A girl in Appalachia, high on a mountain top viewing her world
while she hears the voices of those who are long since gone.
Tipper
Appalachia Through My Eyes – A series of photographs from my life in Southern Appalachia.
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This reminds me of my mom telling me about how she could still hear all of us kids(12) playing in the back yard (after we were all grown and gone)everytime she stood at the kitchen sink doing dishes. Mom has been gone 14 yrs…but I” hear “her say that anytime I am rushing through life and not appreciating my children being home.
The post today could mean so many different things to different people. To some, it may mean something scary, like ghosts or mental challenges. To others, it may mean recollecting lessons and stories told to you by elders when you were a child. To me, it means repeating the lessons, phrases, stories I heard as a child, and when doing so, remembering too the person who said it to me.
Our Dad had many colorful sayings. The one I say so often to our customers at the store when they ask how I’m doing is, “Any day above the dirt is a good day.” It’s a truism that I hope gives others hope, as it still does to me even though I haven’t heard it from Dad since he passed many years ago. And it reminds me too, to cherish each day like it’s your first and like it may be your last. After all, we’re never promised tomorrow, and because of that, never let a day pass without letting your loved ones know how you feel about them.
God bless.
RB
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Ed-Thank you for the comment! She wasn’t listening for voices to tell her what to do or how to lead her life. She was listening to voices of people who used to walk the same paths we do-big difference. More of a fond remembrance thing than a life guidance thing.
There is a mountain top in North Georgia where I always stand and sing these beautiful words by Olabelle Reed into the wind…
As I looked at the valleys down below
They were green just as far as I could see
As my memory returned oh how my heart did yearn
For you and the day that used to be
High on a mountain top wind blowing free
Wondering about the days that used to be
High on a mountain top standing all alone
Wondering where the years of my life have flown
Oh I wonder if you ever think of me
Or if time has blotted out your memory
As I listen to the breeze blow gently through the trees
I’ll always cherish what you meant to me
I don’t hear voices,
I don’t see angels,
showing me which way to go.
I have a guidebook,
and in its pages,
is everything I need to know.
These phrases hit me as I read your post today. It might mean nothing to you but it has been stuck in my head all afternoon. At first I thought about George Jones and his “Choices” and the “voices” he heard. Then I thought about the voices I have never heard. Then I wondered why he had choices and I didn’t. Then I thought “He didn’t have the guidebook I have. He had to depend of voices in his head.” If I have questions, I have a place to go. Now, I feel sad for people who have to depend on “voices” to know right from wrong.
I’m hearing that a lot lately.
Tipper,
That’s a pretty girl starring into the distance, I think it’s Chatter but I could be half wrong. Anyway, I heard Pap and his brother Ray singing “Whispering Hope” on our local radio station at noon. Pap introduced me to one of his brothers at Jimmy’s Pick and Grin but I can’t remember his name.
We’re gonna get to make Snowcream in the morning! Our local weather gal is predicting a couple of inches or more in the higher elevations. Her name is Jennifer Narromore. I hope she’d right, cause all we got Sunday was just a skiff.
…Ken
On this day of a dear uncle’s funeral, which I cannot attend, I DO hear voices of those who are gone. Through memories, I must try to make sure they are not silenced.
Tipper,
I love this post today!
I just have to ask…Did she do a big “whoop, yell, yodel or holler, to see if an echo was returned?
I remember the first time on a mountain top when I was a young girl doing a big “HELLOoooo”, trying hear something reverberate back to my ears…It gets so quiet on a mountain top, that a tiny leaf flutter in the breeze, sounds like distant thunder….ha My Uncle told me there were only certain areas on the mountain tops that one could hear their echo….?
Thanks Tipper,
PS….Tell Jim I hope with the help of neighbors the only echo’s we will be hearing, are yelps and howls of bygone coyotes… Those rabbit, turkey, grouse, and quail killers that invaded from the West….the devils pet, the coyotes! I never in my lifetime thought I would wish to see those cute baby rabbits under the fence row shrubs in the Spring…
My Dad was a big believer in learning everything you can learn, as it was his belief you would need to know it one day. There were two things I absolutely had no interest in. One of my shortcomings was learning to build a good fire and the other was learning to back up a car really well. Not learning to back up is never smart in Appalachia with its sometimes narrow roadways and makeshift driveways. After I totally smoked up my house trying to build a fire in the fireplace, he gently reminded, “I told you to learn how to build a fire.”
It had not been long since he had left us, and I got into a real mess. My work required extensive driving on bad roads. There are many old coal mining communities where most have left, but still has a few hanging on devotedly. There is no state money spent on roads in these areas, and some are really dangerous.
Driving out a very narrow road, I realized I had just passed the driveway that dropped straight down over the side of the road. This seemed to be a small problem as I drove ahead to find what we sometimes call “a turning around place.” Unfortunately about a quarter of a mile out, as I passed deserted houses, I found the old road caved in. I got out to assess the situation and saw a scary drop off on one side and the hillside on the other–no room to turn around. What a pickle for someone who could barely back out at Walmart! Clearly in my head I heard my Dad’s voice, “You can do it.” I tried to back so if there was a choice the car would get into the ditch on the bank side. I had never been so calm as I would back, get out to check, and then I would back some more out that roadway. As I finally was able to maneuver into the driveway, I could feel the warmth from my Dad for a job well done.
Mountains and streams do it for me. Love the woods.
Going through some of the pictures (I’m sure I missed a couple) makes me long to get back to the mountains. We are there part of the year; I love my time in the foothills. I love listening to Mother Nature and the silence of the outside pleasures. I also realize that you really have a way with that camera of yours. Fantastic pictures!
There is no better place for me to hear the voices and feel the presence of those who are gone than when I go to the woods among the hills and hollers.
It is the quietness that clears my mind so I can recall and be reminded of who I am and where I came from.
Amen to that brother!!!
Tipper, Jim, and Miss Cindy . . . speaking from and to the heart and soul.
Tipper–On bitterly cold mornings like this, with the sun’s first rays setting a million diamonds of frost a-sparkle, the voices from old long ago I hear are for the most part not those of humans but of departed canine companions–beagles with one-syllable names such as Lead, Lady, Chip, Dale, Drum, and Queen. And I don’t just hear voices, I hear a hallelujah chorus as hills and hollows ring with music of a pack of dogs hot on the trail of a cottontail.
Such times were one of the enduring highlights of my boyhood (and beyond). It was a time when rabbits were plentiful, when getting permission to hunt almost always involved nothing more than a polite request, and when a meal of fried rabbit and all the fixin’s offered all a body could want for sustenance. Yes, those were the days and those were the voices.
Jim casada
Sometimes I hear the voices of those who are gone. Some times it’s funny things, sometimes its sad and sometimes it much needed wisdom.