The Old the Young the Middle – In Appalachia

The old the young the middle in appalachia

The old: a 93 year old gentleman cleaned up in his pointer overalls, a faded long sleeved shirt with every button hole buttoned tight with an undershirt shining through underneath it all.

The young: a brand new baby only months old being passed from one to another while his Mother worked to make sure everyone was taken care of and fed.

The middle: men and women not yet old, but not quite young either. Folks just the right age to see where they’ve been and to see clearly where they’re going.

The rest: children, teenagers, young adults, and folks beyond middle age-all spread out over 93 years of living.

The place: Appalachia.


You Might Also Like


  • Reply
    Rev. Rose Marie "RB" Redmond
    September 18, 2015 at 9:03 pm

    Great picture!
    For anyone who doesn’t quite understand why the Appalachian Mountains are called the Blue Ridge Mountains in NC, take a look at the picture. There’s something in the air here that makes those hills look a beautiful blue.
    God bless.

  • Reply
    Ed Ammons
    September 18, 2015 at 4:55 pm

    While younze are all just standin around here tellin lies, I think I’ll slip off up in yonder and see if I cain’t find myself a patch of sang. It’s gittin about that time of year don’t you know.

  • Reply
    Pamela Danner
    September 18, 2015 at 1:53 pm

    Sounds lovely!

  • Reply
    September 18, 2015 at 1:06 pm

    I once knew an old man named Jesse. He ate with me at suppertime about 3 or 4 times a week for his last 15 years. I listened to the stories he told as I prepared our food and
    he said his dad didn’t live long,
    only 52 when he died. And when I
    asked about his mama he told me
    they found her in the garden, she
    was only 96. I went to Jesse’s
    funeral, he was 94.
    I relate better to the older
    generation now, perhaps because
    I’m getting there too. But I often get e-mails from younger
    folks who enjoy my stories today.

  • Reply
    September 18, 2015 at 12:40 pm

    During my growing up years, the mailman visited our mail box round about noon so it was our family ritual to eat dinner (it was the main meal since Dad was working in the fields), then I’d run out to the mailbox and bring in whatever it held, then Mom would read aloud the family letters while my sister and I listened and Dad stretched back in his dinner chair, leaned against the wall and rested. It made me feel so close to our extended family. Because we lived so far away, we rarely attended family gatherings in Kansas but we heard about the goings on via their letters and felt very much a part of things. It really surprised me when I found out that these extended kith and kin did not seem to feel as close to me as I did to them; turns out, their folks never shared family letters with them. Although we kids played and had a good time the times we did get to visit, no shared stories meant weak family ties and almost no emotional ties among the cousins.

  • Reply
    Chuck Howell
    September 18, 2015 at 10:52 am

    We called them “Homecomings.” The last one I attended was the ” Howell” event in Burnsville N. C. about 6 or 7 years ago. Hardly knew anyone, but somehow we all looked alike. About 25 years ago I attended a “Bradley” Homecoming in Oconaluftee (sp) It was at the Baptist Church where the Pressley Girls played recently. I especially liked the music. I plan one more before “I’m ready for the Boneyard” My Dad used to say. Here in California when people ask me where I’m from, I reply “I’m Appalachian to the Core.” It’s true.

  • Reply
    September 18, 2015 at 10:19 am

    What a blessing to live in the beauty of the hills (as my grandpa would say)

  • Reply
    September 18, 2015 at 10:18 am


  • Reply
    Gina S
    September 18, 2015 at 10:02 am

    Pajamas, tousled hair, sleepy eyes, each morning I visit the community of The Blind Pig. Thank you, Tipper.

  • Reply
    September 18, 2015 at 9:46 am

    Well said, Tipper. You amaze me with the depth of your thinking sometimes.
    Not so long ago I called myself the sandwich generation. It seemed I was caught in the wonderful role of looking out for my aging parents, and I was mentor, spoiler, and often babysitter to young grandchildren. I still enjoy my Mother, but grandchildren have started looking out for me.
    Time keeps moving on, and things change! Change is so obvious at family reunions with many of the older family gone, but the reunions have bonded the cousins for life.
    I suppose I am guilty of thinking we do everything so perfectly in Appalachia. It must be that life here has such a natural flow. Thanks for the reminder of our wonderful heritage no matter our age!

  • Reply
    September 18, 2015 at 8:48 am

    Mom used to say go get cleaned up before company comes. That saying didn’t really mean we needed to bath or shower. What she wanted us to do was change clothes and comb our hair. Love those mountains in the picture!

  • Reply
    Eva Nell Mull Wike, PhD
    September 18, 2015 at 8:28 am

    Tipper: Your thoughts remind me of the family reunions we USE TO HAVE!
    Time has taken its toll!
    Eva Nell

  • Reply
    b. Ruth
    September 18, 2015 at 8:18 am

    This has to be a “reunion” description, right?
    Thanks Tipper,
    Love the picture!

  • Reply
    September 18, 2015 at 7:49 am

    Sounds like a few generations of family and friends gathered together. Nice thought!

  • Reply
    Miss Cindy
    September 18, 2015 at 7:34 am

    This is what we do in Appalachia. We come together to celebrate the young, the old, and the middle.
    Isn’t that picture taken at the most beautifully located ball field in the country.
    And, isn’t that the Deer Hunter with his back to the camera, representing the middle.
    Yes, this is Appalachia!

  • Reply
    Henry Horton
    September 18, 2015 at 7:10 am

    Love this. Great photo.

  • Leave a Reply