowa's oak dulls blades quicker than any other wood. The whiteness and clarity of pine harvested from the monks' own land is easily recognizable in contrast to pine sourced from other areas.

For Brother Joseph, it's hard to believe the growth of this work. From the production facility's modest beginnings in the monks' barns to the far reaching ties maintained through prayer and memorial tree plantings for those buried in Trappist Caskets and their families-the span is remarkable.

Brother Joseph, who began in those barns in 2006 and continues to work in varied roles from woodworking to upholstering in the new facility completed in 2007, recalls how cramped and dusty the barns were. He stresses how critical the employment of nearby community members is now - to meet the high demand for their caskets and to ensure the monks' freedom to maintain the rhythm of monastic life.

The monks' concern for land stewardship led Brother Joseph to pursue the hire of their full-time forester, John Schroeder, six years ago. Schroeder is initiating large scale prairie restoration and reforestation projects which prioritize the needs of New Melleray Abbey's land and creeks lying on the cusp of Iowa's Driftless region. It is an area spared by the grinding weight of glaciers moving out of the midwest around 12,000 years ago. This land's delicate ecological balance and exceptionally rich soil are responsible for traits found in the trees that grow here.

Among the most grateful customers Trappist Caskets serves are parents who must bury their children. The monks offer these caskets free of charge. Funeral homes and hospitals are quick to connect families in these tragic circumstances to the monks. The Federal Trade Commission's Funeral Rule ensures that consumers are not limited to caskets offered by funeral homes for purchase and use, and anyone is free to contact Trappist Caskets, whose staff is always ready to guide families through meeting needs.

Trappist Caskets' employees can relate to this devastating experience. Production Manager Paul Pankowski and his wife lost a premature baby, and his first-hand knowledge infuses compassion in every step of the production process. His three-decade long experience within strict quality parameters of the custom kitchen cabinetry business prior to working at Trappist Caskets also informs his approach to all he does.

While the end goal of both industries is perfection, his purpose, as well as all who work at Trappist Caskets, is not to turn a profit, but rather offer an encounter with beauty and consolation during a time of grief.


Ann Thomas wrote this story for Arts Midwest.


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An art installation intended to jump-start social commentary about the treatment of immigrants has found a permanent home in Albuquerque.

In 2019, three bright pink and yellow teeter-totters were temporarily installed near a portion of the U.S.-Mexico wall near Sunland Park, New Mexico. The installation, meant to allow children and adults to interact on both sides, generated worldwide news coverage about the treatment of immigrants.

Josie Lopez, head curator of the Albuquerque Museum, said one of the three teeter-totters is now on permanent display, a reminder of its impact.

"When you see these kids on both sides of the border riding the teeter-totters it really flies in the face of this harmful language about people who are coming into the United States from our southern border," Lopez observed.

Lopez noted the Albuquerque teeter-totter is now part of the museum's exhibit called "Common Ground," designed to honor the artistic and cultural achievements of the U.S. Southwest. A second teeter-totter is on display at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.

Immigration is a significant issue for New Mexico and Lopez emphasized the art piece calls attention to why bridges such as a teeter-totter or seesaw are more effective than walls.

"I think that there's this incredible power of art to create the conversation to deter those folks who fail to see the humanity in what's happening and who insist on making it political," Lopez contended.

The art piece was created by architect Ronald Rael and designer Virginia San Fratello.


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