The stark early afternoon sun bore down on Cumberland, Kentucky, and throngs of people were visiting the vendor booths and concert stages of Possumfest, described by the organizers as the weirdest and most wonderful block party around [to] celebrate everyone’s favorite trash cat through art, crafts, games, food, and fun. I, admittedly, had never heard of Possumfest before Reggie Van Stockum invited me to come down. Reggie was one of this year's vendors who made the trek to Cumberland, a town of 1,700. The town sits in the far eastern Kentucky county of Harlan, at the foot of Black Mountain. The towns of Benham and Lynch sit further up the mountain, and both were company towns started and maintained by coal mining companies until the 1960s, when they were incorporated as formal jurisdictions. More on that later.
Here's what I saw at Possumfest.
An opossum is what people typically think of when they picture the animal we all know as a possum—scientific name Didelphis virginiana. (Fun fact: the Virginia opossum, which can be found from northern Costa Rica all the way to Canada, is the only marsupial found north of Mexico.) The name opossum is derived from a now-unknown Algonquin word for white dog or white animal, and existed in varying forms (apossoun and opassom) before its widespread adoption as opossum.
By comparison, English explorers called a similar-looking animal in Australia a possum. Hardliners maintain that, for the marsupial found in North America, you must use opossum, and for the Australian variety—g'day—possum is the only correct spelling. Merriam-Webster, however, couldn't care less.
In Cumberland, though, one spelling was de rigueur: possum. And following their lead, I will use possum throughout.
What is Possumfest?
Now in its fifth year, Possumfest is large: nearly 200 vendors were set up selling books, pottery, clothes, food, art, and plants. I met a couple—whose names I have misplaced—who create custom painted rocks. They were vendors at the 2025 festival and came back for 2026. I learned from them that the festival had expanded this year to two days, Friday and Saturday, and that last year was still a smash hit despite the "gullywasher." There were so many vendors and attendees at Possumfest that these two vendors had to stay across the mountain—and state line, though that seemed to matter less—at a hotel in Virginia, nearly an hour away.
Other vendors were closer to home. Mallory, the owner of Riverside Greenery, was setup just a few blocks from her storefront at 411 West Main Street in Cumberland. I have no green thumb, so that anyone can keep a plant alive, especially in the oppressive heat, is impressive.
True love at Possumfest
Early in the day, I met a possum. I expected no less, of course, but to have it happen within minutes of arriving was a surprise. Her handler told me that there would be a wedding at 4 o'clock and her possum would be the ring bearer. I got a chuckle out of the image and forgot about it until the clock struck four and I saw a crowd begin to assemble near one of the festival's stages.
When I was told a possum would be the ring bearer, I only assumed that the wedding would be between two possums. Oh, how wrong I was.
Kacey and Dale decided to have their wedding in front of the strangers at Possumfest, in a full half-hour ceremony. I, alongside the other attendees, found out the couple's first date was in a cemetery, and Dale proposed to Kacey there, too. As I later found out, Kacey's favorite animal is a possum, and luckily, one was on hand to serve as ring bearer.
Congratulations, Kacey and Dale—you've truly found your person.
What I saw at Possumfest
Among the festival-goers and the crafters and artisans and vendors, and yes, even as a wedding guest, here's what I saw. At Possumfest, I saw a celebration that was uniquely Appalachian and also a celebration of Appalachia.
The entire festival was, ostensibly, about celebrating the possum. Yes, the possum eats ticks and is North America's only marsupial. But beyond that, the possum is analogous to Appalachia itself. When I said I was going to Possumfest, more than a few people turned up their noses and gave me a borderline incredulous "really?" Appalachia is, I believe, a lot like the possum. Misunderstood, demeaned. Not taken seriously. The area boomed in the first half of the twentieth century, when coal mining was still at its height. As the mines closed, the towns dwindled from populations in the tens of thousands to a few hundred.
Possumfest is unapologetic about what it is and where it is. Even the directional signs—directing people to "Pickin' + Grinnin'" (the concert stages) and "Travelin' Merchants" (the vendor area)—would risk appropriation anywhere else. But here, it feels authentic. It feels Appalachian. It feels correct.
