Johnson City Tennessee, 2:00 AM, November 1st 2015:
Fall back into the longest night of the year: drink bourbon out of a plastic boot from the Dixie Stampede, laugh until my sides hurt, play music till the upstairs neighbors stomp on the floor... Fall back into long evenings after being caught in the fall back of letting a reckless summer hold my face in his hands when he kissed me. Johnson City Tennessee, 2:00 AM (again), November 1st 2015: Fall back into the longest night of the year: finish the last of the bourbon, feel it in my finger tips, sit next to Joy and be overcome with gratitude (the world is a brighter place because of her), sing a little louder, let "Loretta guide us forward and Jesus get our back..." Fall back into the warmth of this room and keep playing Dolly Parton songs because the upstairs neighbors ain't home.
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Early October morning at the top of Snake Mountain I am twenty-five, I am between state lines, and I am happening right now. Below there are photos to edit, there are papers to write, there are road trips to plan, there are logistics to figure out (despite how much I would like to ignore them), there is the west to explore, there are people to see, there are jobs and graduate schools to apply for... Stop. Return to yourself, unwind the knot in your gut, you are of this geography; even with your eyes closed you can see clearer from the top of mountains.
Early October evening at the Flat Spot in Bethel I am twenty-five, I am gathered here with my dearest friends, and I am the only place I want to be. Tonight there are goats to feed, fires to build to an irresponsibly large size, there are coals to throw, there are adventures to be had, there are handshakes to remember, there are shoulders to lean on... Put your damn phone away. Return to the people you love most, you are your best self when you are with these women, they too are of this geography; don't forget to take the time to design a really good monster truck. Welcome home, how does that feel? to be socked straight in the heart? Turns out welcome home ain't all welcome. Still every time there is warmth of this; the view of the sorghum molasses boil from the hill above Julie's garden, the sound of fiddle tunes, and knowing that so many people I love are under that tin roof. Welcome home.
To see pictures of the process of making sorghum molasses click here
Southeast Kentucky: Knock-kneed and bug-bit, since I arrived at Musick Mountain Farm I've been asking myself what the hell did you get yourself into? And didn't you know farming was fucking hard?! I jumped feet first into long days of 90 degree heat and dry dirt. I still haven't finished weeding that damn sweet potato patch. Right into late night coyotes coming a little too close and a copperhead even closer. I am not as alone out here as I believed. Right into family histories at the dinner table with Janice and helping her bury her cat when the dishes were cleared. I was really never much for small talk anyway. Feet first into southeast Kentucky knock-kneed and my neck crooked back from staring too long at the stars. I am stronger than I've ever been. Below I have included a slideshow of images from life on the farm. "Forever taking pictures of mountains" will be carved into the rock above my head when I am laid to rest. I can't help that I am always remembering the structure of my backbone...
Last weekend in Harlan, Kentucky I gathered with folks whose backbone has the same structure as mine at the It's Good to be Young in the Mountains conference to discuss how to stay in Appalachia, and not only how to stay, but to thrive in Appalachia. Last weekend I had the energy of leaving Boone, the energy of being around other passionate young people. Last weekend it felt good to be young in the mountains. Surrounded by so many different kinds of mountain builders it was hard not to hold a vision of tomorrow. However, as a young black man attending the conference pointed out during the closing of the conference, that vision is not complete and we still have a great deal of work to do before we see tomorrow. Tomorrow cannot continue to be a vision of predominately white people, no matter how well-intentioned we are. Because tomorrow looks like understanding that Appalachia is not just in the hills and the hollars, Appalachia is Charleston, Knoxville, Huntsville, and Pittsburgh. And tomorrow? tomorrow looks like momentum... Momentum looks like the drive home from Harlan and a 20 minute conversation with Sam at a gas pump in Virginia about how we can love Appalachia actively and how not to just accept the parts that need to change. But momentum feels like your heart in your throat when a girl says that now she is going to write a poem about how the fire is not dead here. |
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