Appalachian Americans have a language that’s all our own. In the late 90s I left my home in the Appalachian Mountains to find work. I went to Maryland and took a job as a framer in a prefab housing plant along with a group of people from my home area. Most of the people who were with me were people whom I had known for years and worked with before. We had pretty efficient crew and nearly tripled the production of the opposite shift. But the good folks in Maryland didn’t quite pick up on some of the Appalachian Dialect that we spoke among ourselves. It’s English language but we have a tendency to use archaic phrases that people outside of our Mountains “ain’t really able to get a handle on”. One such phrase is the word “Yonder”. When used in context it generally means “over there” and is normally accompanied by a subtle nod of the head towards the direction of the subject being spoken of. While working at the job site we had a supervisor who was raised near the coast and had never heard of the word yonder before. Bob was actually one of nicest people who I’ve ever met. He had lent his hammer out to one of the “hillbillies” who had left his at home and the worker misplaced it. Bob inquired as to the whereabouts of his favorite hammer and the reply came back that it was “yonder”. Puzzled by the answer but not wanting to look bad in the eyes of the Appalachian crew Bob began to search on his own. This quickly became a game with my coworkers. Each person asked about the hammer replied with “yonder”. After about an hour of searching Bob came to me and asked if I would please let him know which direction was “yonder”. I simply smiled and replied “Bob, everybody knows that yonder is the opposite of “nigh””. (meaning near by) I quickly went back to work hammering away at wall I was building. Poor Bob just stood there blinking. Eventually we let him off the hook by returning his beloved hammer along with buying his lunch.
Tag: humor
A Small Adventure And A Forbidden Gateway
I exited the highway and slowly drifted down the muddy road. A few days prior I’d spotted the tunnel. The entrance is dark and foreboding. The Virginia Creeper vines hang across the opening as if they’re daring me to step within reach. Just on the other side the light falls gently on a peaceful looking forest. This is a mystery. My mind harkens back to my childhood and games of dungeons and dragons. What will happen if I cross the threshold? Will the vines try to grab me and pull me up into some primeval jungle? Will I find out the peaceful scene on the other side is just an illusion as I’m transported to an alternate reality by some mystical gateway? Will I find an angry axe wielding ogre waiting to squish me into jelly? My sense of fantasy and adventure begins to run wild. I began to recall hours of solving puzzles and riddles with my college friends in a world where one’s fate was controlled by the roll of a 20 sided die. It was pure escapism. Magical swords, cursed rings and legendary beasts all awaited us on Thursday nights in the student lounge.
The best games were the ones where we bent the rules just a little to keep the story going. I was tempted to temp fate and enter the tunnel for a few minutes. I quickly checked my pocket and found my trusty Victorinox Swiss Army Knife to fend away the vines. However, I remembered that the 20 sided die was lost to a wild roll and an open floor vent in 1988. Unwilling to face any axe wielding ogres without my lucky die, I opted to stay in the real world…for now. I turned my big blue truck back towards the open road and my day job where the vines don’t try to eat you. However, I am a little suspicious of the ficus in the corner of the office. 😉
Some Sunday Memories
One of the things that I love most about my home in the mountains is all the little churches. The steeples just seem to pop up above the canopy like friendly wave of hello. I remember as a kid that one of the most important jobs in the congregation was to be responsible for ringing the bell. The call to worship had to be given at about an hour or so prior to the start of service and then again when it was time to get started. On a good day we could hear the bell ring from miles away. Soon there was a parade of cars moving on the one lane road. You had to there early so you could get a good seat and a place to park. The funny thing is that everyone occupied the same seat and parking spot every Sunday. And, if one of the kids sat in a different place an adult would quickly remind them of the unwritten rules about where to sit. “Hey, that’s where so-and-so sits.” We would have to move around until we finally wound up in the same spot we sat in last week. At the end of service was another unwritten ritual. The shaking of hands. In a small country church the Right Hand Of Fellowship is a common practice. But young boys are mischievous by nature and quick to adapt a custom to their own uses. As soon as the service closed there was a race to the door where The Right Hand Of Fellowship was changed into the Running Of The Gauntlet. The boys would line the exit and extend their shaking hand to anyone trying to leave. The adults would then be obliged to accept the handshakes before they could exit thus creating a bottleneck at the door. I think that final joke was on us boys because we grew up to be the adults caught in the bottleneck later in life. I have to smile and and get warm fuzzies every time I see the steeples poking up from the trees. It always brings back childhood memories of the little churches and the extended family who attended them.
Peek-a-boo With A Moth
Have you ever had that feeling that you were being watched? I’m often amused by the reaction of wildlife when the human walks into their domain as if he owns the place. I’ve noticed that animals seem to go out of their ways to watch the people. The little moth in the feature image it only wondered out of her hiding place in broad daylight but actually landed in font of my lens and leaned out from the blade of grass as if to say “peek-a-boo!”. We expect our pets to have a personality and it’s not surprising to see larger mammals exhibit playfulness but I never expected that from an insect. She did her little peeking routine for me a few more times and then fluttered back into the trees. I hope my next excursion into nature is just as fruitful.
Campfire
Summer is definitely in full swing in West Virginia. The smell of campfires and the sound of treefrogs are filling the evening air. The best thing about a campfire is the conversation that abounds as friends and family come together. Sometimes in the back of my warped imagination I can hear cave parents fussing with their cave kids that they will never be successful in life if they don’t stop sitting around the campfire all day. “You’re never going to be able to provide for your tribe if if you don’t stop playing in the fire and go out to learn how to be a hunter gatherer ! Says papa caveman. That child probably grew up to be the first blacksmith or Goldsmith. 😉 But I digress. The important thing was that the campfire was the center activities for untold millenia. It was the original social media. Charcoal from the fire was used to create artworks on cave walls and solidify the record of the stories told at the fire pit. Now that I think of it I have to wonder if any of those cave drawings are actually the first meme? You see, I don’t believe that humanity has really changed all that much since the beginning . Yes, our technology is more sophisticated and that has lead to more opportunities but our basic needs and drives are still the same . Come to think of it, we’re all not so different from each other today. Yes we have different styles and solutions to problems but it’s all problems that stem from the same basic needs. The internet is really just a very sophisticated campfire which we gather around to share stories and art. And hopefully make a friend or two.
Along with tonight post I do have some housekeeping to address. I have returned from to my Appalachian Mountains from a week at Oak Island North Carolina and I’m still selecting and editing the photos. If you’ve reached this article on Facebook the odds are that you clicked on a link that I have shared to one of the groups that have graciously allowed me to share to. Most of the time these groups are about life in Appalachia or specifically West Virginia. Because my Beach photos don’t really follow the theme of these groups you will only be able to see them from my Business page.
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