The vibrance of Beale Street melts into the morning fog of a holler and the creak of front porches. Leaving West Tennessee for East Tennessee distanced a chaotic canvas of wild color and liquid smoke for a sepia-toned photograph of burnt oranges and wind blown Eastern Redbuds.
Whistle in the woods.
Tradition and folklore loom over time rich in spiritual caution which carries itself from flat land to mountain in the form of whispered word and generational mythos. From the West Tennessee warning not to rock an empty rocking chair to the Eastern warning not to whistle in the woods, culture roots itself like an ancient oak in stories spoken from hushed tones and animated hand gestures. Culture runs deep in my dueling sanctuaries, raised in the restless rhythm of the fast paced Memphis life and assimilating into mountains cradling stories older than time. I immersed myself into a new culture that feels imperative to my sense of self. The 380 miles of distance I put between two parts of me became something I couldn’t have expected. There’s serenity in the cold wind kissing rose cheeks with breaths of mountain air that becomes healing. In a crucial time where one is gifted with self actualization the cradle of bluegrass and ginseng embrace a new beginning in soft hands of morning dew.
I found myself lost, moving from Memphis, out of place around deeper accents and rich culture. I came from barbecue, blues, and Graceland not knowing that I would harmonize with the traditions and values of another rich culture. Leaving home, I fell into a deep depression, circumstances in life and lack of connection left me lonely and in desperate need of a tether to a new reality.
Kinship and Storytelling
I grew up in a family with rich tradition and widespread history, but in Appalachia kinship is more than family, it’s the thread between quilt blocks that is stitched through storytelling and home cooked meals. Moving into Appalachia, I was met with warmth that spanned generations. People were connected through community, appreciation for their neighbors, and the lasting burn of moonshine (blue flame made in my friend’s Father’s moonshine still). As I navigated this new culture, it wasn’t just about fitting in, it was about becoming a part of something much deeper: a network of shared history and values that thrives through closeness and family roots.
As I started college, trapped in the cycle of depression, I started to spend time in the mountains. Cades’ Cove’s eleven mile loop gave me space to breathe and experience the deep rooted history of my new home. As I began to surround myself with new people, we began to frequent the mountains together creating bonds on drives through winding roads cushioned by neverending creek beds. I’ve never felt more at peace with myself than when I realized the true meaning of found family and the impact of being above the clouds in the Smoky Mountains. Something about the highest peaks and deepest valleys of these mountains make you realize how insignificant everything can be. I began to put more value into the relationships I was building, began experiencing other people’s families and was welcomed in as if I was one of their own. I joined family meals, heard stories from different generations; struggles, resilience, and love, and I began to feel connected to the place I now call home. I was putting my own roots down in a way that felt more secure than the chaos of Memphis.
Individualism
I found myself in college.
Each time I would go home, it felt like an extended stay hotel. Everything moved so fast, people were less friendly than I remembered, and there was less solace to find in nature. I love where I’m from, diverse people, incredible food, and a culture of community like no other runs deep in Memphis, but I found myself lost among the fast paced life everyone leads. I’ll always hold West Tennessee in my heart, but I’d found myself in found family, rich generational history, and culture that was slower and more appreciative of connections built through deep ties to an area that held so much beauty to me.
“Blood is thicker than water,” a phrase I’ve heard my entire life. While I’d always thought that this was something to remind me that no matter what happened, no matter how I was treated, and no matter who I was around, my blood was more important than anything. It wasn’t until my boyfriend was talking to me about that phrase that I realized how true it really was. The full phrase reads, “Blood is thicker than water, but the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” I knew I’d become myself after moving to Appalachia and this just solidified my belief that I’d found myself in the comforting foods, connection to nature, story telling, and folklore.
A Land Apart and a Legacy Unmatched
There is nothing like Appalachia. I would shout this from the rooftops and across rivers and valleys if it would help people understand the value of a culture so rich and important. There is nothing comparable to the generational connection to land, family, and folklore that you see here. This is a place where history runs in people’s blood and oral storytelling is an artform. There is a sense of home in Appalachia where language and accents are a sign of community and food is a way to your heart. Without experiencing the depth of Appalachian’s love for their history, I wouldn’t be who I am today, I wouldn’t have the found family I’ve been given, and I wouldn’t understand the way a region can take you and make you whole again. There is no Appalachia without history and there is no history without Appalachia, they are one in the same, filled with a singular richness not found in any other corner of the world.
