Kittle’s Hardware
Where Every Nail, Every Board, and Every Handshake Tells a Story
Some places survive because they adapt.
Others survive because they never forget who they are.
Nestled in the heart of Union, West Virginia, Kittle’s Hardware is one of those rare places where time hasn’t stood still—it has simply been respected.
Long before the words “shop local” became a slogan, people came through these doors because they knew something far more valuable than merchandise could be found inside.
Knowledge.
Trust.
Community.
As I stepped through the front door, the first thing I noticed wasn’t what was sitting on the shelves.
It was the feeling.
Old wooden floors gently announced every step. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with thousands of items collected over decades—not because someone in a corporate office thought they should be there, but because generations of customers had needed them.
There was no rush.
No one hurried me toward a checkout line.
Instead, there was conversation.
Real conversation.
The kind that has quietly disappeared from much of America.
Within minutes it became obvious that Kittle’s Hardware isn’t simply where people buy tools.
It’s where neighbors catch up after church.
It’s where farmers stop on the way home from the fields.
It’s where young couples begin fixing up their first home.
It’s where grandparents bring grandchildren so they can learn the difference between doing something quickly and doing it right.
But Kittle’s Hardware is more than shelves of tools and supplies.
The walls themselves tell stories.
As I sat and listened to the history of this remarkable placetold by Nick Dalton who was my very informative host, a proud eighth-generation Monroe County native, I found myself drifting back to another era. Long before four-lane highways and smartphones, the streets of Union echoed with the unmistakable sound of Model Ts making their way through town. Families walked these sidewalks, stopping not only to buy what they needed, but to catch up with neighbors, swap stories, and strengthen the bonds of a small Appalachian community.
This wasn’t simply a hardware store.
It was where community happened.
The Kittle family opened the hardware store in 1955, but their story stretches far beyond the products on the shelves. Everywhere you look are reminders of Appalachia’s resilience and ingenuity. Lift your eyes, and one of the first things you’ll notice is the beautiful pressed tin ceiling that has watched over generations of customers. It is the kind of craftsmanship rarely found today—a quiet reminder that quality once mattered in every detail, and that buildings were meant to last as long as the communities they served.
Walking these aisles feels less like shopping and more like wandering through a living museum. Every antique has a purpose. Every shelf has a story. Every conversation reminds you why places like this still matter.
In a world racing toward tomorrow, Kittle’s continues preserving yesterday while faithfully serving today’s community with the same hometown values that have kept its doors open for generations.
Every aisle tells part of Monroe County’s story.
Every shelf represents another chapter in the lives of families who built this community with their own hands.
As I spoke with the people who have dedicated themselves to this remarkable business, one thing became abundantly clear.
They aren’t preserving a hardware store.
They’re preserving a way of life.
A way of life where your word still matters.
Where people know your name before they know your account number.
Where helping someone solve a problem is just as important as making a sale.
Where relationships are measured in decades rather than transactions.
As I listened, I realized this was exactly why I started Front Porch Appalachia.
Not to chase the biggest attractions.
Not to rack up miles on a motorcycle.
Not even to promote tourism for tourism’s sake.
I started this journey because places like Kittle’s still exist.
Because people like these still exist.
Because if we fail to tell their stories, we risk losing far more than old buildings.
We lose the character of rural America itself.
Outside, traffic continued to pass through Union as it always has.
Inside, another customer walked through the front door.
He wasn’t greeted like a customer.
He was welcomed like a friend.
That simple moment said more about Appalachia than any statistic ever could.
For generations, these mountains have produced people who understand that communities aren’t built by governments alone.
They’re built one handshake…
One conversation…
One act of kindness…
One small business…
And one front porch at a time.
As my wife and I prepared for the open road, I looked once more at the storefront standing quietly along the street.
It struck me that thousands of travelers pass through Appalachia every year searching for scenic overlooks, famous landmarks, and breathtaking photographs.
Those places are certainly worth seeing.
But if you really want to understand Appalachia…
Walk through the front door of a place like Kittle’s Hardware.
Pull up a chair.
Listen more than you speak.
Shake a few hands.
Ask someone about their family.
You’ll discover that the greatest attraction in these mountains has never been the landscape.
It’s the people who have called these mountains home for generations.
And if you decide to make the journey yourself, don’t just stop for an hour.
Spend a weekend.
Union and the surrounding mountains invite you to stay a while. You can spend the night in a beautifully restored historic mansion, relax in a cozy mountain cabin tucked among the hills, or enjoy one of the most unique overnight experiences you’ll ever find—a converted Blue Bird school bus resting peacefully in the middle of a cattle field beneath a sky full of stars. The places you stay become part of the adventure just as much as the places you visit.
Because that’s my hope with Front Porch Appalachia.
I don’t just want you to read these stories.
I want you to drive these roads.
Sit on these front porches.
Support these family-owned businesses.
Shake hands with the people who keep these communities alive.
Experience these mountains through your own eyes.
Because once you’ve been here, you’ll discover something I’ve come to believe with all my heart.
Appalachia isn’t a place you simply pass through.
It’s a place that stays with you long after you’ve gone home.
As we eased onto the road and headed toward home, the sun settled behind the ridges, casting a golden light across the valley.
The miles behind us had shown incredible scenery.
Historic battlefields.
Mountain overlooks.
Festivals celebrating generations past.
But those places were never the heart of this journey.
The heart of Appalachia has always been its people.
And somewhere, just beyond the next curve…
another front porch is waiting.
Another story is waiting.
Another handshake is waiting.
Until then…
Thank you for riding along.
This is Front Porch Appalachia.
And wherever the road leads next…
I’ll save you a seat on the porch.
