A Return to Leatherwood

In the summer of 2002, I took a trip that stitched itself deep into my heart—a return to Leatherwood, Menifee County, Kentucky, where my Grandma Hazel’s people once walked those hills and hollers.

Daddy was drivin’ the van, Aunt Ruth ridin’ shotgun, and tucked behind them were Aunt Gertha and Aunt Dorothy in the middle seat. Momma and I were sittin’ in the back, just takin’ it all in. We were somewhere along what I think was Route 713 when a road crew flagged us down, slowin’ traffic. One feller waved us on, but Aunt Gertha—who knew half the state—hollered, “Stop, Ishmael! Stop!”

Daddy hit the brakes and rolled down the window. Aunt Gertha leaned out, eyes sharp, and asked, “Who are you?!”
The man blinked, a little taken aback, and replied, “Well... who are you?!”
Without missin’ a beat, she said, “I’m Gertha Holder! Now who’re YOU?!”
“I’m Lester!” he replied.
Aunt Gertha’s face lit up. “Lester? Lester Rogers?! I know who you are—we’re kin!”

And just like that, two threads of the same family quilt were stitched back together. From there we rolled on down the road until Daddy pointed, “Here’s Leatherwood.” I reckon he was ready to keep driving, but Aunt Gertha wasn’t havin’ it. She insisted he pull into the little driveway in front of that old house. We didn’t know it then, but the woman who answered the door had a connection to our people. Aunt Gertha knew her, of course. We were invited in, and that’s when we learned the house had once been a schoolhouse, beams and all still there. It felt like walkin’ back in time—the kind of place where the walls breathe memory. She told us no one lived down in that holler anymore. Leatherwood Road was overgrown, barely passable unless you had a 4-wheel-drive truck... and even then, you'd best wait for fall. Said the place was full of rattlesnakes in the summer heat. Still, standin’ there on that ridge, lookin’ down into the quiet, overgrown hollow, I felt somethin’ sacred stir. The wind whispered stories I’d never been told, but somehow still knew. That ground held the spirit of our people, the ones who came before, and for a moment—it felt like I was home.

The old Leatherwood schoolhouse—still standing with stories inside.

The road leading into Leatherwood—rattlesnakes and all, they said!

A hillside view, wild and woven with memory.

This path, lined with blooms, winds deeper into family ground.

Where the holler opens up to the sky—I felt like I’d been here before.

"You never really leave the hills you’re born from… they carry you, even when your feet no longer touch their soil."

“Photographs taken during our 2002 trip to Leatherwood, Menifee County, Kentucky— a walk through memory's garden.”