I'm from...........

Recently I have become a huge fan of Minton Sparks.  She is a spoken word artist here in the Nashville area.  Last year she was the main attraction at the Midnight Cabaret of the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough. She's a poet, a storyteller, buck dancer, and has a wonderful guitarist, John Jackson, who accompanies her. I've never seen anything like her in the storytelling world I live in.  She makes me laugh and sometime her humor is so poignant it takes my breath away. Here's the link to the website. http://www.mintonsparks.com

One of Minton's most loved pieces is "Where are you from?"  This morning I woke up with part of this piece in my head and this blog is my attempt to describe where I am from.  

 I'M FROM........

I'm from people of the mountains; quiet people who don't let you inside 'em for a long time.

I'm from rural country with muddy roads that go nowhere or to a lonely shack.

I'm from Minnie and Ewing, Issac, and Edward, Phrona, and Dona. Seventeen aunts and uncles who came and went out of my life.


I'm from hog killings, chicken butchering, cattle dehorning, bull castrations, and bee keeping. I learned biology and animal anatomy before I knew my own anatomy. 


I dodged spittoons, ambeer, pork and bean cans, and Aunt Ruby's spit that could travel 6 feet. I know Days Work and Garrett's Snuff and the feel of spittle on my hands from chewing 'tbacker'spills.


I'm from illiterate, fist pounding, Bible waving, foaming at the mouth preachers screaming scripture and ignorance in my face. I'm from February baptisins' in frozen creeks and ice clinging to my pure white dress pinned between my legs. I'm from preachers who knew a woman's place and when on the road for revival meeting visited those wet, warm places.


I'm from Aunt Ruby who loved me like her own and helped me forgive my Mama when she "didn't know no better!"


I'm from green, thick mountains that change clothes ever season; mountains where rugged, dirty people survived a cruel civil war and then family feuds.  The Hatfields and the McCoys are in my bones along with the Greene - Jones feud from my own ancestors. Folks fightin' so long they almost forgot what they were fightin' agin.


I'm from clapboard schools built by the WPA, three rooms, three teachers, a coal pile and two outhouses and still I know the capitals of all the states, the order of the presidents, and the love of folks like FDR and Eleanor who thought we were something. 


I'm from mountain creeks filled with leeches, minners, smooth rocks and skinny naked kids. Creeks now full of toilet paper, plastic milk jugs, refrigerators, pesticides, coal bi-products and blown away hillsides from strip mining.


I'm from runnin' shine in muscle cars, meth labs, oxycotton addiction, and good people who say, "There ain't nothing you can do about it."

I'm from Ewing who told his youngins they could make it in a larger world if they got educated, tried and left the places where they had learned to survive one kind of life. Ewing, who could not escape himself because his wife could not imagine a bigger world than she knew.


I'm Patsy with three brothers who loves the PBS series about the Appalachian Mountains and still holds hope for all that is good and right in Appalachia.

A Visit With John Denver

It happened right there in Kroger's while I was shopping for a frozen box of spinach. Herman was picking up a prescription in another part of the store. I seldom hear the background music in stores when I am shopping, and if I do it's usually a catchy, upbeat, dance piece; but, somehow today was different. There I stood looking at the freezer items singing out loud to John Denver's "Sweet Surrender" totally lost in time and space to the lyrics. I did not miss  

single word!

And I don't know wht the future is holdin' in store

I don't know where I'm goin', I'm not sure where I've been.

There's a spirit that guides me, a light that shine for me

My life is worth the livin' I don't need to see the end.

Sweet, Sweet Surrender

Live, live without care

Like a fish in the water

Like a bird in the air.

I never commented to Herman about my behavior or my thoughts as we drove home and resumed our separate routines. About an hour later Herman comes down the stairs with our old John Denver album and puts it on the turntable. Neither of us comment while we continue with lunch preparation and emails.  

I was lost in images, lyrics and so many memories I could not wrap my self around it all. Our oldest son, Cree, was born during the John Denver years.  The first song he ever sang was, "Thanks God I'm a County Boy"; our first major vacation outside Tennessee was to ........yes, Denver. "On the Road" followed us as we moved to the Chesapeake Bay area, and "Grandma's Feather Bed" brought memories of Herman's Granny, and "Annie's Song" was heard as we traveled through a June snowstorm in the Rocky Mountains. It was really a love song written to his first wife Annie, but because of where we were driving when I first heard it, for me it was always a song about nature.

While teaching learning theory in my general psychology classes I usually illustrated classical conditioning with song lyrics and learned emotional reactions. On those days when I discussed how memories and songs are intimately tied to the human experience, I asked my students to provide their own examples of learned emotional experiences.  It always seemed to be one of their and my favorite class days.

Yesterday was a revisiting of my early adulthood years. It was too powerful to share with Herman or with my readers. Today has brought some distance and this article.  Today I am focused on the lyrics of "Sweet Surrender" and what it says about where I am now.  I find most news, no matter whether it's television, magazine, email, text messaged, etc., quite depressing, and I often get too consumed by what has forced it's way into my life.  Somehow rediscovering John Denver and having a conversation with him through his lyrics was the meditation I needed for where I am now. I hope you have some artisans in your life with whom you can engage in a conversation.