You know the song, ” Almost heaven, West Virginia, Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River, Life is old there, older than the trees, Younger than the mountains, growin’ like a breeze.” Trouble is John Denver must not have been looking at a map when he penned these words and spread the rhythm of Appalachia far and wide. The Shenandoah River, the Blue Ridge – those are all features of WestERN Virginia. Sorry John, maybe stick to the Rocky Mountains.
Nevertheless, Denver’s tune captures a slice of the place I’ve loved and called home most of my life. The Appalachian Mountains are special and storied. The word “Appalachia” is one of the oldest place-names in America. The legends and lore of the deeply furrowed mountains are well known; native Americans subsisting off the bounty of the forest, coon-skinned pioneers pushing west through thick greenery, moonshiners and revenue men in an ever-quickening chase, all taking place before a backdrop of rugged independence and self-reliance.
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