Appalachian Home (For Diana)

The cabin in the mountains, was chinked with mud and clay. It'd been cut from raw timber the old fashioned way. It had a large hearth for cooking and light; with a really fine draw on a Summer hot or cold Winter night. The wifes Paw and her Maw, had lived and played there when young and a passel of young un's did raise. With God as the center of the Appalachian home; it would be that way, through their days.

Winters cold, Summers hot. Through drought, storm and flood. They labored hard to bring forth a crop out of Appalachian mountain rock and mud. As each young un grew, they got educated too; soon they moved off the mountain and fled. Down to the cities of Raleigh, Charlotte and  Durham. Even as far as Nags Head.

Some become Doctors and Lawyers and such, But a few still clung to the land. They'd never leave; started growing special trees; so Christmas time became their plan. They built fine homes and their businesses too. They even sent a tree to D.C. It adorned the lawn of the Presidents home and soon Appalachia, was different you see.

Paw and Ma are gone now, the children have all moved on. The mountains have changed everything but their names; and new folks have moved up and in. People from Florida moved up the holler and built them a retirement den. People from Maine come down in the Sprang, to escape the ice and snow. Only to learn Appalachia can turn and drop to fifteen below.

Yep, things are different up in them hills, I know, though its fer from my home. My sweethearts from there, blue eyes, auburn hair and she can recite mountain life like a poem. So, ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies of them good ole mountain ways long ago. When the shine came not from the sun on your face, but from a vat in somebody's cove.