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The Real McCoy
PHOTO: CHERMACNEILL.COM As I followed the trail to the site of the Randolph McCoy home, then to the site of the so-called Battle of Grapevine Creek, I became entranced by the curvilinear connections from town to town, the close-knit people who are not generally farmers but industrial workers. The natural beauty of the land, however, is being challenged by the coal-mining method of mountaintop removal, which was described to me as “taking coal from a mountain the way one takes meat from a pumpkin.” Sensitive to the crude caricature of the hillbilly (which I began to understand from the abundance of Deliverance jokes offered to me), I won’t say I or a car with Quebec plates didn’t get inquisitive looks from locals sitting on the porches as I walked around to take a look-see. But if you can’t take a good porch staring, you’re missing out on some of the best places in the world. The Hatfield-McCoy feud has long ended, and every year in Pike County, there’s a big festival to celebrate the entente between the two families. I’d like to say knowing about these feel-good jamborees has inspired me to be less petty about my own dumb grudges, but I’ll wait until somebody steals my hogs before I boast of such resolve. One thing I can appreciate more are the bonds of people so tied to place, people whose lives revolve around hard work and faith, who were once the subjects of the grim black-and-white photos that gave a face to American poverty in the 1960s. And there’s one other thing I’ve learned. Though I personally love mountain music, when asking about famous people who come from the area, you might want to stipulate “excluding country singers” in the same way you might add “excluding hockey players” when asking the same thing of a Canadian. Here at the diner, I am completely comfortable. The dinner I’m waiting on is lasagna – not barbecue or catfish, but homemade lasagna. There’s the faint aroma of the adjoining room where car parts are sold, there’s country music on the radio, I’ve already explained my accent and everyone is right neighbourly. — Write to us: letters@enroutemag.net |
