I want to drive a crooked road
All the way to the end.
I want to look down a hill
As I go around a bend
And see the lights
Of little houses and cabins
Shinin' in the twilight
Wrapped in smoky mist.
A reminder of those
Who chose not to leave
But stayed home
In hills an' hollers
Clefts and ridges
High in the Appalachias.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Remember
Do you know who I am?
I am the one who remembers
I do not forget
Will not forget
Can not forget.
I remember for you.
I am there,
Back there to remind you
To show you how it was
To let you feel once more
The joy, the hurt
The simple things that
Made you smile.
The sound of leaves scratchin'
Along the ground
Pushed by the wind
On an autumn day
That first kiss
Stolen so quickly
Soft and sweet
Remembered by me
Reminded to you.
The smell of supper
Cookin' in the house
While you played outside
Waitin' to hear a call
"Dinner, come on in"
The touch of your hand
On theirs
Reaching, feeling, hoping
Finding reassurance
Feeling a quickening
As finger intertwine.
Do you know who I am?
I remember for you.
I am the one who remembers
I do not forget
Will not forget
Can not forget.
I remember for you.
I am there,
Back there to remind you
To show you how it was
To let you feel once more
The joy, the hurt
The simple things that
Made you smile.
The sound of leaves scratchin'
Along the ground
Pushed by the wind
On an autumn day
That first kiss
Stolen so quickly
Soft and sweet
Remembered by me
Reminded to you.
The smell of supper
Cookin' in the house
While you played outside
Waitin' to hear a call
"Dinner, come on in"
The touch of your hand
On theirs
Reaching, feeling, hoping
Finding reassurance
Feeling a quickening
As finger intertwine.
Do you know who I am?
I remember for you.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
I Know
I know you have been here
I don't know when you stop
Don't know if what I write
Makes you smile
Remember a place
A time that is past
Does not exist anywhere
Except in memory.
I suspect you look back
Just as I do
And think of those times
So many places
You have been
Reminded by my feeble thoughts
Of what has been lost
Of the way it was.
I know you have been here
I see your sad smile.
I don't know when you stop
Don't know if what I write
Makes you smile
Remember a place
A time that is past
Does not exist anywhere
Except in memory.
I suspect you look back
Just as I do
And think of those times
So many places
You have been
Reminded by my feeble thoughts
Of what has been lost
Of the way it was.
I know you have been here
I see your sad smile.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
The Road
Life had changed him, death stopped by and robbed him of a Daddy, Mama, his family, his kin. Jimmie walked numb through the mourning, the handshakes, hugs and prayers. Hands reaching out to him just never could reach through the fog to pull him back into living.
Though he was almost ready to leave home, Jimmie had not pulled up anchor and drifted away from that house deep in the holler not too far outside of Beloved, Kentucky. He had a summer job at the Carnegie Library.
That is where the deputy sheriff found him the day his folks slid into the guardrail to avoid that deer. Their truck tumbled down a ravine and settled on its side more than 300 feet below. Their horn cried long and loud until Uncle Billy Gilbert drove by, windows down. The smashed rail and braying horn caused him to stop. All Uncle Billy could do is cry and pray when he got to the bottom of the ravine. It was too late to do more.
Jimmie sat for days in the home his folks had brought to life with harmony, smiles and the joinery of heart, hearth and table that makes a mountain home. He looked into a dusty hearth without seeing. He walked the halls and stood on the big wrap around porch without feeling. One moment he rose for a bit from the hurt when he heard the creak of the porch swing. His head turned to look before reality reminded his conscious mind it was only the wind.
No one called from the library to remind him he needed to come to work. Neighbors had been kind, had brought a mountain of food to show their love before the funeral. Now they all seemed to have deserted him. Reality was they didn't want to be a bother.
Jimmie needed the bother.
This went on for two weeks. The only person that realized anything was wrong was a little bitty fellow that was the last person to offer help. He was short, thin and of no social consequence. He didn't bathe often, he kiddingly told folks he was H2O intolerant. His name was Peanut Chappell and he was distant cousin to Jimmie and his family. The longest conversation Jimmie had ever had with Peanut was over the quality of the moonshine that ol' Bert made over on Double Creek, near Peabody.
Jimmie might have thought it odd if he had not sunk so low, had not been so far from living as he was, when Peanut stopped by in his Daddy's old International truck.
"Jimmie, I hate to bother you, but I really need someone to help me. There is a real problem and I can't find anyone else who could help solve it."
Peanut had to beg and cajole Jimmie for over half an hour. Finally Jimmie agreed to help. He sat and looked at nothing as the truck rumbled down a road he didn't recognize.
After nearly twenty minutes they stopped and Peanut told him they were "there". They both got out and Peanut told Jimmie to have a seat on a big log that had fallen on the side of the road. Road was actually an exaggeration. This was little more than a growed up path to nowhere. Jimmie didn't notice.
"Jimmie, here is how it is. You are worthless right now. You are in some kind of way an' no one is doin' a thing about it. Specially you. do you think your Mama would like what she sees? Shucks man, you haven't even had a bath in days. I know! I am an expert in that area. You need a good kick in the pants is what your Daddy would say and I am givin' it to ya. I am leavin' an' you are not comin' with me. You can sit here on your sorry tail an' die if you want. Or you can get up an' walk home. Take time to think as you walk, ol' boy. I got you about 15 miles from anyone, so you are on your own"
As he spoke these words, Peanut became more than he ever was before, or after in his life. The good Lord must have laid this on his heart, for he never had a moment like this again.
After Peanut drove off Jimmie sat there for a while in the same funk as before. Then he got mad. He got plain ol' ticked off. How dare Peanut Chappell preach to him. How dare him leave like that! Hey, how dare he leave without a bit of food all this way.
Then he noticed the brown bag layin' by him. Inside were half dozen biscuits, a couple small tomatoes, some sliced ham and a peach. A note was scrawled on the bag, "love you man." in Peanut's simple handwriting.
Jimmie got up and began walking pretty slowly. He just had to follow the road back. It wasn't really hard going, just tedious. He carried the bag in his left hand and didn't think at all as he walked.
Since Peanut picked him up late in the day, Jimmie ended up spending a uncomfortable night in the holler, cold and alone. He was already feeling that way inside... all he needed was to feel that way outside.
In the morning he ate more of the food Peanut had left and sat for a while wondering what in the world Peanut thought this would accomplish.
He walked till about 10:00 and as he walked around a corner he saw an old board with words painted in white paint; This a way Jimmie". It pointed up a dry branch. He figured Peanut had a shortcut so he obediently followed.
At the top of the hill was another sign; "See what God had wrought. It is all in His plan".
Jimmie looked out over the hills and hollers that were home to all his family for nearly 200 years. He saw his town of Beloved, the Carnegie Library, cars and trucks moving along the roads below. Some were leaving and some coming into town.
Far up the hill he saw the little church where his family worshiped... Where his Mama and Daddy were buried. He could see the mounds of bright colored flowers still heaped on the raw earth of their graves. Tears stung his eyes as he looked over the hills of home to that place where they lay.
Why would Peanut do this to him? Why?
He read the sign again, "See what God had wrought. It is all in His plan".
You don't need to know all Jimmie said, the rants, the curse he threw at the hills, at God, at his Daddy for worrying more about a deer than his own family. He cursed the day he was born, the day that the deer was born, he cursed one and all without prejudice.
Then he sat, he slept finally and woke during the long night.
It was warm there that night, almost like he was meant to be there. He saw the lights of little cabins snuggled up to the feet of the hills, worn down hard by god years ago. He felt worn down like the hills. As he watched, the lights went out in home after home till only a few pole lights lit the little village of Beloved.
Jimmie didn't sleep. He sat and watched as the world slept. He searched his heart and wondered about a plan that allowed his folks to die.
The next morning he rose and turned to go, only to find himself facing an overgrown cemetery. He walked inside the gate and wandered through the stones. Dozens of pioneer families were buried there, many with only sandstone markers on their graves. He read the names, the dates, the simple expressions of love.
He came to one stone that was different. In the midst of all the graves was one small stone that said simply, "Lucinda, Beloved by me"
Peanut had walked quietly up behind him. "That is why our hometown is named Beloved. A man named by Felix came here, had that meadow that is our town surveyed for a farm. He meant for his wife to see it, it was for her. He got her here, this far and she fell, was hurt and died in his arms. She saw the place, just never got there. She said to him, 'what a beloved place. That is what he called it. He built other cabins an' when a few folks stopped, he invited them to stay. He could have just sat up here an' died too. He didn't though, he went on down the road."
They sat for a while till Peanut spoke again, "I cain't figure it out, Jimmie. I have studied on it a good bit, I don't have no kind of answers. I reckon this was sort of silly I just know you gotta get on down the road now. I'll take you home, lets go."
Jimmie looked at him for a moment and thanked Peanut for the offer, then told him he needed to walk.
That's what he did. He just walked on down the road toward his home.
Though he was almost ready to leave home, Jimmie had not pulled up anchor and drifted away from that house deep in the holler not too far outside of Beloved, Kentucky. He had a summer job at the Carnegie Library.
That is where the deputy sheriff found him the day his folks slid into the guardrail to avoid that deer. Their truck tumbled down a ravine and settled on its side more than 300 feet below. Their horn cried long and loud until Uncle Billy Gilbert drove by, windows down. The smashed rail and braying horn caused him to stop. All Uncle Billy could do is cry and pray when he got to the bottom of the ravine. It was too late to do more.
Jimmie sat for days in the home his folks had brought to life with harmony, smiles and the joinery of heart, hearth and table that makes a mountain home. He looked into a dusty hearth without seeing. He walked the halls and stood on the big wrap around porch without feeling. One moment he rose for a bit from the hurt when he heard the creak of the porch swing. His head turned to look before reality reminded his conscious mind it was only the wind.
No one called from the library to remind him he needed to come to work. Neighbors had been kind, had brought a mountain of food to show their love before the funeral. Now they all seemed to have deserted him. Reality was they didn't want to be a bother.
Jimmie needed the bother.
This went on for two weeks. The only person that realized anything was wrong was a little bitty fellow that was the last person to offer help. He was short, thin and of no social consequence. He didn't bathe often, he kiddingly told folks he was H2O intolerant. His name was Peanut Chappell and he was distant cousin to Jimmie and his family. The longest conversation Jimmie had ever had with Peanut was over the quality of the moonshine that ol' Bert made over on Double Creek, near Peabody.
Jimmie might have thought it odd if he had not sunk so low, had not been so far from living as he was, when Peanut stopped by in his Daddy's old International truck.
"Jimmie, I hate to bother you, but I really need someone to help me. There is a real problem and I can't find anyone else who could help solve it."
Peanut had to beg and cajole Jimmie for over half an hour. Finally Jimmie agreed to help. He sat and looked at nothing as the truck rumbled down a road he didn't recognize.
After nearly twenty minutes they stopped and Peanut told him they were "there". They both got out and Peanut told Jimmie to have a seat on a big log that had fallen on the side of the road. Road was actually an exaggeration. This was little more than a growed up path to nowhere. Jimmie didn't notice.
"Jimmie, here is how it is. You are worthless right now. You are in some kind of way an' no one is doin' a thing about it. Specially you. do you think your Mama would like what she sees? Shucks man, you haven't even had a bath in days. I know! I am an expert in that area. You need a good kick in the pants is what your Daddy would say and I am givin' it to ya. I am leavin' an' you are not comin' with me. You can sit here on your sorry tail an' die if you want. Or you can get up an' walk home. Take time to think as you walk, ol' boy. I got you about 15 miles from anyone, so you are on your own"
As he spoke these words, Peanut became more than he ever was before, or after in his life. The good Lord must have laid this on his heart, for he never had a moment like this again.
After Peanut drove off Jimmie sat there for a while in the same funk as before. Then he got mad. He got plain ol' ticked off. How dare Peanut Chappell preach to him. How dare him leave like that! Hey, how dare he leave without a bit of food all this way.
Then he noticed the brown bag layin' by him. Inside were half dozen biscuits, a couple small tomatoes, some sliced ham and a peach. A note was scrawled on the bag, "love you man." in Peanut's simple handwriting.
Jimmie got up and began walking pretty slowly. He just had to follow the road back. It wasn't really hard going, just tedious. He carried the bag in his left hand and didn't think at all as he walked.
Since Peanut picked him up late in the day, Jimmie ended up spending a uncomfortable night in the holler, cold and alone. He was already feeling that way inside... all he needed was to feel that way outside.
In the morning he ate more of the food Peanut had left and sat for a while wondering what in the world Peanut thought this would accomplish.
He walked till about 10:00 and as he walked around a corner he saw an old board with words painted in white paint; This a way Jimmie". It pointed up a dry branch. He figured Peanut had a shortcut so he obediently followed.
At the top of the hill was another sign; "See what God had wrought. It is all in His plan".
Jimmie looked out over the hills and hollers that were home to all his family for nearly 200 years. He saw his town of Beloved, the Carnegie Library, cars and trucks moving along the roads below. Some were leaving and some coming into town.
Far up the hill he saw the little church where his family worshiped... Where his Mama and Daddy were buried. He could see the mounds of bright colored flowers still heaped on the raw earth of their graves. Tears stung his eyes as he looked over the hills of home to that place where they lay.
Why would Peanut do this to him? Why?
He read the sign again, "See what God had wrought. It is all in His plan".
You don't need to know all Jimmie said, the rants, the curse he threw at the hills, at God, at his Daddy for worrying more about a deer than his own family. He cursed the day he was born, the day that the deer was born, he cursed one and all without prejudice.
Then he sat, he slept finally and woke during the long night.
It was warm there that night, almost like he was meant to be there. He saw the lights of little cabins snuggled up to the feet of the hills, worn down hard by god years ago. He felt worn down like the hills. As he watched, the lights went out in home after home till only a few pole lights lit the little village of Beloved.
Jimmie didn't sleep. He sat and watched as the world slept. He searched his heart and wondered about a plan that allowed his folks to die.
The next morning he rose and turned to go, only to find himself facing an overgrown cemetery. He walked inside the gate and wandered through the stones. Dozens of pioneer families were buried there, many with only sandstone markers on their graves. He read the names, the dates, the simple expressions of love.
He came to one stone that was different. In the midst of all the graves was one small stone that said simply, "Lucinda, Beloved by me"
Peanut had walked quietly up behind him. "That is why our hometown is named Beloved. A man named by Felix came here, had that meadow that is our town surveyed for a farm. He meant for his wife to see it, it was for her. He got her here, this far and she fell, was hurt and died in his arms. She saw the place, just never got there. She said to him, 'what a beloved place. That is what he called it. He built other cabins an' when a few folks stopped, he invited them to stay. He could have just sat up here an' died too. He didn't though, he went on down the road."
They sat for a while till Peanut spoke again, "I cain't figure it out, Jimmie. I have studied on it a good bit, I don't have no kind of answers. I reckon this was sort of silly I just know you gotta get on down the road now. I'll take you home, lets go."
Jimmie looked at him for a moment and thanked Peanut for the offer, then told him he needed to walk.
That's what he did. He just walked on down the road toward his home.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Restless Night
Storm tonight has me restless
Makes me want to go somewhere
Do something, but I don't know
Just don't know what I want,
What I need.
Seems like I might be satisfied
To sit on the porch of an old log cabin
Watchin' the rain
Listenin' to it hit the tin roof.
Maybe sip a cup of scalded coffee
Maybe sip a little glass
Of corn likker
Cold from the fridge
Drops of dew on the glass.
See an old sooner dog look
Out from a barn door
Wantin' to come up
Onto the porch
Wantin' human company
But too well mannered
To bring his sorry old wet hide
Up with civil folks.
Maybe I'd put on old work boots
Throw a slicker on
Put a wide brimmed hat
Top of my head
And walk the ridges,
Feel the rain gentle on me
Wander through the hills
Like a sodden ghost
Through the rain
Through the mist caught low
Lookin' for what might have been
Lookin' for what is
Hopin' for what will be.
Lookin deep into the valleys
Searchin' the hillside
Lookin' behind every tree
For that which was lost.
Maybe callin' out
Knowin' there won't be
Any answer
But callin' just the same.
Maybe I'll take an old Indian flute
Play a forlorn tune
Hauntin' as the memories
I carry like burdens tonight.
Maybe as I play
Top of the ridge
Standin' on the dirt an' clay
That claims my spirit
Shackles my heart to the hills
Spirits of my ancestors
Welsh, Irish, Scots
Will come down to dance a reel, or jig
Joined by those who have darker skin,
Red and brown
Powhatan, Choctaw, Cherokee
And mysterious Melungeon
To take their turn in the dance
Calling to me
"Come, join, dance
Dance the dance
Of the Appalachia's
Slow, eternal.
Dance with us,
Our son, our child"
But I play
I cannot stop
But perhaps I do.
And in the silence I hear
The tune eternal of hill and holler
Rock and rill
Blowin' down every dry branch
Whispered by the mighty oak
Taken up by bird and beast.
The song of home.
the song of home.
I am restless tonight
Maybe it is just the storm.
Maybe I hear an ancient call.
Makes me want to go somewhere
Do something, but I don't know
Just don't know what I want,
What I need.
Seems like I might be satisfied
To sit on the porch of an old log cabin
Watchin' the rain
Listenin' to it hit the tin roof.
Maybe sip a cup of scalded coffee
Maybe sip a little glass
Of corn likker
Cold from the fridge
Drops of dew on the glass.
See an old sooner dog look
Out from a barn door
Wantin' to come up
Onto the porch
Wantin' human company
But too well mannered
To bring his sorry old wet hide
Up with civil folks.
Maybe I'd put on old work boots
Throw a slicker on
Put a wide brimmed hat
Top of my head
And walk the ridges,
Feel the rain gentle on me
Wander through the hills
Like a sodden ghost
Through the rain
Through the mist caught low
Lookin' for what might have been
Lookin' for what is
Hopin' for what will be.
Lookin deep into the valleys
Searchin' the hillside
Lookin' behind every tree
For that which was lost.
Maybe callin' out
Knowin' there won't be
Any answer
But callin' just the same.
Maybe I'll take an old Indian flute
Play a forlorn tune
Hauntin' as the memories
I carry like burdens tonight.
Maybe as I play
Top of the ridge
Standin' on the dirt an' clay
That claims my spirit
Shackles my heart to the hills
Spirits of my ancestors
Welsh, Irish, Scots
Will come down to dance a reel, or jig
Joined by those who have darker skin,
Red and brown
Powhatan, Choctaw, Cherokee
And mysterious Melungeon
To take their turn in the dance
Calling to me
"Come, join, dance
Dance the dance
Of the Appalachia's
Slow, eternal.
Dance with us,
Our son, our child"
But I play
I cannot stop
But perhaps I do.
And in the silence I hear
The tune eternal of hill and holler
Rock and rill
Blowin' down every dry branch
Whispered by the mighty oak
Taken up by bird and beast.
The song of home.
the song of home.
I am restless tonight
Maybe it is just the storm.
Maybe I hear an ancient call.
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