Roots in Appalachia

If you were to ask me what my connection to Appalachia is, the answer would simply roll off my tongue, my grandparents. They lived here during a time when it was truly Appalachia, before the tall buildings and paved roads plastered Morgantown. My grandmother lived in Gladesville, a small rural town in Preston County. Her family owned a large farm and built what was the largest house in Preston County at that time. The house was remarkable in the fact that it had three fireplaces, one on each floor, something not common to most homes. My grandfather was raised on what is now the Kingwood Pike, when it was the only way to get to Kingwood from Morgantown. He began his career at an early age, timbering the land that is now the location of my residence. As industrious as he was, he still enjoyed his fill of mischief behaviors. Whether it was bootlegging during prohibition or being stabbed by fellow poker players, his life was rooted in the culture of Appalachia. His final career in the workforce of rural West Virginia was coal mining. Known for pranking fellow coworkers and surviving 2 coal mine disasters, his coworkers nicknamed him Old 97. A strong supporter of the Union, he continued paying dues until his death in 2007.

Although the rest of my family doesn't have such deep roots in Appalachia as my grandparents did, parts of the culture have definitely passed over. Among other assorted small things, our obsession with Bluegrass music is the most prominent. I was exposed to it at a young age and it has become one of my favorite genres. My dad took this to a new level, when he decided to learn how to play the banjo. That's a story all its own.

I almost feel sorry for the next generation of my family, knowing that they won't be able to hear first hand stories about Appalachia. Granted the culture is not going away anytime soon, but it seems to be diminishing away little by little. Change is good though, right?

Chipps