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Stories from the West Virginia mountains, bits of culture, ghost stories from up the holler, grains of truth and torrents of whimsy, blatant love for all things Appalachian, and a loving life in the hills.
I have to admit that I was once in that same frame of mind. For a brief moment of my life, I was confused and searching for my identity. I was able to glean bits and pieces from other places, but it wasn't until I returned to West Virginia and starting reading about Appalachian history and literature that I gained my true sense of place.
It had been there all along, just below the surface. Of course looking back now, it makes sense that my identity was there. Where else would it be? Certainly not in the halls of a preppy private college in Virginia. I suppose for a while I ignored it, running away from what I thought was a bad thing (as I was influenced to believe) - I was running away from what I was looking for.
But I'm finally in a good place with my heritage, thought it took me a many good year to get there. I suppose you could still find fault with this place, just as you can with any place. However I happen to like my home in the mountains.
One of my favorite poems about Appalachia is by Muriel Miller Dressler, a woman from St. Albans, WV. She originally published this in 1977, and I have an original copy signed by the author. It's one of my prized possessions. The imagery in the poem is hypnotic and intoxicating - as well as brutally honest.
Enjoy!
By Muriel Miller Dressler
I am Appalachia. In my veins
Runs fierce mountain pride; the hill-fed streams
Of passion; and, stranger, you don’t know me!
You’ve analyzed my every move–you still
Go away shaking your head. I remain
Enigmatic. How can you find rapport with me–
You, who never stood in the bowels of hell,
Never felt a mountain shake and open its jaws
To partake of human sacrifice?
You, who never stood on a high mountain
Watching the sun unwind its spiral rays:
Who never searched the glens for wild flowers,
Never picked mayapples or black walnuts; never ran
Wildly through the woods in pure delight,
Nor dangled your feet in a lazy creek?
You, who never danced to wild sweet notes,
Outpouring of nimble-fingered fiddlers;
Who never just “sat a spell,” on a porch,
Chewing and whittling; or hearing in pastime
The deep-throated bay of chasing hounds
And hunters shouting with joy, “He’s treed!”
You, who never once carried a coffin
To a family plot high up on a ridge
Because mountain folk know it’s best to lie
Where breezes from the hills whisper, “You’re home”;
You, who never saw from the valley that graves on a hill
Bring easement of pain to those below?
I tell you, stranger, hill folk know
What life is all about; they don’t need pills
To tranquilize the sorrow and joy of living.
I am Appalachia: and, stranger,
Though you’ve studied me, you still don’t know.
This poem is still in print in the collection: Wild Sweet Notes: Fifty Years of West Virginia Poetry 1950-1999 published by Publishers Place, Inc., 2000.
This is how it was - a white box with cabinets up WAY too high on the wall, a non-functional pass through (except for the cats - they loved being able to jump across the sink). The cabinets were also worn out - the sink cabinet came out in pieces - and not because it was ripped out menacingly. It was that bad! Also, notice the WHITE laminate floor which showed every speck of dirt, the ugly bathroom tile sheet glued to the wall, and the cherry on the cake was the institutional drop ceiling complete with flourescent light fixture.
So we ripped it all out - everything left the room except the stove! Even the refrigerator was in the dining room for a while. A lot of mess and a lot of work - but totally worth it. Above you can see the paint color that was chosen originally. It was a disaster - it was supposed to be a Tuscan terra cotta, and it turned out to be more of an NBA basketball. Live and learn - I got a better color later.
Remember the passthrough? These are photos of it's demise. It got framed out and drywalled. Please keep in mind that we are doing this ourselves - there was no contractor on this job!