Mom just had her second book published– My Endearing Appalachia–Memoirs of Southern West Virginia Coalfield Life. Even though I am quite familiar with Appalachia & West Virginia coalfields, and know most of the stories shared in her book, I felt I was learning it all for the first time when I read it. The way she weaves the stories puts you right there with her…in those mountains…hearing those trains in the distance…
My Endearing Appalachia
Perhaps some Appalachian stereotypes will be erased after reading Phylenia French’s memoirs. Perhaps some confirmed. Regardless, stepping into that culture and those times through her words on the pages creates a nostalgia. It’s strange to comprehend that an era could simultaneously be difficult and simple, lean and rich.
Mom’s first book–Homespun Yarns; Tales to be Told from the Front Porch Swing–is a sequel of sorts. She shares embarrassing funny anecdotes from adulthood, from learning how to cook to navigating rearing teenagers. It’s not currently in print, but her latest book has resurrected the demand for the first. Hopefully, she can get a second printing!
In Her Own Voice
Radio, too! Ten years ago, Mom was also on West Virginia Public Radio with her Fond Memories of a Mountain Childhood in Appalachia. (I can’t tell you how many friends who aren’t from Appalachia/the south say they love her accent–I don’t hear it, of course.) The next medium for her is television. I’ll talk to her about that.
Even Dad
Yes, my Dad also writes. His story My First Night in the Mines was published in Goldenseal in 1999. You can read a snippet here (just renewed my subscription to the magazine!). He, his dad, and his dad’s dad all worked in the mines in Gary, West Virginia, with the latter having been killed in the mines in the 1930s. In addition to numerous short, historically based stories, Dad wrote So Long, Charlie, about his dad as a young man, and his horse. It hasn’t been mass printed, but it should be!
A chance encounter with a fellow sunset-photographer reminded me of one of the reasons I love West Virginia.
Robbie and I had gone to Pipestem, WV for a birthday celebration weekend. Saturday afternoon brought downpours, lightning, thunder—and while it did shorten our fishing excursion at the lake, it didn’t lessen our enjoyment. As a matter of fact, it added to it. There’s something about thunderstorms and cabins in the woods….
As the rain turned into a drizzle and the sun began pushing her way through the retreating storm clouds, the quickly changing light told us there’s a beautiful sunset to be seen, so we drove to the nearest overlook behind McKeever Lodge. Another lady stood there, phone in the air, taking photos of the continually changing scene. Seeing us drive in like an Andretti, she turned & said with a laugh, “You better hurry up, it’s changing so much.”
I took my place beside her and began capturing the breathtaking scene that changed from fog to fog and mountain to sun to bursts of orange and red to fog and mountain and sun and….
It was like a sky kaleidoscope.
The breathtaking view on a March evening in Pipestem, WV
After about three minutes of silence and reverent appreciation of the scene that lay before us, my photog partner turned & said “I live just down the road.” She gave us her general area, to which Robbie told her that his cousins live there, too, and told her their names.
“Oh, yes! I go to church with them!” We all laughed and agreed what a small world it is. Robbie told her his full name and said, “Tell them you met me.” The lady—even more surprised—said, “I used to work with a man with the same name!”
The world just got even smaller. She worked with my father-in-law 30+ years ago.
In true, West Virginia fashion, we quickly added one another on social media and are now friends.
I love my home state—and this is one of the many reasons. We instantly connect with and are drawn to other West Virginians. No matter how long you’ve been transplanted somewhere else.
Rewind to Friday
We arrived on Friday before check-in time, so we drove to every overlook to take photos. We drove through the campground where I used to stay with my parents & brother in the 70’s & 80’s when we borrowed Pop-Aw’s camper. I pointed out “our spot”, showed Robbie the stretch of pavement where I skated in the rain and finally learned how to turn a bike around while riding it (turning terrified me), the place where—at about four years old–I stepped in a pile of horse poo while wearing flip-flops, and how the smell of toast and the sound of crows always remind me of camping in Pipestem.
I showed him the shelter where we had a huge family picnic one year. Adjacent to the overlook where I captured the sunset photos, this shelter had giant rocks in the woods that we kids (a slew of us cousins) played on. When you’re five years old and you’re standing on a giant rock, you feel you can conquer the world. The smell of charcoal and moss, the sound of a radio playing AM Gold (think Captain & Tennille, Maxine Nightingale, England Dan & John Ford Coley), skinned knees, bottles of pop (glass bottles at that!) and terrycloth tank tops…. all made for a perfect day at Pipestem with family and friends.
The shelter to the right, the “giant” rocks in the center and to the left. Hard to believe it was 45 years ago that I played in those woods.
Back to 2021……
Check-in time arrived. Even though the young lady who checked us in was wearing a mask, I could see she smiled warmly the whole time. Her eyes crinkled. She had that West Virginia accent that has become even more obvious to me the longer I’ve lived away. “If y’all need anything at all, just dial zero from the phone in the cabin and that will connect you with us. We want y’all to have a wonderful stay with us here at Pipestem.”
Welcome to The Neighborhood
We drove the quarter mile to the cabin. Robbie had never stayed at or seen the inside of these cabins, (I have quite a few times), so I was eager for him to see it. When we walked in, he immediately felt at home and was ready to build a roaring fire in the stone fireplace.
It was 72 degrees outside, so I asked him to wait until it was actually cool. He was somewhat disappointed, but agreed.
We had 2 bedrooms, living room, full kitchen, bathroom, deck that overlooked the woods, and my favorite…crank out windows. I immediately cranked every. single. one. out so we could hear the outside and feel the mountain breezes.
Our abode for the weekend
One of the roads in our neighborhood
Our retro living room
I unpacked refrigerated items and began preparing for 4 guests that evening. After that, we took a walk through our weekend neighborhood. The cabin-dwellers to the left of us were unpacking their truck and threw up their hand and shouted a hearty “Hello!” We returned the greeting, to which they replied, “No better place to welcome in Spring, is there? Isn’t this wonderful?” Of course, we agreed. I looked at their tags—Ohio. Welcome to West Virginia, I thought.
Fast-forward 7 hours. We sat on the deck in the darkness, bellies full from a great dinner and roasted marshmallows, and listened to the night sounds. At that moment in time, there was no place I would rather have been.
Saturday morning was sunny. We loaded up the fishing poles and made the hike down to the lake. West Virginia Gold Rush was happening, so I was eager to slay some trout. I was prepared to be exhausted and sore from all the fish I would be reeling in, but I knew it was a small price to pay if I’m going to be a master fisherwoman. Plus, I had Super Duper and Power Bait. It was ON. (You can learn more about WV Gold Rush here.)
I just knew I’d catch Walter!
The walk down to the lake was much easier than the walk back.
Lake fishing
An hour later, not even a nibble. (In my defense, they hadn’t stocked that lake yet.) Didn’t matter though. I still spent an hour on the lake. In West Virginia. With my husband.
And I even bought the sweatshirt.
The clouds gathered and we knew rain was coming. We rode the back way to Hinton (I do NOT recommend it for those not familiar with driving narrow, curvy, partially washed out, on the side of a mountain roads). Hinton is adorable. I want to make another trip just to walk the sidewalks, get photos of the old architecture and brick streets, and eat at one of the locally owned restaurants there. But I digress…
After Hinton, to Athens we went—Moe’s specifically—I needed a pizza pie.
On the way back to Pipestem, hot pie on my lap, the rain poured down. I was eager to get back, listen to the rain in the woods, and Robbie would finally get to build that fire.
Husband was most proud of his fire
The next 4 hours saw pizza, a roaring fire replete with the crackle and pop and hiss, 4 games of poker, one game of Spades, and a fox sighting by Robbie (I always miss the wildlife!). We decided to head to The Black Bear Café, where we had more pizza (those who know me are not surprised) and wings. But first, the serendipitous trip to photograph God’s artwork with the gorge, the mountains, the sun, and the fog.
That night, we climbed into bed at 10:30. We knew more storms were coming in, and eagerly anticipated hearing the rumble of the thunder and the pattering of the rain on the roof. The storms didn’t disappoint. At 3:30 a.m., we were awakened when the thunder shook the cabin. While frightening to some, to me it was a melodic mountain lullaby. What a glorious ending to a magnificent weekend.
October 19, 1987 was the most traumatic day in my life up to that point. For 4 weeks after the event I was sick on my stomach, I was depressed, I had bouts of crying. No one could console me. No words brought comfort. Life as I knew it had ended and I felt I was doomed to a life of melancholic existence. What happened?
I moved away from West Virginia.
I vividly remember when I was told about the upcoming M-Day (moving day.) It was a hot July afternoon, I was at my friend Regina’s house (down from the old Finks Cafeteria for those of you familiar with the area,) and Mom called and said that Dad was taking a job in Virginia. I just knew she was joking, for my parents would never uproot me in my junior year of high school. After all, the world did revolve around my 16 year-old life. But alas, she was serious, and to be honest, I remember nothing else after putting the phone down.
I knew the move was a possibility as I’d heard my parents discussing it. I forewarned Dad that if he moved me from Princeton, I would start dating a guy named Spike who rode a Harley and I’d get a tattoo on my nether region. When the move was confirmed, I made a note to self: Look for Harley-riding guys named Spike (with a clause that I’d not told Dad about—he had to have finished school and was also a career man with great morals, ethics and values and loved his parents.)
The move came and went. I traded phone calls and letters with all my friends back home. I anticipated visits with eagerness, but I finally settled in to my new life, my new house, my new high school. I made friends easily and even found myself liking where I was. One thing was for sure, however…..West Virginia would always be my home.
Why West Virginia?
So what is it about the state of West Virginia? Is it the beautiful majestic mountains? No, Tennessee has mountains. North Carolina has mountains. Is it the fact it has 4 seasons in all their grandeur? No, where I live now has them, as do many other areas. Is it the pretty license plates, the unique accents, the tasty mountain cuisine where almost everything is flavored with bacon grease and the pinto bean is a food group? No on all accounts. What is it then? It’s the people.
The state of West Virginia is like one big homestead. Those who make fun of us West Virginians by saying we’re all kin are partially right. While we are not inbreeds (oh how ignorant some can be) we are all a family. All one has to do to experience the familial commonality is visit another state, run into someone from West Virginia while waiting in line at the Burger Chef, and mention that you, too, hail from the beloved state. Inevitably you’ll discover that your great-great Aunt Hazel used to babysit their cousin, who still proudly wears the title of Miss Rhododendron 1951. You’ll also be graced with the information that gout sometimes causes Miss Rhododendron “take to the bed” and she’s not been able to make her famous fried apple pies in quite some time because of it. It’s almost a guarantee that you’ll leave the burger joint with an address and phone number scribbled on a napkin stained with ketchup.
My love for West Virginia is what caused me to dress all my wedding attendants in WVU jerseys. And pay an ungodly amount for a WVU cake topper with the flowers the bride is holding painted Old Gold and Blue. And have “Take Me Home Country Roads” played as our recessional song. Just look at—and think about—these lyrics:
*Almost heaven, West Virginia
Blue Ridge mountains, Shenandoah river
Life is old there, older than the trees
Younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze
Country roads, take me home
To the place, I belong
West Virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads
All my memories, gather ’round her
Miners lady, stranger to blue water
Dark and dusty, painted on the sky
Misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye
Country roads, take me home
To the place, I belong
West Virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads
I hear her voice, in the mornin’ hour she calls me
The radio reminds me of my home far away
And drivin’ down the road I get a feeling
That I should have been home yesterday, yesterday
Country roads, take me home
To the place, I belong
West Virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads
Is there a true West Virginian out there who can listen to this song without getting teary eyed? Without singing it at the top of one’s lungs? Impossible, I say!
I have wondered if my sentimentality is only because I no longer live there. Robbie, my husband who is also a “transplant”, has the same love for our state. We’re both in agreement that there are no people like West Virginia people.
How do you feel?
I’d love to hear from those who have never left West Virginia—do you feel this way? And those who were born there yet have moved away, do you miss it? Have you found this same loyalty to which I refer? Oh yes, and is there anyone….anyone who can sing along with Mr. Denver and not drop a tear?
I do feel I should have been home yesterday….yesterday….
Hokes Mill Covered Bridge, Greenbrier County
Camp Creek, WV
460 West, Mercer County
Beckley, WV Exhibition Mine
Pinnacle Rock, Mercer County
Bramwell, Mercer County
Pinnacle Rock State Park, Mercer County
*”Take Me Home, Country Roads” was written by Bill Danoff, Taffy Nivert, and John Denver
His story My First Night in the Mines was published in Goldenseal in 1999. You can read a snippet here (just renewed my subscription to the magazine!). He, his dad, and his dad’s dad all worked in the mines in Gary, West Virginia, with the latter having been killed in the mines in the 1930s. In addition to numerous short, historically based stories, Dad wrote So Long, Charlie, about his dad as a young man, and his horse. It hasn’t been mass printed, but it should be!
