For me, Appalachia always represented my less-interesting half.
My father grew up here, for the most part. He moved to Morgantown with his family from Rhode Island when he was eight years old, because his parents had some serious West Virginia roots. I didn’t realize just how extensive those roots were until I did a little research for my Appalachian literature class. My ancestors lived in-state before the state was a state. The earliest I could find were here around the 1750s.
From a pretty young age, I thought I knew what it was to be Appalachian. Appalachians were independent, but ignorant. They all played the fiddle and lived in the mountains, isolated from the rest of the world. Each and every family owned at least one gun. The women were tough and gritty as the men. The men had thick dirty beards. They were all backwards. Some still used out-houses. I preferred not to think about them.
Instead I chose to take pride in my mother’s ancestors: Irish and Italian immigrants who came to the states via Elis Island and made lives for themselves in New York and New Jersey. Automatically I associated Italian New Yorkers with the mafia. The mafia was awesome. End of story.
And so I blatantly ignored my West Virginia heritage and begged my parents to move us to New Jersey. We visited twice a year, usually, to be with my mother’s family for Thanksgiving and Easter. I had a host of cousins there that were very nearly my age, give or take a few years. They were fantastic playmates. The buildings were bigger and more abundant. There were people everywhere. It was more conducive to my fleeting, 7-year-old attention span.
For about four years after that, I requested the move at least twice a year, whenever we visited. And each year I cried when I had to wave goodbye to my cousins from the Subaru as we began our journey back home.
But rather suddenly, around age 10 or 11, I became a social-hermit. The quiet Morgantown, West Virginia I lived in was finally rubbing off on me. My cousins were great. I loved the entire New Jersey clan, but New Jersey no longer fit me. I missed the solitude of West Virginia. Relief struck me each time we reached Appalachia again. And it was easy to tell when we did.
The houses we saw while driving on the highway grew farther apart from one another and appeared more modest. Massive, protective walls suddenly sprung up around us, taking form of the Appalachian Mountains. Everything was so green, that is unless we were coming back from Thanksgiving, and if we were, the high elevations were blanketed with a thin sheet of snow or ice. Traffic, such an issue in New Jersey, did not exist. Everything was palpably calmer and quainter. And it was beautiful. It was home.
--Emma C.
3 comments:
Oh oh! Emma, I liked this and the idea of writing about a sort of self-discovery thing. And how you were able to notice the differences of West Virginia to other states was interesting. As for me, most of my relatives live in West Virginia, heheh. But yeah, when the ground is flat it really does make a difference. ;D
Great insights, Emma!
I really love how you captured that disconnect most of us feel from our Appalachian heritage--though we all know we live in West Virginia, and some of us even realize that West Virginia is Appalachia, you'd be amazed how few people make the connection between the two and come to the conclusion that WE are Appalachia! I know I didn't--not until I took the time to really sit down and come to appreciate the uniqueness of our position.
Interestingly, the stereotypes you mention are the same stereotypes we West Virginians hear about our state all the time, and claim to resent so strongly--but have you ever noticed that sometimes, it seems like we're furthering them all the same? I found out recently that West Virginia hosts an annual ROADKILL FESTIVAL--as in, a festival centered around preparing "exotic" meat dishes ranging from all sorts of roadside rodentia. Mmmm....Still other aspects of our culture are much the same. There's a restaurant out near Huntington called Hillbilly Hot Dogs that is, quite honestly, the most terrifying and fascinating place I've ever eaten. And it's gotten national acclaim, something folk in those parts seem to be very proud of.
As for myself, these incidences always sort of make me want to cry. There's so much about our state and our heritage that is stunningly beautiful--where is the recognition for that? Where are the national media flocking to document our gorgeous fall foliage? Where are the politicians heralding us for our people's selfless contributions to the nation, from the men and women who risk their lives everyday spending hours in a tunnel no taller than your dining room table so that people everywhere can have reliable energy? Where are the schoolchildren taking field trips to our historic landmarks, learning firsthand about Licoln's progeny, the "daughter of the Civil War?"
Sure, we may not have mafia roots or Ellis Island backstories (well, not all of us at least--though they, too, play a central role in what is Appalachia!)but we have here a culture as colorful and enduring as any on Earth, and I can't tell you how thrilled it makes me to see you guys realizing and expressing that :D
...Yikes, I went ranting again, didn't I? Sorry about that!
Excellent post, Emma, and keep up the good work.
Happy (Appalachian) trails, everyone!
Alex
Hey Emma!
I can definitely relate. Like your parents, my dad's family is Appalachian and my mom is second-generation Mediterranean European, Greek. My dad's family can't even trace themselves any further than West Virginia. I would always joke around and say that I was half Greek and half West Virginian. I would identify with my mom's loud and boisterous family and reduced my heritage to just "half Greek."
But when I went to meet my actual Greek family in Athens a few years ago, I realized how I was more American, and West Virginian at that. I couldn't speak more than a sentence at a time; and when I did speak English I used words that my family never learned in their British English classes. I couldn't windsurf with my cousins because mountains and rivers had shaped my outdoor hobbies and activities, not seas and islands. My stomach wasn't used to so much oil, seafood, and ouzo but rather butter, beef, and moonshine (ok, not really moonshine). But the point is the old cliche was true: you can take the girl out of West Virginia but you can't take the West Virginia out of the girl.
I didn't realize how Appalachian I was until I left Appalachia completely. Now I've reverted back to my original ethnic identity: half Greek and half West Virginian.
So whether we're in Jersey or Greece, I guess West Virginia follows us. Thanks for sharing, Emma! :)
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