Once, many years ago, I was in a workshop with George Ella Lyon who challenged us to write a bit entitled " I Come From..." Here is what I wrote about home and how I feel about my homeland... This is a preface or prelude to the story below it. Hope you enjoy both. Tell me how you feel about your home, wherever you are.

I come from the Appalachian Hills of Eastern Kentucky.  My roots grow deep in a land where family values are as strong as the mighty oak tree.  In this place, forested mountains separate so narrow valleys can host clear streams that twist and turn through pastures and fields past barns and houses adding to the beauty of family farms, the mainstay of a treasured culture. Home.

Where I come from two lane roads meander through quaint towns. Men gather on courthouse lawns to swap knives and women trade favorite recipes and quilt patterns. I come from Appalachia, where children play and learn in Mother Nature’s endless beauty.

I come from the hills where life is simple. From singing in the front yard to dancing in the streets, from fishing in the rivers to tending the crops, traditions taught by our grandfathers are still treasured. In spring we plant seeds in fresh plowed ground, tend them as they grow, harvest the bounty, and preserve it for winter’s meals.

I come from a place where hard work is a part of life. Where making a living means knowing how to work the fields on the family farm, or how to pick coal hundreds of feet under a mountain top or how to preserve vegetables gathered from the garden just outside the back door. I come from Appalachia, where pride is about an honest job completed to the best of your ability.

I come from the land of tobacco farms and small towns where deals are made by spoken words and a hand shake, where people still trust each other. I come from a place where promises are made to keep.

I come from the Appalachian foothills where young people learn to bait fish hooks and to use a computer. They learn a tradition passed down through stories, yesterday's skills to survive and today’s skills to thrive.

I come from Appalachia where the future holds endless opportunities if you reach out your hands and open your mind, a place where a way of life handed down from yesteryear can lead the way to next year. Where life is simple and lived at a slow pace. Here, we celebrate who we are and where we come from. We reach out and touch the world through technology.

  

I come from the hills. I come from Eastern Kentucky. I come from Appalachia. 

Generations…

Dedicated to my friend Garry Barker

It’s a different world now than it was then. Life in the hills of Eastern Kentucky has changed. Eleven people sat around the table that day learning to write personal memoirs. Most of those people were a little past middle age but not old by any measure. But there were two who were much younger than the rest.

          The conversation and dialogue at this writing workshop spurred memories and feelings as Garry Barker probed into lifelong recollections about growing up during the “good ole days”.

          But the good ole days has different meaning depending on your age. There was a definite generation gap at Garry’s writing workshop.

          Joshua, a student at Morehead State University and his friend were there.

          The elders of the group remembered the Appalachia that was ours. Being woke up early in the morning by the rooster’s crow and trekking through the dark to the “toilet” or “outhouse” were shared memories. Learning life skills to help us survive through hard times was a part of growing up. Words painted pictures  of hot summers with no air conditioning and cold winters with piles of tacked patch work quilts and cracks in the walls stuffed with old newspapers.

          “I believe if our country goes into a depression, we will be better off than most because we have the essentials for survival and the skills to get through” someone said.

          Another person added “I know I can survive from the land. “I know how to plow the earth and grow seeds. I can harvest the crops and preserve them for winter’s food. When we were growing up, everyone learned these skills because they were a necessity”.

          “We had to feed the animals, the cows, chickens, horses, mules, pigs and gather the eggs, and learn to cook them. Hunting was for food not sport. There was no money to buy things, so we raised it on the farm or we did without. Our food, toys, and clothing were all there on the farm.

          Someone else said, “I would tear pictures from the Sears and Roebuck catalog and show them to my grandmother so she could make them from feed sacks. When she was done, they looked just like the picture. I remember that old treadle sewing machine and her foot going up and down so fast on the pedal it was a blur. The needle would fly.”

          “I fear we’re losing the old fashioned way of life and the younger generation doesn't really have any skills”.

          A hush filled the room for a few moments, as Josh dropped his head, static filled the air.

          “We have skills too” Joshua added to the conversation as he looked around the table.

          The discussion was so powerful it filled the room with an invisible spirit of heartfelt emotion. The air was thick with passion for a place and lifestyle that has changed but some how, stayed the same. For a while the whole world was inside that little room with just a table surrounded by conversation. Two different time periods divided by memories of youth and growing up in Eastern Kentucky. It seemed that the group came from two different worlds, but not really.

          Soon memories meshed and common threads were woven into the conversation. What could it be that made this group become ordinary connected folk? It centered around the hills and the streams that flow across the land, the blood that gives life to the world around them. These hills have a spirit. Those of us who grew up here know how the soul is captured by the giant oak tree that reaches out its limbs, those ever loving arms, and wraps them around the mind and body holding tight keeping them attached to a place that remains a mystery to the outside world.

          Joshua continued, “I learned to bait a hook on the same river bank you did. And I roamed the woods and climbed trees. Yes we had a TV and if we were lucky and the wind didn’t blow in the wrong direction, we could get four channels. And we got an Acer Computer when I was in the 6^th grade. There, at the end of the road where I spent my childhood sledding, hiking, and watching the birds, I learned to program it and make it do just about anything I wanted it to. But I learned to fish too, and I gained an appreciation of nature while playing in a stand of pine trees I called “The Dark Woods”. Yes, my generation has skills. On the same farm where my mom and her parents and grandparents before her lived, I learned to make a computer talk”.
 “My love of nature came from the same hills, the same fields, the same streams as yours. It’s an inheritance from my ancestors. I took it a bit farther when I went to college but nothing took away my roots. My love for this place is no less than yours.”          
        “I’m not sure I could plow the land and raise livestock, but I could learn how because it is so much a part of my family’s history, it’s gotta be somewhere inside me. I could do it, if I had too. I may not have the same skills as some of you sitting around the table, but I have some that will help me in this day of technology”.

          It was obvious how much we could learn from each other because of our upbringing and connections through family, friends, kin and this place we love.  

          Feelings were shared and appreciated because the sense of place was the same, Garry challenged each of us write our feelings about growing up in eastern Kentucky, this area called Appalachia.  What resulted were powerful stories about life, an admiration for different generations and the skills shared by all.

          I write this story in memory of my good friend Garry Barker, his love for his home land and the people and place called Appalachia. Garry, we miss you.