A Bit of Good and Bad

I have been brainstormin’ and trying to come up with some writing ideas. At the same time, I’ve been wanting to get back to some Appalachian heritage talk with the blog.

I came to the realization that it’s difficult to talk about West Virginia without getting into politics (‘course, maybe that’s just me, ‘cause I have a tough time NOT getting into politics with ANY conversation). It’s also hard to ignore the scarcity that is prevalent in much of the state. The thing that gets me about that particular problem is that the poverty was there when I was a kid, it was there through my adulthood, and it’s still there now. I’m almost 50. And from what I hear from relatives, it was present way back in my grandparents and great-grandparent’s day, too.

But, since Appalachian politics and poverty could be their own blog topics (they could be and probably are book topics), I decided to focus on other stuff.

Like this…

Since moving to Virginia, I keep having strong recollections of riding in the car with my parents when I was a little girl back in West Virginia. When the first flashback happened, I was totally bewildered.

I spent some time thinking on it, and decided the roads in our part of Virginia are very similar to the roads back home. They twist and turn around the hillsides.

Beyond that, the memories were strongest in the fall, when everything outside was golden and avocado colored. If you know anything about the seventies, you should know those shades were popular and everywhere.

Finally, ‘cause we live in an area with a lot of poverty, many of the folks here are still driving really old cars and trucks.

All in all, these circumstances added up to some serious trips down memory lane.

Now that I’ve figured out the why of it, I sit back and enjoy it, letting the memories wash over me. Still, I do find they make me yearn for a childhood I can never go back to and one I do miss.

As you read this, keep in mind how all of these things have been sloshin’ around in my noggin because I keep coming back to what it was like growing up in West Virginia in the 1970s and 1980s.

There were definitely benefits and drawbacks to living in West Virginia back then. Much like anywhere else, I imagine. You take the bad with the good.

One for-sure positive thing was being close-knit with your family because they were right there.

One for-sure negative thing was being close-knit with your family because they were right there.

It was both things at once.

It’s always good to be close to your family, IF the family is a nice one. I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to be able to wander down the hill to Little Granny’s house. She’d get her fryer and make me some French fries. We’d go in the dining room and I’d pull out the good china and the silver butter dish and make an event of lunch. We’d play cards or Monopoly. Or, she’d try to teach me how to play pool in their basement. Or, I’d dig through her closet and try on all of her shoes.

Then, I’d wander a few steps over to visit Big Granny across the way. I’d grab a soft peppermint stick and a Dr. Pepper and talk to her. I’d visit with her birds. (Big Granny always had parakeets or finches. She thought they were good company.) We’d talk about plants and flowers or her favorite television show. When I was ready to leave, she usually had bread, or soup, or fried apple pies to send up the hill to mom and dad.

It was the best.

They were good people. And, it worked for me.

Kind of.

The problem is, when your entire family is enclosed in one holler (hollow, for folks who like proper English), you never meet different types of people or people who think different thoughts. Your mind doesn’t get much chance to expand and stretch in new directions.

And, if the people in your holler aren’t nice, it’s really hard to get away from them. Especially when it’s your family. And the poverty doesn’t make it any easier.

Even the topography itself keeps you pinned in. Everyone lives in clusters ‘cause those spots are the only build-able ones.

It can feel like you’re stuck, with no way out. So you fight it and thrash around. Maybe make some bad choices. Maybe grow bitter.

Or, maybe you get the heck out of town, move to another state, start a new life.

As someone who chose the “start a new life” route, I gotta say, there are things I profoundly miss.

God, do I miss listening to people talk. People who sound like me and can turn phrases like no other group of people in the country.

The closeness of our relatives allows us to have rich oral histories. My dad’s family can tell wonderful stories about cops and revenuers, moonshine stills, hunting trips, growing up poor, and traveling to various out-of-the-way corners of the state.

Recipes are shared and passed down as grand-kids learn them directly from their Ma-maws (or Mee-maws). The young and elderly learn to live together (granted, sometimes out of necessity). Family members check up on one another. Kids often see their grandparents and cousins every day.

We share bits of plants, in the form of cuttings or entire plants. Canned fruit and vegetables are passed around families. People buy huge amounts of apple butter and Easter eggs from churches. People share food straight from their vegetable patch.

All of these things I miss, and all of what I remember, and all of the realities of mountain life….they are so much a part of who I am. So much a part of so many people who call West Virginia home.

It cannot be denied, there is a deep conflict to life in the mountains. Poverty ripples through West Virginian culture and attitudes in sometimes harmful ways. Yet, if you root around and focus, you can find a richness born of close connections that I’ve never been able to find anywhere else.

Like I said, you take the bad with the good. And, hope one day the good overcomes.