My more formidable years were spent growing up in north central West Virginia, surrounded on all sides by the Appalachian mountains. The economic situation is already well documented, as is the “Three R’s” of getting out and finding a better life: readin’, ‘ritin’ and Route 77.
And since there ain’t nothing to see in Wytheville, many ended up in North Carolina. (This is what a legal migration looks like, btw, assuming no one was popped for hauling ‘shine.)
If you’ve ever been knocked back in time by a certain smell or a particular old song, then you know how I feel when I see that first, lone snowflake… and my happiness when they start to accumulate. And just like most wouldn’t wish the heat and humidity of a Deep South summer on anyone, I wouldn’t wish a typical West Virginia winter on them… but both parties know that’s when some of the best stories, and memories are made.
For those of you that don’t know the comfort of the mountains, or the absolute dead silence of a thick snowfall absorbing all sound except the calm flutter of the new flakes landing on top, I can understand your annoyance when we cheer a Carolina snow fall. But if you try to hide your contempt, I’ll try my best to hide my pity.