A Visit To My Appalachian Roots

This past weekend my husband and I joined our son and daughter-in-law in Ashville, NC for an Easter visit.  Our daughter-in-law is on staff at Warren Wilson College, a unique Appalachian based college that combines preserving traditional animal and food production skills along with earning a four year degree. Being in the Spring season anywhere is exciting, but this place took Spring to a whole new level. 

Herman and I were both raised on Appalachian farms in East Tennessee.  Generally these farms are mountainous, under a hundred acres, hilly, and isolated among the hills and hollers.  Spring is always the most exciting time of the year because new calves, colts, piglets, sheep, chicks, ducks and geese are being born daily. Everything is so alive! While we lived year round on our farms, spring stands out as unique because it follows, in my opinion, the ugliest season of winter.  Spring  brings lots of rain, cool temperatures, a fresh smell to the air. The sunshine  is so powerful that it strikes the new green leaves in a way that overpowers one's senses. This past weekend on Warren Wilson's farm was no exception.

We saw sheep that were both sheared and waiting to be sheared. There were a gazillion piglets and chirping baby chicks. Horses were waiting to be harnessed to plows fields along with tractors that had recently overturned the wet, dark black earth for planting. And there was the smell of manure that waited to be hauled out to fertilize this year's crops.  Bees buzzed, ants crawled and wasps were busy building this year's nests.  It was such a sensory overload for us. 

Most East Tennesseans and North Carolinians are of English, Scotch or Irish descent.  Their farms and methods of farming still greatly resemble the farming skills of these British Isles.  Appalachian cooking and food preparation skills still resemble the British methods.  My first understanding of this resemblance came when I visited the British Isles for the first time and saw foods and tastes identical to my Mom's. It was this connection that tied so much history together for me in a way that no classroom could have produced.

Standing in the barns and sheds on Warren Wilson College farms I suddenly knew where I was from in a fresh way. I could feel my long deceased Mom and Dad, both sets of grandparents, and a long line of other descendants who came to this new world and found a place much like 'home' in the old country. I never suspected as a child that I, too, would embrace this heritage as all the others before me had embraced it. This weekend the connection became quite real.