| Author | Message | ||
     Ourdee |
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| Sifo |
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| Glitch |
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| Ourdee |
I know a thing or three about rednecks and hillbillys. Posting from Indiana, I could be taken wrong. But, I graduated the 6th grade in East Tennessee. There were some good folk in those hills. | ||
| Glitch |
Born and raised in Appalachia. | ||
| Ourdee |
See | ||
| 86129squids |
Just heard this on WDVX for the first time- GREAT song. "Stray Dogs and Alley Cats". | ||
| Zacks |
What component of my diet does the body use in the manufacture of snot? At this point, I'd gladly give it up. Well, unless it's beer... | ||
| Ourdee |
You may need Claritin-D 24 Hour. | ||
| Shoggin |
Gluten!! lol | ||
| Zacks |
Nah. Wife is gluten free - Celiac. Gluten = flavor PERIOD!! | ||
| Glitch |
For the Queens and Kings of Appalachia (Anna Wess) This is a hard place. And we are hard people. All of us know that hardness, even those who have escaped into the rest of the world. We are proud of it. It’s a birthright. A certain bad blood courses through us, as arcane as the land itself. These mountains are family, our very ancestors. They have taught us lessons that haughty Northerners and other foreigners will never learn or understand. We are children of the pines. Walkers of the high ridges. Tellers of stories too wild to be true… but are. We are the daughters and sons of central Appalachia. We are, by birth, Kings and Queens of this nowhere. We know this. These mountains have told us so. They love us and want to keep us all to themselves. The wind has whispered it to our souls since we knew how to speak and listen. And we listen very well. Here, in the mountains of Southwest Virginia, it is early December, and I have watched the land falter from hues of cinnamon and gold into a vast vista of only shades of gray. A pearl and leaden mist falls down from the heavens, cloaking the rich coal black of my mountain. Yes, it is mine. The one I look on and the others beyond it, as far as I can see. That is one of our secrets. This place belongs to us, and we to it. But as I said, this is a hard place. There’s a stiff price to pay for being Appalachian royalty. When we are born, the mountains lay claim on us all. They protect and shelter us from the outsiders, from the unrest and corruptness that waits outside our mothering hills. It is difficult to leave this place. And even harder to get in. Any stranger who comes too boldly to our door after sunset will most likely be met with a gun barrel. There will be no warning shot. No idle threats. We do not take kindly to disrespect. We do not want your charity, neither. We have learned to make it just fine on our own. We consider ourselves Southerners. But this place is not the South of Scarlett O’Hara. This is not the south of flowery plantations and slaves and cotton. This is the other South. The one nobody talks about. This one is the real deal. We are the real deal. The South of Scarlett is not just gone; it is silent in the grave. A large handful of us die young, too. Not by the atmosphere—this air is as clear and pristine as it was a hundred years ago—but by the poison that has trickled down our mountains from beyond our confines. Oxycontin and Methadone and Xanax, and other little liars that promise escape from here, if only for a little while. On every street corner you’ll find a bank or a lawyer’s office. Or a church. Jobs are scarce these days, and even more scant when drug tests come back positive. Those folks end up on the draw, living check to check, perpetuating their misery onto their children, imbibing in their young a sense of entitlement and disdain, letting them know without saying so that it’s just fine to live this way. No preacher could pray them off the dope, and no street corner lawyer could save them from jail or the cemetery. The rest of us cannot help this. That is the South nobody here talks about. We are not proud of such things. And the royalty amongst us shun the idea that we are doomed to such a memory. My own great-grandmother lived to be a righteous ninety-seven. Her name was Dixie Virginia Belcher Adkins. I saw the woman catch hornets in the air and rip their heads off. She could conjure up a meal for a family of twenty plus with little more than bacon grease and flour and cool water. She was a Queen, too. And she knew it. The mountains had told her the same story it has told us. They nurtured and protected her and provided for her. She was well loved by this hard place. And she may have been partial to a shot of ‘shine or a smoke from her corncob pipe, but she was never taken with the notion that anyone owed her a thing. Do not ever entertain the thought that we are less intellectually endowed than the outsiders. Not for a fleeting second. This is the land of Dolly and Loretta and June, of the words of Lee Smith, of the sound of a porch banjo, courtesy of Dr. Stanley. Surely, we must be blessed. If not by God, then by the mother mountains. Because we are a hard people, us Queens and Kings. Despite the ones who have fallen victim to the woe of the outside, most of us will last long into our eighties and beyond. The hardness is the price we pay for our pride. We accept it. We welcome it. Most of us will live to tell our tales. To sing our songs. To remind, with a soft and dulcet twang, that we are mountain royals, thank you very much. Rain taps on the windowsill, and the pearl gray of the fog retreats into a resounding echo, and fades to coal black. And I hear my mountain speaking to me. Yes, I hear it. Audibly. I will never let you go. Never. You are mine, and I am yours. Forever. I listen very well. | ||
| Hootowl |
I’m gluten free. Unless you eat the contents of my stomach. Then I’m definitely not gluten free. | ||
| Ratbuell |
I love that piece on Appalachia. As a child, I lived just oustide the DC beltway. But...I grew up in Greenbrier County, West Virginia, on the shore of the Greenbrier River in a little town called Alderson. I don't even think we had a traffic light. Maybe one. But we had natural beauty, a meandering river, rolling hills, a placid lifestyle. Just...calm. I climbed cliffs. Rappelled. Learned marksmanship (.22LR as well as archery). Canoed. Kayaked. Whitewater'ed both. Spelunked 2 miles below the surface. Climbed 800' rock faces. Hiked 7 miles to the one of the highest points in WV - Keeney's Knob - then climbed another 88 feet to the top of the fire tower, built in 1937. http://www.nhlr.org/lookouts/us/wv/keeney-knob-fir e-tower/ And loved the view in any of those locations, and everywhere in between. 8 weeks a year, every summer, in heaven. I met so many wonderful people there, and despite my parents' efforts to raise me the best they could...I honestly did most of my "growing up" during those 2 months every year. My parents were amazing people (mom still is; we lost dad in '16), don't get me wrong, but through their generosity and ability to provide for me, they gave me this amazing gift of...people. Learning. Experience. And true peace on earth. Something they knew was impossible, in the confines of our home or even through my schooling, or the hubbub surrounding DC and Northern Virginia. There really is something about the mountains of West Virginia, and the people who live there. "Hillbilly"...is a badge of honor, not a derogatory term. Not by any means. And I am honored to have known as many of them as I have through the years. We should all be so lucky. | ||
| Ourdee |
I was blessed beyond measure. At eight my father moved to East Tennessee. I spent a month every summer there. the first summer dad lived in Kingsport. The second we were in Goshen Valley out War Valley Road. In sixth grade I spent the school year there. I learned to make sorgum from sugar cane. How to top Backy. And more about people in one year than most see in a lifetime. The first thing that got a hold of me were the hills. They still call to me. I get it Glitch. I was lucky to be introduced while young. | ||
| 86129squids |
+1000, youn's.  Appalachia is truly God's Country. When we visited Las Vegas and Arizona a couple of years ago I was amazed at the environs, fun for a little bit of time, but it made me much more grateful for where I live. Same for Florida- fun to visit, but get me back home to my Tennessee. Gotta have my four seasons. Sadly, in my commutes I'm seeing waaay too many out of state tags. Grrrr. Yankee Go Home! | ||
| Ratbuell |
Yankee Go Home! You sound like my mother, lol. 87 years old, moved to north FL with my father back in the '90s (she was born and raised in Miami but our family was based in DC while I was growing up). All she does is bitch about "tourons" who plug up her streets and parking spaces. That's whatcha get for living in a beautiful place with a ton of history (St Augustine, FL)! | ||
| Glitch |
I don't mind out of staters. What gets me, is when they move here and immediately try to change things. They move here because they love it here, then build a huge house on the ridgeline. North Carolina had to pass a law that restricts that. No one from here needed that law. | ||
| Sifo |
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| 86129squids |
Safe driving tip: If the car in front of you doesn't have a LOCAL county tag, watch it like a hawk! I work in a giant shopping mecca/shithole, garonteed to see moronic driving at all times. Last week I was genuinely shocked to make it to work and NOT see any!  | ||
| Ratbuell |
No county tags 'round here. We watch out for everyone. Equal Opportunity Stupidity. | ||
| Ourdee |
Houses on ridge lines are ugly. Should be allowed to tear them down. Someone should have put a cap in that van driver. The pedestrian should be rich now. I know people act stupidly. There should be a huge tax on stupid. I knew the kind of people I wanted to live among. So, when I got done with the job in Illinois, I high tailed it to Indiana. When you move somewhere you should assimilate or not move there. I need to study the people in Georgia a little more before I think I want to live there. While I was in Tennessee I said Murveal in my best E. Tenn. accent to Google. Up popped Maryville Tennessee. Must be a lot of Volunteers googling directions there. I loved it. | ||
| Hootowl |
The pedestrian is a moron too. Watch the very beginning of the clip. He’s lucky the driver was paying attention. | ||
| Glitch |
We watch out for everyone. Equal Opportunity Stupidity. Truth. North Georgia is the best Georgia has to offer. We're moving to almost to Tennessee. Can't wait! | ||
| Ourdee |
I meant Northern Georgia of course. | ||
| Glitch |
Of course, how could you not | ||
| Glitch |
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| 86129squids |
OK- upon careful observation, that's either the kewlest stump evaar, or a bad dragon punished by a whiggitywamp wood curse. | ||
| Aesquire |
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| Sifo |
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