I am drawn to books about Appalachia and have been since I was a teenager. I tend to have romatic notions about living in the mountains, living their life, even though now know better.
Just about two summers ago my friend, who grew up in the Cumberlands, took me to her family reunion here in Tahlequah. I was in heaven, but I admit, it was the delicious pie that I liked best. She wanted to see a relative, an old man, and said that when he died, she would never go to another reunion. The people were wonderful, again, I know, I just wanted to think so. . “Yes,” she said of them, just as long as they don’t talk religion.” This year my friend passed away before the old man whom she loved.
So I found this book on the Library of Congress websute, along with 156 or so other books on Appalachia that I downloaded.
A family that sings. Well, at first I thought, if this is about Loretta Lynn or Dolly, I am not interested. I am not into biographies about famous people.
Instead, it was about a family who sat out on their porch and sang songs, many of which I had never heard. Some of which I have always loved. And they had a Christmas dinner, and I thought of that pie that was served to me at Judith’s family reunion, and how much I would love to find out when they are having another reunion, and I would just slip inside and eat their food and visit. Get the recipe for that strange pie.
Not much happens in this book, or if it did I don’t recall. I just thought of how they all entertained themselves out on the porch in the summer because they didn’t have TV. And I felt that the book was sweet and not religious. And I also wished that I had been at their Christmas dinner. The list of food sounded wonderful.
And when I think of the old folks, I think of feather beds as well and how heavenly they are to sleep on. I think of close families and not The Glass Castle kind of families. I think of learning survival techniques like those in the Foxfire books, but I never think of killing chickens and hogs; instead I think of sweet potatoes, corn, russet potatoes, and dressing along with pies and cakes. I also think of visiting neighbors on the front porch and singing songs and telling ghost stories. I also think of my step grandfather’s fiddle and wish that I had it but it sits at my brother’s house in its case, being unused. And I think of my step grandmother and how she chewed snuff and how nasty it looked, but they were both good people. And maybe I should have learned more from them, but all I recall is that my Grandma Rose used to spit snuff out the school window when she was a kid and how when they came to California from Missouri they kept their old wooden chest that they carried their things in, and how my brother has that too, along with her butter churn. And I even gave him the quilt Granny Mack made and all because my little brother was my half brother and those were his real grandparents. And Grandma Rose used to make a great peach cobbler.