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Recently as I entered the local post office, a gentleman about my age
brushed past me on his way out. He was whistling "Simple Gifts," the old
Shaker tune that Aaron Copland developed into the beautiful symphonic suite,
Appalachian Spring. What better subject than Appalachia? The oldest mountain
range in the United States. Unlike the majestic Rockies which soar against
the sky, the Appalachians are low and gentle. They embrace you like a fond
parent.
Ahh, the mountains. You can leave them but you never forget them. Especially
if you have Scots-Irish in your bloodline. They were the last great wave of
emigration from the British Isles, probably the poorest but also the
proudest. They demanded respect and were willing to fight for it.
They weren't called he Fighting Irish for nothing. The Scotts-Irish spread
down from Pennsylvania into the Appalachian Highlands. When the great Indian
uprising almost wiped out the European settlers, that fighting spirit came
in handy. They became known as "hillbillies." Eventually everyone who lived
in the mountains were called that. Although elements of the coastal elites
considered the term pejorative, the hillbillies themselves didn't. Why
should anyone be ashamed they were residents of this beautiful region,
bursting with life in spring, maturing in summer, aflame with color in the
fall and majestic when covered with a mantle of snow in winter? O
Appalachia, no matter how far from thee I roam, your name to me will always
mean HOME." |
