In the morning light, ’neath mountains tall, A word once foreign echoed a call.“Hillbilly,” they said, with a sneer, a jeer, A label that brought neither joy nor cheer.
My brother returned with stories anew, Claiming that title for us, the mountain crew.“Dumb, stupid, ignorant,” definitions came, But we knew our worth, our spirit untamed.
An insult to those who rose before dawn, Treading paths untrod, faces weary and wan. To the miners and loggers, their strength never fades; to the women, their resilience never sways.
Carrying water, scrubbing clothes clean, Hoeing fields, unseen, yet serene. After childbirth, returning to toil, Their spirit, their love for the soil.
A mockery made by visitors, blind To the hard work and ingenuity they’d find. Laughing at poverty, speech, and ways, Ignoring the brilliance that deserved praise.
Yet, we’ve evolved, caught up in the race, Losing bits of ourselves, our unique grace. But hear this call: to be true, to dare, Embrace your roots, let down your hair.
Paint, write, revive old mountain speech, Cook soup beans and cornbread, a lesson to teach. Fish for catfish, seek hickory nuts in glades, Be your true self, let not the old ways fade.
So today, embrace your past with pride, And tomorrow, let that truth inside. For in being ourselves, we honor those before And bless our souls forevermore.
April 4, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
The Mountain Crew
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