In the ancient old mountains of southern Appalachia, serpents are handled in tiny, half forgotten churches worn and washed of sin. Bare floors with hanging light bulbs shine a stark and harsh light on the lives lived within those mountains. It is in these small churches that believers strictly adhere to the literal interpretation of Mark 16:17-18. It is where adherents attend church neatly dressed in faintly outdated slacks and skirts.

The men are clean shaven, the women and girls’ hair worn long. Small children wander among pews and chairs, gently steered away from the serpents, bottles of kerosene and strychnine, the cords to electric guitars, speakers and microphones. Singing and clapping, those who are moved on joyously take up not only serpents, but fire and poison as well in an act of obedience to God, a test of faith, and a demonstration of divine protection. Many bear the scars for their belief, many have died for it. Much like the serpents, believers shed their old skins, their sins, rebirth and baptism offering them new life.

May the images in my book serve as a respectful window into their lives, beliefs, and traditions, fostering understanding and connection from these pages to the rest of the world.