Rural Voices Radio:
Writing About the Places Called Home
National Writing Project

Beneath the shadows Of oak and poplar The emerald light of afternoon And dusty shadows are intertwined And hide a lake of periwinkle Wild roses climbing the branches of rowen and holly. The single white tree Ancient and stately stands The smaller spikey ones Are gathered ’round like children Dressed in berries to listen to tales Drafted in trailing vines in mountain forests. — Morgan Mullins, Kentucky high school student Poems like Morgan’s are among the offerings that sing on Rural Voices Radio, Volume III, released in spring 2003. In the 13-part series of half-hour radio programs, students and their teachers from across the country read original writings. The series’ distinctive blend of stories, essays, poems, music, song, and local sounds celebrates excellence in America's rural schools as well as the universal importance of the place we call home.

The first spoken word project of the National Writing Project, the Rural Voices Radio series emerged in 1999 from a collaboration with the Rural School and Community Trust. Produced by award-winning producer Deborah Begel (Fresh Air, Selected Shorts) and narrated by Kim Stafford, each half-hour program communicates the significance of place as an inspiration for good radio, strong writing, and effective classroom teaching. NWP offers Rural Voices CDs at no charge to non-commercial radio stations nationwide, to educators upon request, and to all 175 local and state writing projects in its network. In winter 2003-04, NWP anticipates making available a tool kit with lessons, teaching guide and other instructional resources.

For students, Rural Voices Radio helps connect writing, reading, and speaking; educators say that producing original CDs inspires student writing, helps students understand the concept of voice, and offers helpful approaches to teaching the social sciences. For listeners, the programs are a bridge to new places, perspectives, and cultures.

See below for selections from Rural Voices Radio, Volume III, which features contributions from teachers and students in eastern Kentucky, the south Texas borderland, the Red River Valley of North Dakota, and northeastern Nevada. For audio clips, go to the Rural Voices Radio website.

Eastern Kentucky: Sweet Dreams of Home

Pow
by Travis Dixon

My cousin Jack and I were on our way to a farm in the country to deer hunt. I was a nervous wreck. “Kid Rock Song Cowboy” on the radio took my mind off my fears for awhile. On our way, we saw three bucks, two does and a fawn. We got to a spot where old haybill sat in a field of green grass. Perfect, I thought. I was wrong.

After sitting there for a longtime and not seeing anything, we decided to pack it up for the day. By this time it was dark and hard to see. As we were driving away, I was doubtful of any sightings, but there she stood. A big beautiful doe and a small fawn stood in the creek below us. I looked at Jack and said, “Stop, stop. There’s a doe.”

He stopped the truck, and my heart was racing in excitement, fear, and guilt for what I was about to do. Afraid of scaring it away, I stuck the gun out the window, illegal. I took aim through the high-powered scope but had to aim high to avoid the fawn. I took the shot. Pow. The deer ducked and ran off. “You got her,” Jack said, “Good shot.”

She ran about 500 yards and dropped in a briar patch. The fawn just stood there in shock. We got out and followed the blood trail. We found her, still alive and bleeding profusely from the bullet wound. My cousin did something that will stay in my mind forever. He cut her throat, and she died. I just about cried for what I had done. I had taken this fawn’s mother.

Crossings: Border Voices Along the Rio Grande (South Texas)

St. Ygnacio, San Ignacio
by Teresa Daniel Moss

St. Ygnacio and San Ignacio.
Same name, different countries.
San Ignacio, Mexico is a beautiful land filled with trees, grass, and animals—mostly horses.
Here we have the same trees, grass, and animals.
We also share the birds—there are cardinals, orioles...
The birds don't know about the border, our “frontera.”
Nor do the catfish that feast on sardines in the dark green waters of the Rio Grande.
The catfish don't know why the mojaditos desperately cross the river trying to find a better life for a couple of dollars more.
Some drown, some make it across, some are caught by our border patrol agents.
Those who survive keep coming back for more.

Border
by Juan Medillin

When I was in kinder, my parents used to take me across the border every weekend. One weekend on the way back, I was feeling nervous for no apparent reason. I told my mom something was going to happen, but she told me, “You’re crazy, son.”

When it was our turn to drive up to the immigration officer, he started asking me a lot of difficult questions in English. I was barely learning English then. I think the officer was in a bad mood because he didn’t believe I was going to school in Brownsville. He took my passport card and sent me back to Mexico. After a week my dad got so frustrated that he decided to cross me through the river. It was about 5 o’clock in the morning when he risked my life and his. He hired two poleras, those guys who know the lonely places in the river.

We were walking through a long field. I got so tired I started to cry because I could not rest my feet. We got to the place where I was going to cross. My father told me, “Don’t be scared.” The water was running very fast and I could see little swirls in it. It was a chilly day and my body felt stiff. One of the poleras was helping my dad inflate a plastic tire to float in the water. My dad helped me get on top with him. We crossed the river and he told me, “We did it, son!” We walked through the woods until we got to a gas station where some friends were waiting for us to give us a ride.

Now I’m about to become a U.S. citizen. I’m attending college and looking forward to becoming a border patrol agent.

Something Holds Us Here: Writings from the Red River Valley (North Dakota)

The North Dakota Fall
by David Leo Grant

The wind seeps through the cracks of the door whispering to me to listen. I listened, and I heard a flock of geese flying by, heading south. I hear the leaves falling and the trees swishing in the cold, constant wind.

Then all of a sudden the cold wind stops. I see a light. I see my grandma coming to visit me. She comes in and automatically says, “ It’s freezing in here. Turn up the heat a little.” She glances out. “Do you want to walk down to the lake and look at the stars?” I answer, yes.

We gather blankets and warm water for hot cocoa. Finally, we make our way down to the lake. While we are walking a cold breeze hits my stone gray face. We get down to the lake and cover up with our soft blankets. Behind them I see the Northern Lights moving like the cold wavy waters of the Arctic Ocean.

Our Land, North Dakota
by McKenzie Schneider

Blustery winds bite my nose with their ancient secrets.
I hear the spirit calling my name.
The evergreen trees are whispering above the quiet.
Gunshots from hunters travel through the tall grass.
It’s life or death for the animals.

A red river pours over our Dakota territory,
Rushing across the gravel roads, flooding the streets.
People and animals are running.

Summers warm us as gentle winds blow more softly.
Sunroofs open as we see down country roads.
My hair is flying everywhere.
Birds fly in flocks across the sky.

Northeast Nevada: They Walk The West

My Life
by Kit Julianto

Everyday I do the same thing. I feel the same way. Even though I try to change, I still feel lost, unwanted, and sometimes I feel like I don’t belong here or there. Sometimes I feel stupid and dull. But I still try to live and have fun. To do that, I look forward to the powwows to come. I talk about powwows all the time. That is because it is the only thing I am good at. It is a place where I belong, where I feel free.

My family dances and sings. We have our own drum group. We travel around to powwows every summer. It’s kind of hard. Sometimes we don’t have enough money to get through, but we make it.

Rural Voices Radio, Nevada Style by teacher Dave Charlebois The job just sort of crept under my skin and slowly became an all-consuming mission. Writing Project voices whispered the existence of a wonderful CD filled with the stories and poems of students and teachers about the places they lived. These writings, recorded by the authors, were woven together with music and narration creating an aural delight. When I heard about the production I was impressed. I was also asked if I would like to learn more about the possibility of making a similar CD featuring Northeastern Nevada voices. Since I would have to learn about it in Baltimore, Maryland, I couldn’t possibly refuse. >>Read more