It's Saturday morning, and I hear a "knock knock" on my window. I turn over to feel the sun gleaming through my room. I rub my eyes a little as I notice my neighbor peeking through my window saying, "Come outside, c'mon we have stuff to do today!" I quickly recall the playhouse we began building last weekend and jump out of bed to join my neighbors outside. I say good morning to my mother, who always cleans the house on Saturday mornings while listening to the "Top 25" on CMT. As I run outside barefoot, I can hear my mom saying, "You better put on some shoes before you go up in the hills!" I consciously ignore her, and bolt out the door to join the gang of bicycles and friends waiting for me.
We would venture up into the East Kentucky hills to our "secret spot." This spot was known for holding the biggest of secrets, and the saddest of stories. When we weren't in our secret spot, we were exploring the "unknown" further up the hill, finding souvenirs and checking out the cool creatures we found along the way.
Around dusk, we would come down from the hill, and catch lightning bugs in our hands, just to watch our hands glow. All around us, we could hear crickets chirping, frogs rib biting, and creeks flowing. It was natural. It was peaceful. It was home.
Around dinner time, all of our moms would come outside, yelling, "Dinner time! C'mon kids! Your dad just got home from work!" As I walked inside, my siblings would be setting the table. Each person in my family had a traditional place that they sat, and everyone knew who sat where. We would split a pop three ways (mom's rules), and talk about our days over my mothers delicious Southern cooking.
As a child, this was my normal day growing up. No, it's not glamorous, or spectacular, our days weren't controlled by technology, and our nights weren't booming with nightlife.
But this is where the misconception lies. This lifestyle isn't anything less that one that an outsider may live. In fact, it's something more; it's natural, and most of all, it's real. The people are real, the food is home grown, the air is fresh, and the memories are bold. Family is first, the communities are small, and most of all, the relationships with these people are guaranteed.
When I moved away from the area, I realized these things the hard way. At first, I was ashamed. I was ashamed that I didn't grow up with a phone glued to my hand, and I was ashamed that my family had lived below the poverty line most my life. But as I got to know others and their lives, I noticed one thing that changed my entire outlook on my recent lifestyle: it was the quality.
This is why people from eastern Kentucky are proud — because they have quality, not quantity. Good things come in small packages, small communities, and big hearts.
...to my old Kentucky home, far away.
