I take a multiculturalism course that prides itself on its inclusivity and sensitivity to the feelings and identities of all groups and individuals. During our most recent in-class presentations, I did not feel this inclusivity. In fact, for once I felt truly marginalized for my Appalachian identity. It was a presentation on the economic, societal, and physical disparities found within the area, specifically in central Appalachia, which happens to be where I’m from. I will certainly not deny these exist, but they’re not all we are. It is not all I am.
Yes, my family is predisposed to the heart failure and diabetes listed in their statistics.
Yes, my city has a drug problem.
Yes, I left town to go to college.
Yes, the decline of coal mining left my little corner of the world hurting.
I’m not claiming I’ve experienced some great prejudice or hurt, but I was so surprised at the way the topic was handled. We’re expected to go to great lengths in this class to denounce all types of prejudice or bias, but that did not seem to matter with our Appalachia discussion. The paper we were required to read prior to class read as follows: “...many [families] settled together in areas known as hollers.” It is not “known” as a holler; a holler simply is. A holler is a different way of life some people don’t understand. On paper, it’s really not that bad. But I could hear the voice.. The voice that is really saying “Aww, isn’t that precious? Hollers. I just love their accents.”
This class did not talk about the beauty of my home, so instead, I will be the one to tell you. It has stars that used to flirt with me at night, the same ones who seldom come to court my gaze here in Louisville. I can tell you that moonlight and moonshine dance in my veins, holding each other so intimately it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. The creek often cries at how beautiful the hollow is, and the bank lets itself be shaped and changed by her tears. When I drive home through the mountains, I let the wind weave my hair into patterns Louisville can’t understand and struggles to undo. The sun is kinder in Appalachia; she shares a secret with the lake no one can capture. The air is different on the backroads. It tastes like impossibilities and family reunions, and I imagine it is what it feels like to be held by serendipity. Daffodils and daisies dot the hill like redolent constellations, while poplars and dogwoods highlight my battered highways. At night, something inside me hums when I hear the bullfrogs and smell honeysuckle after the rain.
These are the things that would be in my presentation on Appalachia, and they don’t even begin to scratch the surface. Espalier is when the growth of certain plants is shaped by posts or walls, and in that same way, I have been shaped by Appalachia.
Anna Bocook is a sophomore McConnell Scholar in the class of 2029. She is majoring in American Sign Language Interpreting Studies, with minors in political science and mathematics.
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