08/28/2026
A Dolly tribute from a friend and former Main Street director in Sevierville. Ashley, at Ashes in Ink, knows how to tell a story and honors the amazing life of Dolly.
There are people the whole world loves. And then there are people the whole world loves who also somehow belong to your hometown. Those are different.
Today, the world lost Dolly Parton. And in Sevierville, Tennessee, I don't think any of us quite know what to do with that sentence yet. Because Dolly wasn't simply a celebrity who happened to be born here. She wasn't somebody whose name we put on a sign because it was good for tourism. She was ours.
I realize we shared her with the rest of you. But before she belonged to Nashville and Hollywood and Broadway and millions of people who have sung "Jolene" at karaoke with wildly varying degrees of success, she was a girl from these mountains. And most of us who claim this place as our hometown have been washed in Dolly's light our whole lives. Quite literally, in some cases. There are an awful lot of sequins involved.
It is difficult to explain what Dolly Parton has meant to Sevier County to someone who doesn't live here. Yes, we adore her because she was Dolly. But she is also woven into the economic fabric of this community so thoroughly that it is nearly impossible to pull one thread without finding her somewhere in it. There are businesses here because of Dolly. There are careers here because of Dolly. There are mortgages that got paid and groceries that got bought and children who got braces because tourists came to these mountains, in no small part, because a little girl from Locust Ridge grew up and decided she could bring some of the world back home with her.
Even those of us whose work seems far removed from tourism aren't really removed from it at all. The truth is, Dolly helped a whole lot of us eat. And she did it while somehow making us feel like we were doing her a favor by showing up. That's a remarkable business model.
But the economic impact isn't the part that hurts today. It's the personal stuff. Because everybody around here has a Dolly story.
Here's one of mine.
My son grew up with Dolly long before he really knew who Dolly Parton was. Through her Imagination Library, books began arriving at our house with his name on them when he was little. To a child, there is something almost magical about getting mail addressed specifically to you, and Dolly made sure children all over these mountains knew that feeling. Long before my son understood fame or philanthropy or what it meant to build an international entertainment empire, he understood something much simpler: Dolly sent books.
Years later, when COVID shut the world down and Dolly began reading children's books online, there she was again—with a book. By then, my son was old enough to understand that the woman who had been his Book Lady was also proof that where you start doesn't have to determine where you finish.
There were years when things were hard. "She did it, Mom," he'd say, and there was always an unspoken, “…and I can do it, too.” Dolly was proof that humble beginnings didn't mean you couldn't thrive. Coming from a little place didn't mean you had to live a little life. You could come from almost nothing and build something extraordinary and still be proud of where you came from.
I will always believe some little piece of his confidence came from growing up in a place where Dolly Parton had already gone first. She did that for an awful lot of children here.
People know about the Imagination Library. They know about Dollywood. They know about the music and movies and rhinestones and wigs. But there are generations of people in this county who also know about the quieter Dolly. The scholarships. The educational opportunities. The families she helped. The things she funded. The things she did that never became a press release. There are people walking around with college degrees because Dolly Parton believed children from these mountains ought to have a chance. And there are acts of generosity we may never know about because Dolly never seemed particularly interested in receiving a proper thank-you. She just kept doing good.
She had every excuse in the world to leave here, become famous and never look back. Instead, she kept reaching backward with both hands.
Which brings me to the other Dolly in my life.
Several years ago, a dear friend who knew how much I loved her sent a package to my office. "Package" is perhaps an inadequate word. This thing arrived looking like someone had shipped me a refrigerator. The delivery driver wrestled it inside. I hadn't ordered anything remotely large enough to require a loading dock, so I opened it with some concern.
And out came Dolly.
Life-sized. Cardboard. Magnificent.
Our Dolly has been a member of the Kellum Creek Business Solutions staff ever since. She doesn't contribute much in terms of billable hours, but morale is excellent. She patiently oversees daily operations. She is always available for a photograph. She never complains about meetings. She has yet to request PTO. The mailman speaks to her when he comes through the front door. At least one Amazon delivery driver does, too.
Nobody finds this particularly strange. That's Dolly. Of course you speak to her.
And, ridiculous as it may sound, Dolly really does have a place in our business beyond the cardboard version standing in the office. When we're wrestling with a decision, someone will occasionally ask, "What would Dolly do?" It's a surprisingly effective business strategy.
Would Dolly treat people that way? Would Dolly take the money if it meant compromising the thing that mattered? Would Dolly make somebody feel small just because she had become big? Would Dolly find a way to turn this into something that helps somebody else?
Usually, the answer becomes pretty obvious.
For months, we've been working hard on something that Dolly would've loved, and a couple of weeks ago, we figured out a way to honor her with that project. I can't tell you all the details just yet. I can only tell you that it mattered deeply to us when we began it. Today, it matters more. Tomorrow, that work continues. But now it carries a weight we never expected it to carry.
I wish we'd had more time.
I suspect an awful lot of us are thinking that tonight. More time to say thank you. More time for another song. Another book in a child's mailbox. Another ridiculous one-liner delivered with that perfectly timed Dolly grin. Another generation of mountain kids getting to grow up knowing that one of the most famous women on Earth came from right here, sounded like their grandmothers and their aunts, loved Jesus, loved people, wore enough rhinestones to interfere with air traffic and never once decided she was too important for home.
The world lost Dolly Parton today. But here in the mountains, where her story started, I don't think she'll ever really be gone.
There will be plenty of beautiful things said about Dolly in the days ahead. There should be. There aren't enough words for a life like hers. But at home in Sevier County, I hope she knew the simplest thing:
We know what she did for us.
Maybe we never managed to thank her properly, but we know.
We know every time another business opens its doors and somebody gets hired. We know when another family makes a living because people still come to these mountains. We know every time a child opens a book with their own name on the mailing label. We know when someone who might never have thought college was possible gets a chance to go. We know every time one of our kids looks beyond these mountains and thinks, “Maybe I can.”
And we'll know tomorrow morning when we get up and go back to work in a town she helped build.
At Kellum Creek, cardboard Dolly will still be standing in the front office. The mailman will probably still speak to her. Somebody will eventually be faced with a difficult decision and ask what Dolly might do.
I imagine we'll keep asking that question for years.
And when we do, I think we'll know the answer.
Do some good. Help somebody. Don't get too big for your raising. Dream bigger than anybody thinks you have a right to. And for heaven's sake, put on a little lipstick.
…Rest well, Dolly. We know what you did for us. And we love you.
