One Christmas, Tom T. Hall Hung Thirteen Stockings for the Dogs—and Opened Fox Hollow to Children Whose Parents Were in Prison At Christmas in 1977, thirteen stockings hung above the fireplace at Tom T. Hall’s home. Every one belonged to a basset hound. The dogs were part of the unruly household Miss Dixie Hall had created at Fox Hollow, the couple’s sixty-acre farm outside Nashville. On that cold December morning, however, the rooms were also filled with children brought up from Chattanooga. A television crew had arrived to film a holiday special, but the children were not actors or relatives assembled for the camera. They lived at Bethel Bible School, a residential home serving children whose parents were incarcerated. Hall had been quietly helping support the institution for years. Each spring, he organized a celebrity golf tournament to raise operating money. A 1978 profile reported that his contributions had become so substantial that he was regarded as nearly the home’s sole financial supporter. He refused to publicize several other charities because he did not want people examining his motives. The scene at Fox Hollow was far removed from Hall’s own Kentucky childhood. He had grown up in a family of ten children and remembered one Christmas waiting late into the night for older brothers and sisters returning from industrial jobs in the North with whatever gifts they could bring. By 1977, “Harper Valley P.T.A.,” “The Year Clayton Delaney Died” and his own hit records had given him a beautiful farm, a writing cabin and enough money to make Christmas easier for children outside his family. The television production did not proceed smoothly. One compressor failed. A replacement brought from town also broke. While the crew tried to repair its equipment, the children moved constantly through the den, past a leather sofa, a door reportedly taken from a British castle and the thirteen dog stockings hanging over the fireplace. Hall had written some of country music’s most exact portraits of people overlooked by respectable society. At Fox Hollow, that instinct did not end when he put down his pen. The holiday program could be filmed again. The children’s home had to remain open after the cameras left, and that was the part Tom T. Hall kept paying for.

“Scroll down to the end of the article to listen to music.”

INSIDE FOX HOLLOW, WHERE TOM T. HALL MADE ROOM FOR CHILDREN, ANIMALS AND PEOPLE NASHVILLE OVERLOOKED

The television crew had brought its cameras to Fox Hollow for a Christmas special. Then the equipment began failing.

A compressor attached to the videotape recorder stopped working. Someone went back into town for another one. The replacement failed too.

While the adults discussed machinery, children moved in and out of the den. Thirteen stockings hung from the mantel, all bearing the names of Miss Dixie Hall’s basset hounds. One of the dogs occupied the leather sofa. Beyond the house were white fences, ponds, barns and sixty acres of winter ground outside Franklin, Tennessee.

The children had come from Chattanooga’s Bethel Bible School. Despite its name, it functioned as a residential home for children whose parents were in prison.

Country audiences knew Tom T. Hall as the Storyteller. The world inside Fox Hollow showed what happened when he encountered lives he did not intend to turn into songs.

Ten Children in a Kentucky House

Tom Hall was born near Olive Hill, Kentucky, in 1936. He grew up in a family containing ten children, six of them boys. Money was thin, work came early, and privacy was difficult to find.

One Christmas remained clear in his memory.

Snow had made travel dangerous. Hall and the younger children waited for their older brothers and sisters, who had gone north to work in industrial cities and were supposed to return carrying gifts. The day passed. Night came. The children grew tired before the absent family members reached the house.

Hall did not later describe the memory as a charming piece of rural nostalgia. What remained was the waiting—the knowledge that Christmas depended upon working relatives making it home through bad weather with whatever they had managed to buy.

His mother died when Tom was young. His father, a minister, was shot and wounded during an argument, an event Hall later drew upon when writing “The Little Lady Preacher.” At fifteen, Tom lost his father as well.

Before Nashville turned him into a professional storyteller, he already understood how quickly a crowded house could become quiet.

The Farm Beyond the White Fences

Tom and Dixie Hall purchased Fox Hollow in 1969, just as his songwriting career was expanding into national fame.

The property sat along Berry Chapel Road between Franklin and Brentwood. Visitors approached through long white fences trimmed in red. There were ponds, woods, pastures and enough distance from Nashville for the city’s business to lose some of its volume.

Hall built a writing cabin on the grounds. A small chapel stood nearby. He tended the farm, kept animals and used the quiet to write about people encountered in diners, bars, jails, buses and small towns.

Fox Hollow became a physical extension of his songs. A one-legged chicken, a basset hound and other farm characters entered his writing. When two young nephews spent a summer exploring the property, their questions drew Hall’s attention toward things adults had stopped noticing.

Those walks produced the material for Songs of Fox Hollow, his 1974 record subtitled Songs for Children of All Ages.

Yet the farm’s relationship with children extended beyond an album.

The Children From Chattanooga

Bethel Bible School provided a home for children whose parents were incarcerated. Their circumstances occupied a difficult space: the children had committed no crime, but imprisonment had removed the adults responsible for their daily care.

Hall became closely involved with the institution during the 1970s.

He organized annual celebrity golf tournaments in Chattanooga, bringing country entertainers and other participants together to raise money. Contemporary trade coverage described the tournament as strictly charitable. By the time Country Music magazine visited Fox Hollow in 1977, the publication reported that Hall was regarded as nearly the school’s sole source of support.

That claim reveals the scale of the commitment, but Hall resisted turning it into a public identity.

The same profile noted that Bethel was only one of several causes he supported. He would not permit the others to be listed. Publicity, he believed, might force him to wonder whether generosity had become another performance.

Bethel was visible because the children themselves were standing inside his house.

Christmas Without a Script

The television special was intended to show how Tom and Dixie celebrated Christmas. Fox Hollow supplied more material than any producer could arrange.

Dixie’s basset hounds moved through the rooms. Jonathan Rebel, the real dog behind one of Hall’s best-known children’s characters, occupied a place among the people. Thirteen canine stockings lined the mantel.

The children from Bethel moved in a steady stream through the den while the crew struggled with its broken equipment. The setting included elegant furniture and architectural pieces collected by the Halls, including a door said to have come from a British castle.

The contrast could easily have been packaged for television: a songwriter raised in Kentucky poverty welcoming disadvantaged children into the grand home purchased by his success.

The actual morning was less orderly. Dogs needed attention. Children grew restless. Machines refused to work. Adults waited for instructions.

Fox Hollow did not behave like a set because it was not one.

Miss Dixie’s House

Dixie Hall was essential to the life of the farm.

Born Iris Lawrence in England, she had already entered Nashville’s music world before marrying Tom. She wrote about country music, worked in publishing and co-wrote “Truck Drivin’ Son-of-a-Gun,” a hit for Dave Dudley.

At Fox Hollow, she filled the property with basset hounds, peacocks and other animals. Tom later said that he and Dixie had promised never to fire a gun on the land. During hunting season, wild turkeys and other animals gathered close to the house as if they understood where the safe boundary began.

Dixie’s work was not confined to caring for animals. Her knowledge of publishing and songwriting made the marriage a professional partnership as well as a domestic one. In later years, when Tom withdrew from regular touring and recording, the balance shifted further.

Dixie began writing bluegrass songs at extraordinary speed. Tom joined her. Their farm became a meeting place for singers and writers who existed beyond the center of commercial country radio.

The room had changed, but there were still people moving through it.

The Kennel Becomes a Studio

After Dixie stopped breeding basset hounds, the couple converted part of the former kennel into a recording studio.

The transformation suited Fox Hollow. A space once filled with dogs became a control room and a series of recording booths. Young musicians came to work. Established players returned for projects that mattered more artistically than commercially.

The Halls created publishing companies and a record label to support bluegrass material. They wrote for performers, encouraged inexperienced artists and helped people who did not arrive with the resources expected in Nashville’s professional studios.

Tom’s role changed. During his hit-making years, other singers had carried his songs onto the charts. At Fox Hollow, he and Dixie could help carry other people into rooms where their work might be heard.

The farm had begun as a retreat from the music business. It gradually developed its own small music business—one built close enough to the kitchen that songs, meals, animals and conversation remained difficult to separate.

The Children’s Songs Return Home

In 2011, producer Peter Cooper and a group of Nashville musicians returned to Fox Hollow to remake Songs of Fox Hollow.

The original record had grown quietly across generations. Children who heard it in the 1970s had become parents. Some wanted the songs available for their own families.

By then, the property had aged with Tom and Dixie. The woods remained. Peacocks guarded the grounds. The ponds and old rooms carried decades of visitors.

The new version brought artists including Bobby Bare, Patty Griffin, Duane Eddy, Jim Lauderdale and Elizabeth Cook into Hall’s world. They were not simply covering a children’s album. They were revisiting the physical place that had taught Hall to look closely at dogs, birds, nephews, weather and small lives moving at adult knee level.

The studio inside the former kennel allowed Fox Hollow to record its own memory.

The Work After the Applause

Tom T. Hall’s best-known songs often begin with a meeting. He encounters an old man in a bar, a musician in a small town or a group of people whose conversation contains more truth than a polished speech.

His work at Fox Hollow followed a similar pattern but did not require the encounter to become material.

The children from Bethel did not emerge as characters in a hit single. Their parents’ circumstances were not shaped into a dramatic refrain. Hall raised money, let them occupy his home and returned the next spring to organize another tournament.

That restraint belongs to the same artistic instinct that made his songs convincing. He noticed people without claiming ownership of them.

The difference was that, at Fox Hollow, noticing sometimes required more than writing.

What Fox Hollow Really Leaves Behind

Fox Hollow contained several versions of Tom T. Hall’s life at once.

There was the Kentucky child who remembered waiting for Christmas gifts. There was the successful writer who bought a large farm after “Harper Valley P.T.A.” changed his circumstances. There was Miss Dixie with her dogs, publishing knowledge and enormous private energy. There were nephews discovering the natural world, children arriving from Chattanooga, young musicians entering the kennel studio and wild turkeys gathering near the house during hunting season.

The television crew had come looking for a holiday portrait. Its equipment failed because equipment sometimes does.

The rooms continued without it.

Children crossed the den. Dogs occupied the furniture. Dixie managed the household. Somewhere beyond the main house stood the cabin where Hall could return to his typewriter when the visitors were gone.

The camera trouble survives as a small comic detail. The more durable record lies elsewhere: for years, money from a famous songwriter’s golf tournament traveled back to Chattanooga, helping keep beds, meals and supervision available for children paying the private cost of an adult’s imprisonment.

Fox Hollow looked like the place Tom T. Hall escaped to after success.

For many of the people who entered it, the farm was where he made space after success had already given him more than he needed.

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One Christmas, Tom T. Hall Hung Thirteen Stockings for the Dogs—and Opened Fox Hollow to Children Whose Parents Were in Prison At Christmas in 1977, thirteen stockings hung above the fireplace at Tom T. Hall’s home. Every one belonged to a basset hound. The dogs were part of the unruly household Miss Dixie Hall had created at Fox Hollow, the couple’s sixty-acre farm outside Nashville. On that cold December morning, however, the rooms were also filled with children brought up from Chattanooga. A television crew had arrived to film a holiday special, but the children were not actors or relatives assembled for the camera. They lived at Bethel Bible School, a residential home serving children whose parents were incarcerated. Hall had been quietly helping support the institution for years. Each spring, he organized a celebrity golf tournament to raise operating money. A 1978 profile reported that his contributions had become so substantial that he was regarded as nearly the home’s sole financial supporter. He refused to publicize several other charities because he did not want people examining his motives. The scene at Fox Hollow was far removed from Hall’s own Kentucky childhood. He had grown up in a family of ten children and remembered one Christmas waiting late into the night for older brothers and sisters returning from industrial jobs in the North with whatever gifts they could bring. By 1977, “Harper Valley P.T.A.,” “The Year Clayton Delaney Died” and his own hit records had given him a beautiful farm, a writing cabin and enough money to make Christmas easier for children outside his family. The television production did not proceed smoothly. One compressor failed. A replacement brought from town also broke. While the crew tried to repair its equipment, the children moved constantly through the den, past a leather sofa, a door reportedly taken from a British castle and the thirteen dog stockings hanging over the fireplace. Hall had written some of country music’s most exact portraits of people overlooked by respectable society. At Fox Hollow, that instinct did not end when he put down his pen. The holiday program could be filmed again. The children’s home had to remain open after the cameras left, and that was the part Tom T. Hall kept paying for.

A Doctor Told Roy Rogers and Dale Evans to Put Their Baby Away. They Took Her Home. After Robin Elizabeth Rogers was born in August 1950, a doctor advised Roy Rogers and Dale Evans to place their daughter in an institution. Robin had Down syndrome and a serious heart defect. The doctor warned that she might not live long and that caring for her would take attention away from the other children in the Rogers household. In mid-century America, when children with intellectual disabilities were frequently hidden from public life, the recommendation was not unusual. Roy answered that they would take Robin home. At the time, he and Dale were among the most recognizable entertainers in America. Roy had announced Robin’s birth to a rodeo crowd of roughly 90,000 people. Their films, radio appearances and merchandise presented a bright Western world where good people always found their way safely home. The private reality awaiting them was more fragile: medical appointments, constant vigilance and a child vulnerable to illnesses her body had little strength to resist. Robin lived within the family rather than apart from it. Dale later said that those two years changed the household’s understanding of patience, faith and responsibility. Then mumps passed through the family. Robin developed encephalitis and died on August 24, 1952, two days before her second birthday. Dale responded by writing a small book. Published in 1953, Angel Unaware was only sixty-three pages long and told Robin’s story as though the child were speaking to God after returning to heaven. It was openly religious and deeply personal, but its public consequence reached beyond the Rogers family. Dale had written plainly about raising and loving a child whom many parents of that era would have been urged to conceal. The book became one of the year’s bestsellers. At appearances, parents began bringing children with Down syndrome out to meet Dale—children who had seldom been taken into stores, theaters or large public gatherings because their families expected rejection. That same year, a group of Oklahoma parents established a school for children with developmental disabilities. After reading Angel Unaware, they named it for Dale. The organization eventually became the Dale Rogers Training Center, providing employment and support services far beyond its original classroom. Roy Rogers spent his career playing a cowboy who brought people safely home. With Robin, he did something quieter. He refused to send his own child away.

Bobby Bare Jr. was five when his father placed him beside a studio microphone and let him ask a string of impossible childhood questions. Shel Silverstein had written “Daddy What If” as a conversation between a boy and his father. Bare did not polish the child out of the recording. His son’s small voice, uncertain timing and complete trust were the reason the song worked. Released on Lullabys, Legends and Lies, it reached No. 2 on the country chart in 1973. Television producers noticed. The Bare family followed with Singin’ in the Kitchen, an informal album featuring Bobby’s wife, Jeannie, and their children Cari, Shannon and Bobby Jr. For one summer, the family traveled and performed together. There was an obvious commercial future available. Bare ended it. When Hee Haw wanted to hire Bobby Jr. after the children appeared on the show, his father said no. He had enjoyed making the records with them, but he did not want his son living inside the attention given to a successful child performer. Bobby Jr. later remembered that his parents removed the children from entertainment because they did not want them becoming washed-up performers before reaching their teens. The decision carries additional weight beside Bare’s own childhood. His mother died when he was five—the same age his son was when they recorded “Daddy What If.” His father could not support three children alone, and the family was divided among relatives and neighbors. By fifteen, Bobby was working on farms and in factories. Fame had finally given him the money to keep a family together. He would not allow fame to reorganize that family around itself. Bobby Jr. eventually became a musician, but he returned as an adult and chose a harder, noisier path far outside his father’s shadow. In 2005, he produced The Moon Was Blue for the elder Bare. By then, the little boy had acquired his own voice. His father had helped preserve the years in which he was allowed to find it.