I knew he wasn’t all that good a fellow when I saw him. Gray, stringy hair all scraggly and sticking up. Blue-gray squinty eyes peeping out at me. All I could see was an old sinner who wasn’t a bigger sinner simply from lack of opportunity. It was a bit discouraging to see him go from A to Z right before my eyes. I know he worked hard to get to the top and now he’s going down the mountain at a high rate of speed and don’t even remember getting to the top. I looked into the mirror again and sometimes I see a mess just like that. Seldom do I see a fellow I am totally satisfied with. Most times there is nothing to hide or no reason to pretend and I see a prodigal saved by Grace. Rarely do I see a fellow who has touched a few folks’ lives through word or deed. Nor do I see a fellow who has given love freely with no promise of being given love back. Nor do I see the extraordinary Memories I have made and written about. But just like your life, my life is a book and who I see depends on where the book falls open.
Today I see an old mountain man from the Blue Ridges, Smokies, Appalachian Mountains who lives in the Piedmont and misses Home. I see an old man with worry lines etched across his forehead. I see laugh lines etched around his cheeks. I see love lines around his eyes and down his face where a rivulet of tears has fallen. But when I come to reality and lean in real close, I see peace in those eyes that pass understanding. I see joy and forgiveness and hear the words again, “Son, there’s better days ahead.” And then I can shave and comb what little I have and go out and face the day with joy and anticipation of saying or doing something for someone else.
You know I beat around the bush sometimes, but I eventually get to what I am aiming for. Our bodies and minds sometimes get beat down and we wish we could do more. But when we help others, support our Church, and pray, our Lord is not surprised (if He could be). If He could be disappointed it would be when we didn’t do those good deeds. It is just a reasonable service.
What happened from playing cowboys and Indians to canes and walkers? Where did time get to? Where were we at in the middle years from say 35 to 60? How come the sand in the hourglass has speeded up? And where did all this technology come from? How can I talk to someone in Washington State and see them on a phone with no wires involved? How does someone named Google know how I fry my okra? And where did time get to? And what were the six folks in the doctors’ office all looking at on their phones? And what is so important to the young folks talking and texting and driving at the same time?
Our ancestors in Appalachia who rode a horse or ran to get the doctor or a midwife would not have believed any of this could be real. What about you and I? Look at where we are compared to the start of all this in the late 40’s and 50’s. I thought the invention of the 8-track in place of vinyl records was a miracle. Today you can put thousands of songs on an I-pod that is not half as big as a playing card and thin as a wooden match. I have been left behind.
It was ’58 before we had an indoor toilet. When I was four, I remember we got our water from a spring down the hill in a holler. We let the bucket down with a pulley and a rope system. Wash day was a lot of work. In the 50’s we had a pump out in the yard for water. We had wood heat and cooked on a wood-burning cook stove. I remember the washing machine was electric with rollers to run the clothes through before rinsing them. We were not poor. If we were nobody told us we were. We were just folks working and making do with what was available. We had enough. So at times when I remember the sacrifices our people made in settling this country, I know and understand the tremendous work involved and I am grateful.
The love of these mountains and the History involved leaves a memory no one can steal. And if your life has been a Blessing then your memories are a treasure also. So take us home, country roads, to the place we belong… Only in my mind and memories can I run through the woods, play in the creek, wash the clothesline, twice, for Mom, chop kindling, ginseng hunt, play cow pasture baseball and dream of playing for the Yankees, go skinny dipping, pin hook fish, make bean shooters and on and on. But I can still dream…And I do.