birthright.
I am made of Alabama red clay
and thick cicada nights
I am made of the sweat beading on your brow
and the steady pulsing of contra dance floors
of heavy thunderstorms rolling
through the hills and lush underbrush
and towering trees of the
Deep South.
I am made of Montana big sky
and thick-coated treks through settled snow
of cross country bike rides
and air so crisp it might pierce your lungs
lake water colder than you ever dreamed
and an unbroken nature like you've never seen.
But more than that I am made of
ancient stardust - the untamed and
tangled deep wildness
of the unfathomable forests of Appalachia.
seventeen years I spent exchanging
molecules with the rhododendrons,
magnolia and dogwood, ferns and mosses
of western North Carolina.
crickets and marigolds and
scuppernongs paint my heart;
honeysuckle and virginia creeper wrap my spine;
mountain brooks and old time music and
tree frogs tap out the rhythm of the blood
running through my veins.
and when I walk the streets of Asheville, North Carolina
the fae there know me
& they call my name.
I am a daughter of the Appalachian mountains.
and neither you
nor him
nor my mother
can ever take that away from me.
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A couple more shots at Waterrock Knob because I couldn't decide on a favorite.
The rock itself isn't the actual peak, it's down a small slope a few feet off the end of the trail, but the view from the highest point isn't as breathtaking.
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Mountain Woman
Cotton stockings, lace up shoes,
long hair in a neat wound braid;
an apron to cover a patched up dress,
its hem only slightly frayed.
Up early to meet the day head on
while children play at her feet;
a constant rhythm in her step
with its own internal beat.
Her hands never idle
with work the whole day through;
a smile and song lifted up
as each one begins anew.
It's time to stir the lye soap
with a long wooden spoon;
a fire is under the kettle
the signs are right with the moon.
Peeling and coring apples
to dry on the smokehouse roof;
gathering different herbs
all for medicinal use.
Harvesting broom corn
for the making of a broom;
soaking strips of oak bark
for chairs to grace the room.
Lighting oil lamps in the evening
calling children from play;
lining them up by the wash pan
to scrub the dirt away.
Putting on a clean apron
there's company at the door;
the smiling welcome on her face
is what they're looking for.
Taking down quilting frames
Winter has darkened the sky;
patterns taken from memory
passed down from days gone by.
Doing the best with what she has
hands gnarled an worn;
a legacy of proud independence
for all the children she's born.
Days flow without number
fine wrinkles and gray reveal;
bending with hard times
never breaking with her strong will.
Her children grown and scattered
like leaves upon the wind;
the struggle of joy and sadness
as their new lives begin.
Mountain woman steadfast
unchanged in changing times;
proud heritage brought with her....
ah ....for more of her kind.
By: Cynthia E. Hoover, 1978. Photo of Verna Marie Slone, 1993 by Barbara T. Beirne.
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200 million ya, Ireland and Scotland were a part of the same range as the Appalachian mountains, where, funny enough, the majority of Scottish and Irish emigrants settled in America.
by u/MUNKIESS
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Salem Sunrise by Chris Price
Via Flickr:
Sunrise colors as I waited for the runners at the Salem Half Marathon (Salem, Virginia.) The earliest history of Salem exists as archaeological evidence of Native American tribes from as far back as 8000 B.C. until the middle of the 18th century. Europeans first explored the area of Salem in 1671, when the Siouan-speaking Totero people had a village nearby. Explorers Thomas Batts and Robert Fallam gave the area its first recorded name: Totero Town, after this tribe, who supplied them with a guide to help with further exploration. Fort Lewis, named for General Andrew Lewis, of what is now Roanoke County, was built west of the town in 1752. Salem's Andrew Lewis Middle School (formerly Andrew Lewis High School) was named after General Lewis. Salem became a small settlement serving travelers on the Great Road (roughly the same path followed by US-11 and later Interstate 81 today) and was officially founded in 1802, receiving its charter in 1806. It is not known why the town was named Salem; the most widely accepted explanation is that it was named to honor William Bryan, a prominent citizen, who had moved from Salem, New Jersey. Salem was attacked twice by the Union Army during the American Civil War, but its Salem Flying Artillery is said to have fired the last Confederate shot at Appomattox Court House prior to Robert E. Lee's surrender. (Wikipedia). PLEASE, NO GRAPHICS, BADGES, OR AWARDS IN COMMENTS. They will be deleted.
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I'm gonna be angry for a hot minute, but I'm so sick and tired of those who live in the Appalachians being forgotten about, or when they are acknowledged, they're called dumb hicks and laughed at.
We've never been able to win! Not only are we completely forgotten about outside of harmful stereotypes, but we're actively kept in poverty due to efforts from the government. That's not even the worst part. Hard drugs like heroin and fentanyl run wild here, and there's no active efforts to stop the drugs. In fact there have been cases of the government supplying the drugs, but nobody knows that unless you live here. Why? Because so many people live in rural Appalachia, if they were to unite, it would completely change the election results in a way the government doesn't want. When you're to busy dying in the mines, doing drugs, or trying to get basic necessities like food and water, politics is the last thing on your mind. I know it sounds like a conspiracy theory, and I wish it was.
I'm not exaggerating when I say it's survival here. There are barely any jobs or healthcare. If you walk through these rural towns, houses are caved in, the streets are coated in coal dust, and there's needles lining the sidewalks. It's the kind of extreme poverty you never expect to see in America.
An entire group of people are struggling, and are completely forgotten about. But when they are acknowledged, it's never in a positive light. They're stupid rednecks with a funny accent.
I'm one of the lucky ones. I come from an influential family in my town. We run the school district, first response services, and charities. I wouldn't have a well paying job if it wasn't for my family name, and it hurts me that others don't get those same opportunities. I hate that I see the people I've grown up with be forgotten about and suffer so much. I care so deeply about them. They're my people. And it hurts to care so much.
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