This post is in response to The Daily Prompt.
The word for today is Connected, and I could think of nothing that I’m more connected to than this part of The Appalachian Mountains.
I picked the name for this blog because it’s a true statement, I really am a hillbilly and I’m a blogger.
I’m proud of where I come from, these hills and hollers breath life into my memories. As a young’un, I climbed these hills, ran through the trees and tall grass, usually with a tilt of laughter coming from me.
It’s all changed now, from those long past days of my youth, but still, it’s all the same in a way. The hills where I would spend all day running and playing are all grown up now, I guess like me. It’s almost as if when we stopped playing on them, rolling down ’em to see who could get the dizziest and who would reach bottom first, they decided it was time for them to grow up too.
I have called these mountains home for near on 45 years now. They talk to me in a voice not just anybody can hear. They will only speak to those deserving to be told their story. I hear them in the soft, gentle breeze that blows through them during the summer and in the silence of snowfall during the winter.
These mountains know me, they have cradled me many times in their loving arms while I lay looking up at a star filled sky, or in the tall, waving grass, just listening to what they have to tell me.
Our hollers have names, like I’m sure every other one does, but I’m most familiar with mine. Names like Wallace, Steel Bridge, Straight, even though there’s not a straight stretch in the whole dang holler, Rocky, Cigarette, Hospital and so many more.
I’ve been in every one of them many times, though most of the folks that lived in them back in my heyday are now gone. The old folks that would be sittin’ out on the porch in the summer, some pickin’ a tune or singing softly as the sun slowly slid behind the mountain and dusk began to fall.
Connected, yes. That describes my relationship with these mountains perfectly.