Down in the Valley

“Down in the valley, valley so low, hang your head over, hear the wind blow.”

Dang it. What book is that? It’s set in the Appalachian mountains and repeats the “Down in the Valley” lyrics multiple times. Please tell me; it’s driving me nuts.

I should be able to look it up on my Goodreads account. That’s how I keep track of what I read and what I think about books, in place of an actual memory, which has long since abandoned me. I don’t blame it; I was mistreating it. Luckily, it abandoned me in the digital age, where the Internets will just make me a new one. But I’ve read too many books about Appalachia and hollers to narrow it down. Barbara Kingsolver’s Demon Copperfield is next on my to-read list; that’s right up my holler.

Though I’ve never really had a holler – I’ve lived at the coast or a few hours inland my whole life, other than brief camping trips. However, my mom was born in Welch, West Virginia, so I’ll rely on this definition of a holler that she recently shared, which includes far more than the landform features – it includes helpful neighbors, music on front porches, family land, a sense of community and belonging.

I’ve read books like that – about tall mountains and the people big enough in spirit to make their mountains look small – books like Cold Mountain, Christy, What My Heart Wants to Tell, and My Own True Love.

But I just finished Hillbilly Elegy, and it paints a different picture.

Hillbilly Elegy is almost well enough known by now that I don’t need to summarize it – the author, J.D. Vance, comes from a poor but proud family, beset by social ills such as drug addiction, domestic abuse, violence, teen pregnancy, poor health, and poor education. It’s not until he joins the Marines that Vance sees a different way of life and is empowered to pursue college and eventually Yale Law School, finding a way out of his poverty and pain.

Why didn’t he plan on Yale Law from the start? For that matter, why didn’t I?

In Vance’s case, the cards were stacked against him, and he knew it. He didn’t have the tools, he didn’t know what it would take, but more so, he thought his choices didn’t matter. Though his mamaw (“ma’am – aww”) told him he could do anything he wanted, it seemed impossible. It took an encounter with kids playing hands even worse than his, for Vance to realize he had no excuses.

During his time in the Marines, in an impoverished area of the middle east, Vance handed a child an eraser, and the boy ran off – thrilled, elated, entirely content with his fortunes. Vance reflects, “For my entire life, I’d harbored resentment at the world…That resentment didn’t vanish in an instant, but…I began to appreciate how lucky I was…At that moment, I resolved to be the type of man who would smile when someone gave him an eraser. I haven’t quite made it there, but without that day in Iraq, I wouldn’t be trying.”

Yes to this, Vance, yes to celebrating an eraser, a mamaw, a people, and yourself. You figured it out – our choices do matter, and knowing that makes all the difference.

That and actually wanting to be a lawyer.

Me, I want to be more like Olive Campbell, founder of the Campbell Folk School in Brasstown, NC and lead character in the film Songcatcher. Olive collected folk songs from the mountain people and sought ways to preserve their traditions. “She was known for her meticulous preservation of ballads, sense of humor, and attentive listening.” (Wikipedia)

Campbell set up a school to teach farming practices and preserve local crafts and culture of Appalachia. I have a friend who goes there every year to learn basket weaving, make kaleidoscopes, or carve wooden spoons. The school also has classes on folklore, storytelling, and writing.

Maybe they won’t solve the world’s problems by carving spoons and telling stories, but without Campbell, they wouldn’t be trying. I hope to one day join them.

by Jessi Waugh