lady pilot: “Some of us were born in the mountains, and some of us are called by the mountains.” →
I don’t want to write a research paper about the Spirituality of Appalachia.
I want to write poems about the spirit of Appalachia. About how I watched my Granny Fannie burn a shoe after killing the season’s first snake. About the way my river covered my naked body like an elegant silk gown and how it’s watery banks gave my tired, blistered feet muddy glass slippers. I want to write about how climbing to the tops of trees and overlooking the farms below made me feel like I was the queen of the whole town and all of her inhabitants. I want to write about the people. The proud people, the bitter people, the good cooks, the red velvet cake, the chicken and dumplins. I want to write about church dinners and the farm boys with their oft-loved guitars and the doting women and their sweaty children. I want to write about the way a cheek feels after being pinched and how legs burn with chigger bites well after the day’s play is done. I want to write about warm concrete and blue sky/green leaf contrasts and the changing of the seasons and how Appalachia is where Mother Nature herself goes on vacation. I want to write about the way the snow falls first on the tops of the mountains and lastly on my holler home. I want to write about falling through the ice on the pond and straight into the frigid water and the sound of laughter when I finally escaped. I want to write about the colloquial phrases and how even jokingly shouted insults can sound as sweet as a mother’s loving words to her newborn baby. I want to write about warm bourbon and how it’s the only thing that can cure a toddling nightmare victim, a brokenhearted teenager, and an old widower. I want to write about the spirit of Appalachia. Its hardworking fathers, broken backed mothers, waitressing daughters and factory sons. I want to write about the comfort found in humming I’ll Fly Away at the gravesite of an elderly church friend, the one who hugged you every Sunday and called you his girl. I want to write about the fear in losing one of your own and the solidarity it fosters. I want to write about the solidarity of Appalachia. Its solid mountains. Its solid trees. Its solid beauty. Its solid people.
