The Front Porch Sessions: Windows to the Soul with Sue Anderson

To be honest, I was nervous. I am always nervous doing these interviews.

For one, my accent—I’m proud of it, but I always wonder how others see me, if they take me seriously, or if my backwards and goofy nature will offend folks. I wonder if they are expecting some fancy, formal interview, or if they are like me and just want a laid-back, get-to-know-each-other conversation.

Truth is, I’m a natural storyteller at heart. I might be shy in some ways, but then again, I’m completely not.

My accent is thick, my heart is wide open, and heck, if we are being honest, I probably left my shoes sitting right under my office desk when I did this interview.

When I open my mouth, the words don’t always come out as smoothly as they do from my fingertips on this pink keyboard.

I just want to open up my soul and invite everyone onto the porch to see these beautiful moments through my own eyes, exactly the way I felt them.

We might come from different places—some of us say wash rag while others say warsh rag—but I’ve always felt a connection with most of the folks who come through here.

Turns out, we’re not that different at all.

Even so, I was still nervous to meet Susan "Sue" Anderson because I’ve heard such great things about her. But as soon as I introduced myself, she looked right at me and completely caught me off guard.

"So, you're Kayla? I know you," she said. "I read your blogs and articles. You do an amazing job."

Well, bless her heart—and I mean that in the purely good, mountain way, not the pitying kind. Y'all Appalachians know exactly what I mean.

Susan made me feel like a small-town celebrity for the entire hour we talked. Not only because of the compliment. She has this way of making you feel completely seen, valued, and appreciated.

Before it was over, I told her I could have easily stayed right there and talked to her all day.

It’s just that special kind of feeling you get when you’re sitting down and talking with your mamaw—In the mountains, comparing someone to your mamaw is the absolute highest compliment you can give—it means instant safety, warmth, and home.

Usually, eye contact isn’t my thing if I am feeling nervous or shy, but I didn’t have a single bit of trouble looking into Susan’s eyes. Why? Because the moment we made eye contact, I saw exactly who she was.

I felt her genuine, loving, and accepting nature. It made me tear up a few times just listening to her, because you can feel her emotions when she speaks.

These are the things I study when I'm interviewing folks, especially from out of state.

You see, volunteers always come here telling us how absolutely fascinated they are with our mountains—with the way we talk, the resilience in our bones, and the kind of hospitality that doesn’t ask for anything in return.

But truth be told, I’m just as fascinated with them.

I’ve always loved to study people, but to me, this isn't a formal interview—I'm truly learning from them. I get the beautiful privilege of catching little glimpses into who they really are, hearing sweet stories about their grandkids, or getting to know about their dog they are missing back home.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul, and when I looked at Susan, I saw a soul that was purely good.

------A Small World on a Big Mountain

Sue and her husband Craig retired back in 2008 and came down from Indiana to volunteer. She had never met me before and had no idea who my family was—she just knew me from my stories. But as we sat there talking about her very first visits here, we uncovered a little piece of history.

On Sue's first few visits volunteering, she was supposed to work in the library with Phyllis Crouse. But plans changed at the last minute, and she was told they desperately needed a bus monitor for the preschool instead. So, Sue hopped on the bus.

The woman driving that preschool, and still driving that bus to this day? My mother, Amy.

When I told Susan that Amy was my mom, the connection instantly shifted. Susan started telling me about how my mom drove her through these hills, and how she looked out at the sun coming through the trees and told my mom,

"My gosh, you live in heaven. You just live in the most gorgeous place in the world."

If you grew up in these mountains, it’s as normal to you as breathing. You take it for granted until you leave. But hearing Susan talk about my mama—who has been pouring her heart into these preschool kids for over thirty years now—filled me up completely.

It made me realize that Susan didn't just stumble onto my porch by accident.

------Hand in Hand with our People

Susan is the kind of volunteer who rolls up her sleeves and gets right in the middle of where the need is. She joked with me that she quickly learned she didn't have much of a talent for power tools, but she found her absolute joy in our outreach programs, working close with the women and children here.

Over the years, she has stepped in wherever the mission is short-staffed. This week she has worked with her granddaughters along her side to help get our local kids ready for school, personally picking out shoes, socks, and filling backpacks so our babies can walk into the classroom with a sense of excitement.

She’s been found in the baby pantry, assembling bags to support new moms, and organizing donations in the Christmas room. When the big delivery trucks roll in, Sue is right there helping move inventory, packing up senior food boxes, and getting those heavy commodity boxes ready for our elderly neighbors.

Susan and her granddaughters organizing backpacks to support the children in our valley.

------Where the Generosity is "Amped Up"

Susan spent her life in places like West Lafayette and Cincinnati, Ohio. And while those places had their own small-town charms, she told me her heart always gravitated toward rural, close-knit communities where people actually look out for one another.

But the kindness she found here? She says it isn't any different from what she knew growing up—it's just completely amped up.

She told me about the time she sprained her ankle out here. Now, in a lot of places, people might drop a "hope you feel better" and go on about their day.

But not here.

Total strangers went clean out of their way, dropping whatever they were doing just to make sure she was taken care of. That’s just how it is in these hills. Around here, hospitality isn't a chore; it's in our blood.

We take care of our own, and the second you step onto this mountain, you're one of our own.

------Becoming Family in the Hollers

What makes Sue and Craig's story so special is that they aren't from here. They came as outsiders, but they stayed long enough to grow beautiful roots right alongside us.

They didn't just volunteer; they became friends and neighbors.

Susan spoke so lovingly about the people who became her family down here, those people happen to be mine too. She talked about Joyce Sizemore, a faithful and devoted neighbor whose deep devotion to this valley has been a constant source of inspiration and friendship.

And she laughed remembering the smart as a tack, resilient spirit of folks like Mark Smallwood, who once famously hooked up a musical keyboard straight to his truck battery just to make sure a local wedding had music.

"People come here thinking they are going to help," Susan told me, as she looked into my eyes. "But they end up being the ones transformed. You learn humility, gratitude, and resourcefulness from the people who live here."

These powerful experiences teach a lesson that volunteers carry back into their own everyday lives.

That is the real secret of Red Bird Mission.

Folks come from all over the world to serve, but they end up learning from us, loving us, and realizing they just want to be with us.

Before we finished our porch visit, I asked her what she wishes the rest of the world understood about us after everything she's witnessed here.

She said she wishes the world could experience the kindness and hospitality that runs through these mountains. Here, relationships are personal. Neighbors look out for one another. It's a culture built on slowing down, listening, and telling stories.

And she's right. If the rest of the world slowed down enough to look each other in the eye the way Susan did with me, we'd all be a whole lot better off.

It was an absolute joy and pleasure to meet you, Sue. Thank you for being you.

-Kayla Smith