For My Appalachians | KAYLA HOSTETLER

For My Appalachians

KAYLA HOSTETLER | VERMONT History and society has written you down as uneducated, simple, abusive, addicts. As hillbillies, mountain people, As destined to be barefoot and pregnant. As less than.

But you are greater than.

You are the sounds of folk music. Stomping and clapping that fills the holler with thunderous joy. Reverberating back and forth between the mountains.

You are laughter exploding from family picnics. As hundreds of years of oral histories come to life. As Uncle Chester delivers a performance better than Broadway. A poetic story master.

You are the earth and dirt. Generations of skill and love, poured into planting, growing, and sprouting new life. Self-sufficiency perfected.

You are the mountains. Mothers that are unmovable. That are love and grit mixed together, producing offspring that will survive.

You are the creek. Flowing and fast in speech and action. Adapting to changes that rise and recede. Knowing life if full of unexpected bends.

You are mystical.

Sharing Granny Magic, Cautionary tales, Home herbal remedies, Knowing the call of the Screech Owl.

You are our ancestors. Resourceful and strong. Making a meal out of toast and coffee, Handing down and hanging out clothes, Collecting droplets in rain barrels.

You are wisdom. Knowing the outside world has its priorities mixed up. Knowing that the children that abandoned the hollers and mountains, will eventually come back, to seek refuge.