Today’s guest post was written by Jim Casada.
A LONELY LAD’S MUSINGS ON MOUNTAIN ROOTS
As I grow ever older, my mind increasingly turns to youthful days and just how blessed I was to be born and raised in the heart of the Southern Appalachians. I was blissfully unaware of my manifold blessings until my mid-teens, and it was at that point a lad who had always been an avid reader stumbled across poet Stephen Vincent Benet’s splendid poem, “The Mountain Whippoorwill.” In its opening lines I felt as if he was somehow speaking personally to me about the wonders and nature of high country life. Normally such things are better understood when experienced in person as opposed to being described in print, but in many ways this rhythmic poem, with lines that sing as true a tune as the fiddle playing forming the poem’s subject matter (if you have never read it, do so—and you may well reckon that Charlie Daniels got some inspiration from it). On a personal basis, the first eight lines could almost have been a capsule of my first 15 or so years of life.
It was not, however, until I headed off to my first year in college that the opening portion of the poem truly hit home. At the age of 18 I was about as backward and naïve as it’s possible to be. I’d never seen the ocean, had spent exactly two nights in a motel room, had eaten fewer than a dozen restaurant meals, and had set foot in precisely five states. In other words, virtually my entire existence had been spent amidst family and friends in a small, tight-knit, and rather remote mountain community. Unsurprisingly, once off at college I found myself terribly lonely, homesick as only a son of the mountain soil could be, and desperately longing for the Smokies.
A few weeks back, while going through some material I had saved in a predictable example of a lifelong packrat’s mentality, I stumbled across some faded writing on lined notebook pages. Almost instantly I realized they came from my first semester at what was then King College (today King University) in Bristol, Tennessee. The little piece is in some ways syrupy and in many ways lacking in stylistic sophistication. Yet it came directly from the heart and was a cry from that lonely heart seeking some way to come to grips with being away from home and loved ones. After reading it a couple of times I realized that it might well reflect the sentiments of others who have experienced similar feelings and thought it might possible be worth sharing. So here, more than six decades after I first wrote it, is a lonely lad’s musings on his mountain roots and how he missed his highland homeland. I haven’t changed a word, and literary ineptitude aside, many of the same emotions hold fast in my innermost being to tis day.
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Up in the mountains, it’s lonesome all the time.
(Sof’ win’ slewin’ thu’ the sweet-potato vine).
Up in the mountains it’s lonesome for a child.
(Whippoorwills calling when the sap runs wild).
Up in the mountains, mountains in the fog,
Everything’s lazy as an old houn’ dog.
Born in the mountains, lonesome born,
Raised runnin’ ragged thu’ the cockleburs ‘n corn.
Stephen Vincent Benet, “The Mountain Whippoorwill”
“Born in the mountains.” What a simple yet complex statement. Because being born in the mountains has been a prominent factor in the shaping of my life. It has endowed me with a wealth of wonders which never cease to amaze me.
The Smokies are a beautiful and enthralling part of the great Appalachian chain. But what do these mountains have to do with my life and how I have lived it? The mountains have had a great deal to do with the formation of my character and the way I respond to different situations.
Since I was a very small boy I have always spent a great deal of time alone in the woods. Usually I was hunting or fishing but many times I just walked in the woods, listening and learning. Those endless hours of aimless wandering or waiting for a squirrel to appear gave me a certain kind of patience.
I am not so patient with people and their actions, but I can wait with infinite patience for some expected development or occurrence. Also, living in the mountains has made me independent (most of us mountain people are). I think this is because there is very little law enforcement and people pay little attention to what enforcement there is. The only laws we obey are the ones which our hearts and minds tell us are right. However, in all fairness, I must say I have never been in trouble with the law and there is little law-breaking among our people.
But this sense of independence I have been endowed with causes me to rebel against what I feel is unfair use of superiority in wielding authority. I don’t like to be told to do something and not be given any alternative. This has been one of my major problems since coming to college.
Another thing that the mountains gave me was a love of loneliness. I like to spend a lot of time wrapped up in my own thoughts and without being bothered by anyone else. Maybe I am actually lonely and wish for companionship, but I don’t really think so. I just like to be alone. Once I spent two weeks camping and fishing by myself. I was at least 20 miles from the nearest outpost of civilization. I think I enjoyed those two weeks as much as I have any period in my life.
Yes, I was born and brung up in the very heart of the mountains. And I’m everlastingly thankful that the Smokies were my birthplace. They are “my mountains,” in them dwell “my people,” and I’m proud of the fact. We may tote instead of carry, and fetch instead of bring, but we are not ignorant. Instead, these mountains give us a sense of freedom, independence, and justice which is hard to explain. One achieve this sense only by living “up in the mountains” and by living with others who are affected by the same environment. Call me hillbilly, ridgerunner, mountaineer, or what you may; I couldn’t be prouder of the fact.
Hope you enjoyed Jim’s thoughts as much as I do. He has a wonderful website with books he has written as well as other rare books about the great outdoors available for purchase. You can visit it here. Be sure to sign up for Jim’s free monthly newsletter while you’re there. It always has great stories and recipes.
Last night’s video: How Granny Makes Cream Style Corn.
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I was raised in the mountains. I lived away from them for years but came back after retirement. I have always heard that anyone that moves away will work all their lives to get back it was so in my case.
I enjoyed today’s post so much about the mountains and home and could so relate to it. Jim Casada has such a beautiful way of putting into words what so many of us feel that were born and raised in Appalachia. I was born and raised in the mountains of North Georgia and left after high school graduation to go to work in Atlanta at the tender age of 16, almost 17. I’d never been so homesick in my life. I eventually adjusted, but the mountains will always be home to me. I still have family there and go back as often as I can. This quote by Oliver Wendell Holmes captures it so well, “Where we love is HOME … Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.” My heart never left.
Jim is a truly talented writer. He might think of his words in the notebook as he described them, they are a beautiful exposition of honest, heart-felt feelings that could not have been expressed better.
Thanks for sharing this with us, Tipper.
God’s Blessings to all and especially to Miss Louzine . . .
Thank you for this wonderful post today. It made me think so much about the adventures of my own sweet hubby. He is the middle child of seven, and even as a young boy, he would always go exploring in the woods alone. No one ever knew where he was or worried about him. He would hunt and fish or just hike and climb trees and roam the woods all day. If he got hungry, he would stop in the garden to grab a bite to eat or head over to his grandmas…who always had something delicious cooked. He never felt lonely while in his woods, and to this day, he still likes to be alone. I can just see him now, my handsome young man, roaming across the ridges just enjoying the beautiful sights and sounds of animals, birds and trees. He still loves hunting, fishing, and scouring the woods in search of ramps and ginseng. We enjoy taking long walks together several times a week. I am so lucky he is my “mountain boy”.
He has it right! Folks from the mountains are strong, independent, & intelligent! Once my Papaw & I went walking & we were talking about how much we both loved to be out on our own not being bothered by people. In fact I told Papaw I needed this time or I’d get too nervous out around people. His response was, “Well Allison, Douthat’s like it lonely.” Douthat was my sir name. All my life I’ve remembered & forgiven myself for running off in the forest to spend time alone. After all, Papaw gave me permission to just be who I am!!
Blessings,
Allison
Allison
Wow That is beautiful!! Thank you, Donna
Loved today’s guest post by Mr. Jim. He always has such a wonderful way with words. It’s always special to hear someone talk about their love of home. I think it’s something we just never forget, wherever “home” may be.
Enjoyed seeing Granny last night making that delicious looking creamed corn. Always a pleasure to see her and I thought she looked great!
You may think I’m alone but I’m not!
I’ve met a man, you see, or maybe you don’t.
The man with me was known to John.
He called Him “The Comforter”! So, so will I.
If you meet me on the street,
stumbling along and talking to myself, I’m not!
There is someone beside me! Always!
God bless you friends of Appalachia ✝️❤️
I truly appreciate Jim’s words and readily identify with his thoughts and feelings about his Appalachian heritage. We are certainly blessed.
I most certainly did enjoy the writing of Jim Casada. What soothing thoughts of being brought up and raised in the mountains. Makes me think of the tv series Waltons Mountain. Everything about that type of life sounds so very warm and peaceful. Growing up in the mountains for many folks was a true blessing for sure. Thank you, Jim, for sharing your wonderful story. Thank you, Tipper, for posting. God bless you.
I love love love this! First of all it captures what a truly great talent Mr. Casada has for writing. Mountain lonely is an okay kind of lonely where you can stay in touch with exactly who you are. It is so much easier to realize you are a part of something much bigger than yourself. I learned so well how to entertain myself without a need to fill my days with aimless shopping or parties. I love the “I was born and brung up in the heart of the mountains.” A mountain raising keeps you rooted for your entire life so that you never lose your way. So grateful this morning to be reminded how blessed I am to have been raised in the “high country” Mr. Casada writes about.
Yes, sir Mr. Jim I was a lonely hill boy in the (to me) big city when I went off to college. I was as green as young corn and so unready. In a manner of speaking I’ve never had a home since; meaning no lack of love for wife, daughter and son nor even our church family. I can’t share that with them because it sounds like something I don’t mean and also sounds ungrateful. As far as writing goes, seems to me honesty is far better than polish. What makes writing enduring is when it plucks a heart chord of the commonality within the human condition. Nostalgia and longing are two of those.
Ron, your third sentence is a perfect description of my feelings after my wife’s death, the only thing I would add to this is the love of my wife’s family. I dearly love all of them, I spent a few hours with my oldest grandson yesterday and in all honesty, thinking about the joy or happiness I had doing this brings tears to my eyes. BUT none of this makes my home or my life as happy as it was when my wife was living. Now, there is no joy in living without her. Between the time we started dating, her junior and my senior year of high school and marriage, it would be 52 years on Oct. 26 of this year. Even if I was interested, no one else could ever take her place.
If writing was threads, Jim’s writings are golden threads knit together in wisdom and life experiences creating a bright tapestry of beauty. I especially liked his description of staying at a hotel 2 nights, eating out maybe a dozen meals, not ever seeing a beach….I remember asking mommy why we never went to a beach and she said “ Once Margaret (her twin daughter) had us come to Norfolk and why that was the dirtiest, nastiest, most crowded place I ever was and there’s nothing worth seeing there around that bad place with too many people! Ain’t you seen a beach by a creek? Ok then- it’s just bigger so hush up cause we ain’t a going and ain’t missed a thing there! A fools name and a fools face is always seen in a public place!!! Now hush and go on!!!” When I joined the Army at 17, I had never done much of anything and had never been anywhere to speak of. Now that I’m in my 5 decade of life, there’s no place like the hills although times are changing. In my mind, ain’t nothing gonna change or move me or convince me unless it’s the Good Lord’s wisdom which you can wear around your neck like a garland of guidance and goodness. Bless you all and prayers for Granny and Katie in their delicate conditions!!! Congratulations, grandma, and may you be blessed coming and going, in the city and the country. May the work of your hands be blessed and your kneading trough, garden and livestock too!!!
Thanks. I had never heard it. I too was very lonesome and homesick when I went off to college. I had never spent any time in sizeable towns and my feet were used to climbing leaf covered hills and walking across plowed ground. I did not want to move away from my home for a “higher education”. As a matter of fact I had been warned while discussing this subject by older wiser local folks that “a fellar can git too much education”. I suppose it may be true for some, but I did like learning and eventually adjusted to a degree going to classes, making friends and staying busy. However, I realized the whole time I was there and even today when I visit that town, I was and am “out of my environment”. I admit that I was as blue and lonesome as a country boy could be. I love where I live.
I remember feeling so homesick. there truly is no place like home
Well said, Jim. I much prefer being alone and distracting noises (such as a TV playing incessantly) are annoying, to say the least. Having said that, I know that as my husband and I age, there will come a time when I will wish to hear his TV playing or his voice interrupting something I thought was more important.
Even though I was not raised in the mountains, but in southern Greenville County, SC. I am and have always been a true blue blood country boy. In my 70 years, I have never been farther than 500 miles from home, maybe not even that far. When growing up a eating a “restaurant bought” hotdog was a special occasion. I was 17 years old before I ever ate or even knew what pizza was and even then I would only eat cheese and not pepperoni because I thought pepperoni was pepper and might be hot. In my entire life, I have never ate many times at a restaurant and never at a “fancy” restaurant. Many of Jim’s thoughts and what he wrote today and at other times are similar to mine. Because of depression from not only my wife’s death but other family members, I often think of the past and wish I could go back to the times that were a lot better and happier for me. My first thoughts this morning as I woke up were thoughts of the past and of wishing I could just go away somewhere to some place and not be found.
Such an interesting life. Thank you for sharing.
I did indeed enjoy Mr. Casada’s writing. I may be west coast, Southern California, big city born and raised – but I definitely have felt, and still feel, his exact emotions. From the time I was old enough to remember a thought – my heart has always pulled me to this area – the Southeast. I never, ever, sat foot in the south until I drove up to my house here in North Carolina seven years ago. I bought my big, beautiful house here, sight unseen except over the internet on Zillow, while I sat at my desk in my house in San Diego. The first time I set foot into the South was the day I pulled up to my new home here. And I must say – I love this area. The green, and the hills, are everything I dreamed of where I wanted to call home. I do, however, still get terribly homesick for what I grew up with, what is ingrained in the fabric of my being – San Diego’s coastline just a fifteen minute drive away from my parent’s house, and the tall (over 6000 ft tall) San Diego mountains, the inland valleys that were my stomping grounds, and the desert floors just on the other side of those tall, tall mountains. I miss city noise, and the availability of any kind of store or business you could ever want being just a little over five minutes drive from your house. I miss the city and county parks, the tons and tons of museums and libraries, and the variety of people from every country and culture you could imagine. And I miss being with my family, all on our own little plot of land much like the Wilson/Pressley holler Tipper shares all the time. Instead of being in the mountains surrounded by woods – my family’s private kingdom sits in the middle of a bustling city surrounded by asphalt and buildings. But it was my sanctuary – where I could climb a tree as a kid, and read books that introduced me to the western ranches of Texas, lobster traps in Maine, medieval castles of Europe, and the Appalachian mountains that I finally settled in (which pulled at me, calling my name from so far away, since I can remember). And here I am today, living in the house God blessed me with, loving the country that envelopes my little neck of the woods of North Carolina in this great big world – homesick for all that has been in my life before today, not just San Diego, but for Iowa where I lived for awhile, too, and every place in this big United States of America that I have visited in my short time on this earth. How can my heart be so restless, wanting to be in lands far away from my front door? Yet, when I walk out that very door, I don’t really want to move away from the comfort that I feel here in the South. Ever since when a kid and I heard the song “this world is not my home, I’m just a-passing through, my treasures are laid up, somewhere beyond the blue” … it has been my mantra the rest of my life. The scenery that I see here in North Carolina is what I have always imagined Heaven will look like when I finally get beyond the blue. And that truly is where I call home.
Donna. : )
Home is where the heart is. The Appalachian mountains can certainly steal your heart!
God bless Granny Wilson with healing and health in Jesus name
Donna S : You expressed yourself extremely well which is a welcomed gift. Also good thoughts being sent to the Wilson/Pressley family. Arlene G.