Where I'm From

Where I'm From

by Shelia Parker Nelson

I am from cast iron skillets, from Hi-Ho crackers, JFG peanut butter and Bessie's unpasteurized, unhomogonized milk.

I am from the hill in the holler, from a tar-papered house that embraced a home.

I am from wild white dogwoods, sweet pink mimosas, orange ditch lilies, and from the fleabane and Queens Anne's lace that lined the sides of a pig-trail road.

I am from a Friday night supper of homemade hamburgers; Sanford & Son on a new color TV set.  I am from Momma 'n Daddy keeping their family together.

I am from Thanksgiving Dinner served at noon.  I am from letting the men fill their plates first.  I am from Lawrence and Alyne, Parkers and Burchards.

I am from my grandparent's front porch.  I am from "come on in and pull up a cheer."

I am from talkers and listeners.

I am from cracklin' AM radio and from scratchy vinyl records.  I am from Mac Wiseman, the Browns singing about Three Bells, Hee Haw, Lawrence Welk and Porter Waggoner.

I am from "don't touch the dog when it's a'lightnin'". I am from "yuns put your bicycles in the cellar, come on in the house and watch Billy Graham."

I am from rarely saying grace, but always giving thanks.

I am from cotton dresses worn to school under a warm coat.

I am from the southern end of Appalachia, from one whose lineage can be traced to the Mayflower, and from one whose roots disappear into the soil of the early 1800s.

I am from "ain't" and "pillers", from "yonder" and "yuns".  I am from East Tennessee twang.

I am from hik'ry switch stripes on my legs.  I am from encouragement and selfless love.  I am from parents who intended to raise me right, no matter what it took.

I am from a Momma who had a good example to follow, and did it right.  I am from a Daddy who didn't have a good example to follow, but did it right anyway.

I am from the foot of an old Appalachian mountain spur.  I am from a sunset that slides to the south of the mountaintop to let me know we're heading towards winter, and creeps north to give my spirit hope that winter will end.

I am from land given to my family as a death settlement in the last century.  I am from people who held onto this land like a bulldog.  I am from daguerreotypes and tintypes, I am from black and white, I am from color, stored in boxes and albums and held in trust by three strong, sweet women.

I am from Appalachia, beginning in New England and ending in Tennessee.

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A few months ago I was searching the internet for all things Appalachia when I discovered Tipper Pressley's blog "Blind Pig and The Acorn".  I love my Appalachian heritage and Tipper's blog has taken me back so many times to a time when the challenges of life could be overcome with common sense, humor, ingenuity, and determination. Her blog is an expression of an Appalachian life of quiet dignity, simplicity and innocent fun.

Tipper posted the "Where I'm From" poem template on her blog and asked her readers to share their own life stories. I will admit to shedding a few bittersweet tears while writing mine.  Life is both sunshine and shadow, my friends, and I hope you will use this template to write your own "Where I'm From" story.

You can find Tipper's blog at   http://www.blindpigandtheacorn.com/  I guarantee you'll enjoy it!

Thank you for reading my blog,

Shelia



 

My Neighbor's Chickens

by Shelia Parker Nelson

Every afternoon, they cross the road a'runnin'.

The neighbor's four chickens to my yard are comin'.

They cluck to one another as they peck and they scratch,

about the ants and the chiggers and the ticks that they catch.

Takin' their time, to my back yard they walk,

where one finds a ladybug and lets out a squawk.

Three run towards her, in their awkward gait,

curious as to what the other found and ate.

They soon forget it happened, for you know what they say,

Chickens wake up in a brand new world each day. 

It's almost time to roost, the sun is nearly gone.

Time for the four chickens t' head back t' home.

At the roads edge they freeze, confusion they're displayin'.

"How did we get over here?" they seem to be a'sayin'.

Across the road they go, a'runnin' as fast as they can.

They sleep all night, wake up early, and do it all over again.

One says to the others "Where shall we go today?"

The others say "Across the road, we've never been that way."

 The End

Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

Shelia



Talkin' on the Porch

Back then I thought ever'body talked like us.
I'd heard the same kind of talkin' ever since I was born,
and then settin' on the porch in the evenin' with Daddy and Momma,
Mamaw and Papaw, Aints and Uncles, all talkin' and tellin' stories.

Us kids would play in the yard ketchin' lightnin' bugs, or ridin'
our bicycles aroun' the house. The grownups would set on the porch
and thay'd start talkin' and then thay'd all laugh. I'd ride my bicycle close
to the porch and I'd wonder what thay was'a laughin' at.

Well, the sun would start to go down over the mountain and I'd act
like I was gettin' tard. I'd go set beside my Momma or one'a my Aints
on the settee. I'd lay my head in thayr lap and close my eyes and listen
to them and I thought ever'body talked thataway, rich and hearty, funny and wise.

"They was a snake in the outhouse he took a hoe to it, everwhat happened to them people
that lived up the road a piece, the jarflys are loud this summer, how big'a mess'a beans
did you git outta that pokeful, them Kennedy's, I cleaned all the winders t'day,
I'm a'goin' to trade t'mar do you need to go, somethin's dead somewheres I can smell the kyarn."

"The truth'll stand when the world falls, the kids gommed up the kitchen right after I cleaned it up,
George Wallace, Gov'ner of Alabama, and we might could tare that part'a the floor up and put new down,that was some good okry we had for supper, Martin Luther King, them Beatles from England. Hey kids! stay away from the road now, and don't be ridin' so fast off that sidewalk."

"I couldn't git to sleep last night to save my life, my piller felt like it was full of rocks,
He got $2 in the mail today with a note sayin' I'm sorry I stole your dictionary when we was in school no it wadn't signed, once I found all my Christmas presents and then told Mother ever'thing I wanted and she asked me you've been lookin' ain't ye? C'mere kids and getchuns a banana popsicle."

Sometimes the talkin' would stop and it'd get real still
and I'd hear the Fox family that lived on the other road, settin' on thay're porch.
The night air carryin' their laughin' and talkin' and I reckon that was a 'nother reason
I thought ever'body talked like we did.

Then I got big and found out right fast that not ever' body did.
Thay're was no invitation to 'pull 'y self up a cheer and set down'.
And you ain't likely to get nowhere much if you say 'I reckon', or 'I'd druther not',
or the worst of all 'yuns'. It's all right to say ya'll, but don't say yuns or people with think your ignert.

Leave your native tongue at home, as hearty and rich as it is, you got t'leave it on the porch where
it belongs and talk homogonized talk out in the world. It's as bland as unsalted butter, but
it's 'acceptable' and nobody will take you serious if you spit out 'yuns' or tell somebody
'you look awful nice t'day' or let's go git us a cole drank'a water.

But it still sounds like honey to me, smooth and golden, like them evenin's I spent listenin'
to all that talk and not knowin' that ever'body didn't talk thataway and I feel right sorry
for them. Nobody much sits on the porch now anyways and kids don't play outside
but we all got cell phones and contact lists so I reckon kids'll be remembering about that in 50 years.