Foggy mornin' in the mountains

The fog is thick, as if the clouds dropped down to wrap misty arms around the mountains an' fill the hollers to the brim. Darkness latches onto the fog an' pushes hard agin the on-comin' day.

The thick damp mist muffles the sounds of dawn. Birds are feather fluffed an' quiet, waitin' for the sun that still hides behind the clouds. Roosters wander out of the hen house damp an' bedraggled, not willin' yet to crow an' call in the dawn.

Big Ben clocks ring harsh in the not yet day, unwindin' as they cry "rise an' shine". Ol' men reach out an' lift the clock to stare with sleep sandy eyes, seein' it ain't yet sunrise, thinkin' Big Ben must be lyin', must be wrong.

But mantle clocks an' that big ol' number 18 sized pocket watch, coin silver case an' 17 jewel sure both speak the same truth. Mornin' has come, no sun has risen, but mornin' has come home to the hills.

As they rise up, womenfolks sit on the side of the bed, gatherin' their long hair into buns, pullin' strands tight an' under tortoise shell combs. Aprons on, they head for the kitchens to throw kindlin' into cook stoves, light a fire, wash up an' get breakfast together.

The menfolks are more verbal as they stand, groan moanin' an' unsteady with mornin' aches to pull on overalls, drag on worn out socks and slowly tie up scuffed brogans. In cabins up an' down the creek they wander to the kitchen, wash up in the pans of water warm an' waitin' for them, grab a sup of water from the dipper before they lift the pail, head for the well to draw fresh water an' then to the barn to feed the mules, milk the cows an' begin the day's work.

It is mornin' in the mountains, hidden by the fog, not delayed.

Mornin' in the Mountains

Though dawn is still far away
Old eyes blink once, twice, open.
Nothing stirs in the early darkness
Big Ben alarm clock steadily ticks
Counting time, keepin' the beat
Keepin' a steady pace, onward till morn.
The yellowed newspapers pasted tight
Against the walls are still unseen
Old news, oxymoron long forgotten
Now keeps out the wind an' cold.
Deep feather bed is a sleepy nest
Quilts are hand stitched security
Pulled chin high an' held tight
Against the day, the morn, the dawn.
Then high on the hill, just there
A lone robin wakes, shakes an' sings
Inside a blink, a yawn an' ol' leg creaks.
Ol' dog's long vigil held on the floor
Curled nose to tail on a braided rag rug.
Them creakin' bones made ol' dog stir
Tail thumpin' 'gainst ancient chestnut
Hand hewn, sandstone smoothed puncheon floor.
Deep in a holler, down the creek
An ol' ramblin' cabin sits quiet like
Coiled tight like a spring, waitin'
For the ol' Big Ben to ringle jangle
Mornin'! Good mornin', Get up an' go.
Soon lights will lighten, brighten windows
Push through the humid darkness
Coffee, boiled long, strong, aroma thick
Will seep through every door,
Curl in every corner, warmin' hearth an' heart
It is mornin' in the mountains.

Stolen Heart

 My heart was stolen long ago
Not by a gal who winked an' smiled
Nor a beauty with angelic voice
It was not captured by feminine wiles
Or even kisses tender, soft

I cannot note a certain time
A point I knew it true
It was'nt love at the very first sight
Not second or even three
Wasn't smitten with much ado

My heart was taken away from me
In a quiet and subtle way
I did not know or realize it then
Just how my love had grown
How could I not have known

Then one day I just stopped and knew
Just had to look around
My heart was rooted deep you see
Sunk down, tied in, anchored deep
In the hills all around me

 In my dreams I wander there
Through oaks, magnolias, pines
I walk in hollers deep and old
Along a rugged ridge
Each footstep planned and sure

I trace the grain of chestnut wood
On planks of tobaccer barns
As if I touch my beloved's face
Or hold her tender hand
For I am smitten by this place
The mountains and this land.

Lightning Bugs

You ever wonder
Why little kids
Chase lightning bugs
Then sit mesmerized
Watching a mason jar?

Gone Fishin'

The bank of the deep and slow movin' river
Gives up tell tale signs to the experienced eye.
A well worn path leads down through the woods
At the end of the path is an open clearing.
A trail follows thinly along the bank of the river
The clearing, though not expansive, is room enough.
The tell tale signs are there, just look and see
Dirt pressed down hard by shoe and boot
Limbs overhead cut back and kept away.
Down close on the shoreline... see just there
Branches cut and trimmed in a "Y" shape
Pushed deep into the muddy river's edge.
Out in the water you can see the reason why.
Clear water moves slow like over rocks
Rills and shimmers quiver on the surface.
An old log lay submerged and inviting
Water skippers dance a dance as if on ice.
Tiny bugs buzz without caution close to the surface...
Then, without warning, almost too fast to see
A big ol' bass rises up from the bottom.
He was hidden just below that dang ol' log
Breakin' the surface with little effort
His mouth opens to monstrous dimensions
And closes on a morsel of fat and juicy beetle.
Faster than fast he swallows and is gone.
Yep, this is the place we were lookin' for
We nod at each other and smile. 

Lights of Home

Full moon and morning star
Lead me home to my darlin'
Headlights burnin' through
Swirlin' fog an' stirred up dust
Engine thrums my impatience
Up a hill an' down the holler
Crawlin' round that tight ol' bend
Patience worn an' razor thin
Eyes a squintin' hard
Round a corner another bend
Just there now... can't you see
Through the thick an' shelterin' trees
There, just there - look right close
Oh, yes... the lights of home.







Copyright 2012 Stephen Hollen is a storyteller living in Ohio, telling Appalachian stories and writing some ragged verse.

Morning in Beloved

As the sun rises
It is a bright
Banana yellow
With a rind of orange.
Through my window
The world is awakening
To Crayola colors
As if creation was
A coloring book.
A periwinkle sky is filled
With clouds whipped thin;
But clouds are no competition
For sun or sky.
In the distance the hills
Stand round about this holler
A ring of isolation
From a harsh world.
The morning mist wraps
Next like batting,
But more alive than
Sun or sky or even trees.
Closest to this cabin
Guardians stand tall
Oak, pine and hickory
Silhouettes against the mist.
Sourwood, dogwood and redbud
Huddle near their feet.
Guarding the low road
That leads to home.

With regret I lower the curtain
I have held ever so long
As I looked out in wonder,
Turn away with regret.
Oh, that I could stay at that window
Watching the sunrise
Watching my little holler
As the world seems to forget
I am there.

Daddy

Today is two years since my Daddy left this world to go into that mystery beyond this life.  I often wondered how people were able to remember the day and time they lost a loved one.  It is no longer difficult to understand.  I know the day, the time and when that moment happens I am aware of it, just as I was today.  In the midst of the rush of the day my mind leapt to one thought..."This is when my Daddy died".

I wish that you could have met him.  He was a gracious mountain man.  I never heard him gossip and talk bad about folks.  He was quiet and didn't ask for a lot.  After he was gone I helped my Mama go through his clothes and he still had socks he had not worn, had not opened in over 20 years.  He was saving them for when he needed them.  They are still in my drawer, still with the wrapper around them, ever unopened.

He could not tell a joke or story to save his life.  He would get tickled or mix the joke up and try to tell it. Finally getting through it as he chuckled at himself and the punchline that he probably delivered in the middle of the story instead of the end.

Daddy liked his coffee in thin china cups.  I don't know why, but he did.  No mugs for him.  Mama would go to garage sales and the thrift to find them, in case one broke.  He wouldn't use the good china, so she kept a few hand me downs for him to use.

I remember walking with him when I was a very small boy, holding just his little finger that he would hold out for me.  His legs were so long as he walked - all 6 feet of him that I would constantly be at a run.

Sometimes I would say, "Daddy, wait for me, I'm runnin' just to keep up".  When I got to be 6'2" I could walk along side this giant easily.  When he began to get sick with COPD I was the one who would have to walk slower, often stopping for him to catch his breath.  He once told me he was just getting me back for all the times I stopped to look at some rock or bug as I walked with him as a child.

When Mama cleaned out his closet I took an old sweater he wore often.  I placed it in a large zip lock bag and put it away.  It was an odd thing to do, but that old sweater smelled like him.  When I open that bag it still does.