Books like The First American Declaration of Independence? — picked by fans

I have been a colonial-era history buff since I was growing up. Exploring the neighboring forests with my bow and arrow fueled my imagination as a child. I would often visit the North Carolina mountains (which later became my home) with my family, and I learned about the Trail of Tears and Cherokee history. My parents gifted me my first boat in 1973 at age 12, and I have been paddling ever since, with over 400 bodies of water documented in my personal database. We raised our children in canoes, and there is nothing I enjoy more than being out on the water in a wilderness setting and time-traveling back into the spirit of yesteryear.

I have been a colonial-era history buff since I was growing up. Exploring the neighboring forests with my bow and arrow fueled my imagination as a child. I would often visit the North Carolina mountains (which later became my home) with my family, and I learned about the Trail of Tears and Cherokee history. My parents gifted me my first boat in 1973 at age 12, and I have been paddling ever since, with over 400 bodies of water documented in my personal database. We raised our children in canoes, and there is nothing I enjoy more than being out on the water in a wilderness setting and time-traveling back into the spirit of yesteryear.

I have been a colonial-era history buff since I was growing up. Exploring the neighboring forests with my bow and arrow fueled my imagination as a child. I would often visit the North Carolina mountains (which later became my home) with my family, and I learned about the Trail of Tears and Cherokee history. My parents gifted me my first boat in 1973 at age 12, and I have been paddling ever since, with over 400 bodies of water documented in my personal database. We raised our children in canoes, and there is nothing I enjoy more than being out on the water in a wilderness setting and time-traveling back into the spirit of yesteryear.

I have been a colonial-era history buff since I was growing up. Exploring the neighboring forests with my bow and arrow fueled my imagination as a child. I would often visit the North Carolina mountains (which later became my home) with my family, and I learned about the Trail of Tears and Cherokee history. My parents gifted me my first boat in 1973 at age 12, and I have been paddling ever since, with over 400 bodies of water documented in my personal database. We raised our children in canoes, and there is nothing I enjoy more than being out on the water in a wilderness setting and time-traveling back into the spirit of yesteryear.

I confess to being a lawyer, having tried over 250 cases as a defense attorney throughout my career. I am always drawn to themes of oppression of the marginalized, who are our brothers and sisters among us. I am also a constitutional scholar and have taught as an adjunct professor of criminology for 25 years and have a strong belief in individual rights. I have a passion for colonial-era history and the outdoors. Combining those, I have canoed and kayaked close to 400 different “pioneer paddling” grounds in 21 states with a directed focus on locales where pirates plundered, patriots fought, and Native Americans struggled to survive.

I started learning about the Great Forest in the early 1980s, when my husband and I homesteaded a 100 acre woodlot in the Allegheny Mountains of Virginia. Our long back border is with the 1.2 million acres of the George Washington National Forest. So, from the beginning, we straddled the philosophical and ethical differences between private and public lands. As we learned about the devastation done to the Appalachian Mountain forests by private owners who cared for nothing but money, we took lessons from the past to form our own forest management plan aimed at avoiding such excesses. And we became advocates for the protection of national forests from any repeat of the past.

Jennifer Bean Bower is an award-winning writer and native Tar Heel. A passionate student of North Carolina history, Bower seeks to document the lesser-known people, places, and events of her state's past. She is the author of four books: North Carolina Aviatrix Viola Gentry: The Flying Cashier; Animal Adventures in North Carolina; Winston & Salem: Tales of Murder, Mystery, and Mayhem; and Moravians in North Carolina.

I was raised on a dairy farm in Tennessee, and I grew up steeped in my grandparents’ stories about the “hard times before the War” and the challenges of making a living on the land as the southern farm economy was transformed by industrialization and modernization. I learned to appreciate the deep insights found in the stories of so-called ordinary people. As a historian, I became committed to using oral history to explore the way people understood their lives, in my own research and writing and in my teaching. I assigned all five of these books to my own students at Converse University who always found them to be powerful reading.

I’ve written a couple of books about other subjects, but most of my professional life has been devoted to writing, speaking, and teaching about the South. I’ve been doing it ever since I went north to college and graduate school in the 1960s. My early books and articles were written as a sociologist, mostly for other sociologists, but in the 1970s I started writing what I learned to call “familiar essays” for a more general readership, and lately I’ve been writing about Southern foodways—three books about barbecue (so far), one of them a cookbook. I’ve also written several country songs (only one of them recorded).

Racial violence has been on my mind for decades, ever since I encountered the Freedmen’s Bureau Record of Murders and Outrages as a grad student. I didn’t know what prompted the government to gather such data. Later, as a professor directing a Civil War-era research center at Penn State, I sponsored a teacher-training initiative, “Breaking the Silence,” a UNESCO project on the Atlantic Slave Trade. I became starkly aware that most white Americans, myself included, had a poor sense of the brutality enmeshed in our history. This is not meant as a condemnation: without a fuller recognition of this racial past, we will have problems reconciling such issues in our own polarized times.