Posted in Appalachia, Creative Nonfiction Essays, Eastern Kentucky

Appalachia: Hillbilly and Redneck

When we hear the term “hillbilly” or “redneck,” we automatically have a negative connotation associated with them. To those who aren’t familiar with Southern Appalachia, we think of the TV show, “The Beverly Hillbillies,” or the movie, “Deliverance,” and the associated depiction of the two terms. Those images are only caricatures dreamed up by show business.

The term “hillbilly” is an old term that simply refers to people who live in the mountains, in rather remote areas, and live their own way. It doesn’t mean they don’t wear shoes or that they’re ignorant, but we tend to use the term as a slur to refer to people we consider hillbillies. Hillbilly seems to have somehow gotten tied up in a social class definition. That couldn’t be further from the truth. My grandfather, who was born deep in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky, was certainly a hillbilly, but he and his family were of at least the high middle socio-economic class regarding income, social standing, and education.

The word “hillbilly” originally referred to a type of music played and developed in the mountains. Hillbilly music was the original bluegrass music. Pure, original Bluegrass music originated in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s in isolated pockets in the mountains, usually through the music of family groups or bands. Somehow, the word shifted from the music of the people to the people themselves. Most mountain people don’t mind being called hillbillies. When it is used as a slur based on an imagined stereotype, that shows the ignorance of the user and not the hillbilly.

The word “redneck” is thrown around today as a slang word referring to people with, usually, a particular way of life and political persuasion. We think of rednecks and we immediately see the Confederate flag, conservative leanings, and guns. Perhaps that is the modern definition of “redneck, but it is not what the word originally referred to.

The word “redneck” originally came from Scotland and referred to those who worked outdoors and had a sunburned neck as a result. It also referred to peaceful protestors against mining officials because the protestors tied a red bandana around their necks.

The word “redneck” is not a word tied to the mountains or to any geographic region. You can be from the middle of the largest cities. If your beliefs are based on the Second Amendment, you fly the Confederate flag in the back of your pickup truck, and you believe in far right-wing politics, you are the modern definition of a redneck.

When I was growing up, I never saw a Confederate flag at my grandfather’s house in Eastern Kentucky. The only guns I saw were a couple of hunting rifles used to deer hunt for food. My grandfather was a centrist in his politics but leaned left. The modern definitions of “hillbilly” and “redneck” would not fit him even though he was one of the originals.

Copyright Rosemary Carlson @2020

Posted in Non-fiction

A Brush With a Red Fox – #SoCS

I live in the country so wildlife is abundant. Deer, raccoons, the occasional bobcat. Even the elusive red fox. The road to get to my house is just barely a two-lane road. Traffic is increasing on that rather dangerous road as more and more people build homes near me.

A few days ago, I was driving home from town and that’s when it happened. My brush with the usually elusive red fox. Even though they live in the forest all around me, you seldom see them. They are shy creatures. You’re lucky if you get a peek at one. This day, I got more than a peek. Far more.

I was driving up a hill on our road and I saw an animal in the road. There is no mistaking a red fox. He was standing in the middle of road. Just standing there. That is very odd behavior for a red fox. I was afraid he would run in front of me, so I stopped. It was fascinating to look at him but terribly disturbing. I had never seen an animal so thin and emaciated. This fox was sick or he wouldn’t have been standing in the middle of the road.

I pulled up to him, but I was afraid to get out of the car. Rabid animals often come out of hiding and approach people. I sat there and wondered what to do. He needed to get off the road before someone ran over him.

Within a few moments, someone pulled behind me and two men got out of the car. They realized why I was stopped. We all looked at the fox and the men mentioned the possibility of rabies, although there are other illnesses that could have been afflicting the fox.

They told me to drive on so I wouldn’t hold up traffic and they pulled their car off to the side. They were going to try to get the fox back into the woods. I came home terribly sad but concerned about just the possibility of rabies. A case of rabies near a populated area is cause for concern.

I reported the fox and his condition to the heath department. In turn, they were going to call Fish and Wildlife. The goal was to find the fox and determine his health condition.

I hope they’ve found the fox. It’s hard to think about any animal being so ill. It disturbed me for the rest of the day and days after.

 

Posted in Flash Fiction

The Old Home Place

I look in the old hand-held mirror that I’ve stuck up on the wall. I glance quickly behind me, wondering if my mother is behind me and it’s her image that I see.

I come to the old homeplace sometimes. I can feel the ghosts here so no wonder I think my mother has crept up on me. I sneak in the back door so no one will see me.

My childhood is here. I can hear it. My parents are talking softly in the kitchen. I sit down in the old rocking chair and wish for days gone by.

Photo credit @TedStultz

Posted in Flash Fiction

Hope and the Crescent Moon – #writephoto

“Maybe the crescent moon is a hopeful sign,” she said to him.

They were sitting on their porch looking off at the crescent moon hanging above the treetops. The quiet of their neighborhood permeated her thoughts. It had been like this most of the time since the pandemic started. Even though the homes were an acre apart, people were afraid of the deadly virus and stayed inside. One in a while, the children came out to play and she welcomed the noise they made.

“It’s been like this for months,” he replied. “When will life ever be normal again or will it?”

John was more restless than she was. He was pulling at the restraints that the pandemic placed upon him. He was a more social person and missed the interactions with his friends and family. She was more of an introvert, but even she was tired. Tired of being afraid. Tired of never feeling free to come and go. They both missed their family and friends.

“It’s so eerily quiet, John,” she said. 

“Even when we drive to the city, the streets are empty. Everyone is either working from home or not working at all.”

“Have you noticed how people that we do see look?” John asked. “We all seem to have a deer in the headlights look of panic and fear on our faces. Everyone is just down and out. We’ve never seen anything like this in our lifetimes.”

“You know the crescent shape of the moon with either end pointing up as they are signifies feminine strength and energy. Women are strong, John. We have to endure a lot. I’m going to look at that moon and gather strength from it. We’re going to make it through this crisis.”

“I’ve been so afraid that you will get sick,” John said. “I know you’re strong and we both have to gather all our strength and not make a mistake.”

“This will pass,” she said. “After the waning crescent moon is the new moon. A time of enlightenment and renewal. Maybe that time will bring good news to all of us.”

Posted in Fiction, Flash Fiction

Timeless – #writephoto

She often came this way. She stopped and sat on the fence, looking at the single, timeless standing stone. It always caused her carefully controlled mind to wander. Back and forward. Backwards, she wondered where they came from. What they meant? Were other stones buried by the sands of time somewhere deep around this one, perhaps in a circle? Maybe this was a lone stone. Perhaps meant to cure sick children? How will we ever know, she wondered, what the prehistoric people who raised these stones really were doing.

Then there was that other theory. The one that some thought explained the pyramids as well as the standing stones. The theory that said that we weren’t alone in the universe. Perhaps other beings had helped those prehistoric people build these complex stone structures. Most discounted that theory of course, but she found herself thinking of it. It seemed so impossible that the prehistoric citizens could have done it themselves.

A timeless mystery of the universe. She started walking again, her imagination making her smile.

Posted in Fiction

Renewal – #writephoto

Jane remembers the night they got to that island. They were just looking for a place to stay and they happened upon the bridge where signs told them of vacancies. They crossed the bridge, not really knowing where they were. Not really knowing they were going out into the Gulf of Mexico.

It was winter and even in the southern part of America, dark came early. Even so, someone was in the office of the first place they came to. After they secured a reservation, they went to their spot and crashed. Never really thinking about where they were. They had driven a long way. They knew it was warm and they could smell salt water. Sleep came instantly.

It had been a hard year for them before that winter. They were young. They didn’t know that the things that had happened, decisions they had made, would come back to haunt them many years later. They had the freedom of youth without the wisdom of age. Like most young people of ther generation, they worked hard and played just as hard. Too hard. It was the 1970s and their kind of fun seemed innocent then. They didn’t realize that it wasn’t. That the transgressions of youth would color their whole lives. They didn’t know that too much fun then would make the responsibilities of age hard and getting old so much more unbearable.

When Jane’s eyes came open, just a crack, the next morning, she looked around and saw the entire place enveloped in a warm glow. Bare tree branches were on one side of the place with palm trees towering over the other side. They had been lost the night before. She couldn’t imagine where they were.

Jane got up and dressed and walked out on the porch and down the road. The sky astonished her, layered in gold clouds. She had never seen anything like it. As she walked and nodded to the locals, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders, a sense of renewal wash over her. A decision she had been trying to make became clear to her as the tropical birds swooped in front of her. When she came to a general store, she found out the name of the island although in her mind, she’d already dubbed it her magical island. She’d been struggling with that decision for weeks.

After that winter, Jane knew they would spend many winters on that magical island. Looking back, she knows they will go back someday. It might be they should do it soon. Could it renew her once again?

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized

Clouds – #writephoto

She doesn’t walk much anymore, but today, her dog needed to walk so off they went. He’s excited to be out and she hopes the walk will be good for her too. It’s hard for her to get outside her own head, but she looks around at the scenery and notices the beautiful, but darkening clouds ahead of her. She doesn’t think they look threatening, so she and her dog walk on. She tries to be in the moment mentally and he helps with that, smelling every smell along the way. It helps her to focus. As always, she’s thinking about many things while trying just to think about him and his joyous communion with nature.

The clouds are so beautiful that they cause an old song to pop into her head. She smiles as she remember Joni Mitchell’s original recording of “Both Sides Now.” The ultimate “cloud” song as far as she is concerned. She remembers lying in her parent’s backyard in the grass, looking up at the clouds as a teenager. She remembers the line “ice cream castles in the air.” As a young girl, she looked at the cloud formations and dreamed of such innocent and foolish things..

She and her dog stopped to rest. She gave him a drink out of his water bottle and he laid down to rest for a few minutes, looking around, drinking in the scenery. She watched the clouds as they moved overhead. As an older teenager, reaching adulthood, she still watched the clouds in the backyard, but the images became different. She remembers the words to the song. One stanza described her feelings at that time in her life, when she met a boy she thought she would marry.

“Moons and Junes and ferries wheels 
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real 
I’ve looked at love that way”

She had fallen in love and she thought he was in love. Something terrible happened. He was not the boy, she had found out very painfully, that she would marry. She reached down and touched her dog’s head. He was her touchstone now if her thoughts drifted to a bad place.

They got up and walked on. The dog was anxious to see what was over the next rise on their walk.

2018 had turned into a year of reflection for her. She hated that and thought it was brought on by her health issues which seem to have blown up this past year. She had spent the year frightened and it had made her look back at her life. She liked to look forward, but she was facing serious life-threatening issues. Looking forward had become difficult.

She had looked at the relationships in her life. Not just romantic relationships, but all of them. Family, friends. She saw the folly in so many of them. She and her husband seemed to finally be at peace. She had amazing friends. Something wonderful had happened with her family. She had found family members she hardly knew existed and some she had not known existed and she was getting to know them. That had made her year. There were other family relationships that were gone. Gone forever. That had hurt her terribly.

Love. Romance. Did it even exist or like in the song, was it just another illusion? She had come to the conclusion that love was very rare, that it seldom existed if at all. As for the rest of her life, however long that was, she found the song to be very relevant:

“But now it’s just another show 
You leave ’em laughing when you go
And if you care, don’t let them know 
Don’t give yourself away 

I’ve looked at love from both sides now 
From give and take and still somehow
It’s love’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know love at all…”

They walked on home, leaving the cloud formations behind, to do whatever they had to do.

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized

The Growling

It was a beautiful day on the beach by the village. The children could run out the door of their homes and reach the sand and sea in moments. Tourists who rented homes here and there could be spotted lazing in the warm sun. The setting was an idyllic as one can imagine. 

The small boy and his dog walked along the streets of the village that day. He was doing errands for his mother. The dog, normally so well-behaved, kept running circles around him with a low growl in his throat. The boy couldn’t imagine what was wrong. 

It seemed that the growl from the dog got louder. The boy felt the earth shaking. He’d felt this before. He knew it was an earthquake. The shake was a big one, but the damage to the village didn’t look severe. The growling didn’t stop. 

Someone shouted that there was a tsunami warning. The boy climbed up onto the roof of a shed and hoisted his dog up with him. They were hit by a wall of water. When it subsided, they were mostly alone, saved by the growling. Only a few others remained.

Thanks to Susan at Sunday Photo Fiction and to Anurag Bakhshi for the photo prompt.

Posted in Fiction

A Christmas Story

The year was 1971. It was Christmas. Patricia was 19 years old, fresh out of high school and going to college in her hometown. The last year and a half had been painful for her, but she was traveling to her grandparent’s farm with her parents for the Christmas holiday. Because of the loss she had suffered and the way she had suffered it, she didn’t have much Christmas spirit that year. The trip wasn’t long, but she hadn’t wanted to go. 

Even though it was winter, the farm that her grandparent’s owned and still worked was beautiful. Stark, though in the summer it was lush and productive. Stark fit Patricia’s mood.  She’d felt stripped bare ever since “the incident” as her mother called it. Not only had Patricia felt stripped bare for the world to see, she’d felt lonely, afraid, and stupid, even amidst her friends at college. Since “the incident,” her mother had been more solicitous than usual, but her father, who she loved so much, had been distant and angry. It was decades later when Patricia finally understood that he wasn’t angry at her.

Patricia’s grandparents were getting old. They were still vital, particularly her grandmother. Her grandfather had been ill and was visibly slowing down. They were starting to sell some of the farm and its assets, knowing they couldn’t keep it up there for much longer. The parts Patricia loved were still intact. Once they arrived, Patricia realized she was glad to be there. She felt wrapped in a warm cocoon when she was with her grandfather.

Her dad was going to spend his time there fixing things around the farm that needed repair. Her mother was going to help her grandmother prepare Christmas dinner for the other family members who were coming on Christmas Day. Patricia had orders to read, study for her classes, and try to rest. They were all looking forward to the arrival of the babies on Christmas Day. Two of her mother’s sisters had little girls born in the same year. They were now six years old. Patricia couldn’t wait to see them. She couldn’t have loved them more if they had been her own.

Patricia awakened early on her first morning at the farm. She went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and found her grandfather dressed and sitting at the kitchen table. He was ready to go milk the two remaining dairy cows. When she sat down at the table, he asked her if she’d like to go with him, as she had when she was a little girl. She quickly said yes and he told her to go put on warm clothes because they might be a while.

Her grandfather grabbed his walking stick and they started toward the barn. He didn’t move as quickly or easily as she remembered, but she walked along beside him. He talked about farm-related issues and asked her if she wanted to try to milk one of the cows like she had in the past. He teased her about it and she said she would. She had never been good at milking. They pulled up side by side stools by the cows and Patricia tried to milk, but her hands just weren’t strong enough. Her grandfather laughed and quickly milked both cows.

As they left the barn, he stopped, turned, and looked up the steep hill behind the barn. He looked at Patricia, now almost grown, and asked if she would like to take a walk. He told her there might still be some hickory nuts on the ground for them to gather. Since she was a child, her grandfather had always sent her a letter when the hickory nuts were falling. She jumped at this chance to go with him, but she knew that climbing that hill would be hard for him now. She let him take the lead.

As they walked, Patricia’s grandfather talked to her. About life’s disappointments and hardships. About how she should hold her head high and never let them get her down. He told her to be proud of her roots. To get her education. To make him as proud of her in the future as he’d been in the past. All the while, he was breathing hard, struggling to climb that hill. When they reached the top, he rested against a tree and gave her a pail in which to put the hickory nuts. They would feed them to his two remaining pigs.

Patricia worked hard gathering those nuts while listening to her grandfather. He talked about his view of the world. How he wanted her to do well not only personally, but also for the world. He wanted her to never compromise her values. She heard every word he said and took those words to heart. Somehow she knew they were having a very important conversation.

As they started down the hill toward the house, she felt the burden of the last two years lifting off her shoulders. She felt better than she had in a long time. When they got back to the house, he went into his bedroom and said he was going to rest. He took a long nap. His morning with her had taken all of his energy. 

The next morning, the babies arrived and Patricia kept the two beautiful, blonde little girls entertained while dinner was being prepared. They were her little cousins and she adored them. Other family members arrived and the big family had a wonderful Christmas dinner at the long dining room table. The children all sat at tables prepared for them in the living room. The wonderful southern cooking and the love in that family was something she would remember all of her life. 

Patricia and her parents left for home the next day. She hated leaving the farm, her grandparents, and the babies. Her grandfather had given her the most important gift of all that Christmas. His wisdom and words of love. She went home stronger and she could hold her head up high. 

Posted in Uncategorized

By The Sea

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When he happened upon the village, he had been traveling for a long time. Wandering from place to place. He stopped in the small restaurant for some dinner and that’s when he saw it. There was a sign advertising a position for a lighthouse keeper. His breath caught in his throat. He had worked as a lighthouse keeper many times in his life. Those were the only times he had been a good person. When he had a connection to the sea.

He called the number on the sign. There was a small room he could live in at the bottom of the lighthouse. It had been standing empty for a while now. Workmen came to set its light. He moved in the few things that he had.

That night, he went about the business of calibrating the light. An image came into the path of the light and he realized it was a large ship sailing too close to the coast. When the light began to work, he watched as the ship steered away from the coastline.

He sighed with relief. This Christmas he had done a good deed. Unlike so many Christmas’s in the past.

 

*Thanks to Susan Spaulding and #SundayPhotoFiction