Annie Zomaya

“We are the roots we will build the future on. Tomorrow’s ours, and to me that’s the most exciting thing.” 

Annie Zomaya, Age 20, Student, Eastern Kentucky University; Cumberland, Kentucky, Harlan County:

“I was actually born in Chicago, Illinois, and moved here when I was five years old because my mother wanted to get closer to her family that was here. She was born in Benham, Kentucky, and raised in Chicago. 

My father was an Iraqi immigrant. He came to the States in 1975, and met my mother in Chicago. He lives there [in Chicago] now.

[My mother’s] parents moved her family to Chicago to find work because my grandfather, coalmining was not the life that he wanted. He moved to Chicago to find work, and then moved here in ’99 after he retired. My mother decided that she wanted to be closer to her family here, so she came back, too. I’m not for sure [when my grandfather left here originally], I would say the early ’60s.

It’s just the culture [that brings people back here]. It’s this unspoken thing that everyone just feels. It’s like there’s a wavelength that everyone around here lives on. It’s maybe hard for an outsider to understand it. It’s hard to put into words. There’s something about the culture and the way of life here that is just really attractive, like a magnet.

It was a lot different, [Chicago when I was young]. I’ve visited my father over summers, [and] the way of life is just polar opposite. Here, you wave at strangers when you’re driving by. Up there, if you so much as make eye contact with a stranger, they immediately become defensive. It’s just a colder area, both talking about weather and not. Here, it’s more of a close-knit community. There’s just a sense of trust here.

[In Chicago for fun, I’d] go to parks, go to museums, the malls. I always loved going to the malls, because that’s something we don’t have here. If you want to go the mall here, you have to travel two hours out of the way. That was always my favorite part about it. And just seeing the diversity there, it is really beautiful. People from all over the world come there. You don’t see a whole lot of diversity here, but when you do see it, it’s like, ‘Oh my Gosh!’ You just light up inside.

As a kid here, it was more like, get down and dirty. Go outside, run around, roll around in the grass and play with the dog, and the neighborhood kids. It was more stay-at-home here, and in a city, it’s more go-out-and-do-something. Either way is fun, I guess. I enjoy both. But it’s completely, completely different.

My mother’s maiden name is Brown. My Papaw [was] Carlos Brown. Jr. The [Brown] twins, those are my aunts! They are my mother’s half-sisters. They have the same father. Their mother passed away when they were very young, and then he met my grandmother, which is my mother’s mother. He grew up here in Southeastern Kentucky and absolutely loved it. He grew up playing music. He was good friends with Hugh X. Lewis, the musician. He was my Papaw’s bluegrass music buddy. 

Hugh X. Lewis, I don’t know if he was more bluegrass or country, but one of those (laughs) – southern musicians. He’s known for the white hat. He’s definitely part of the Eastern Kentucky pride. I believe he is [in the Country Music Hall of Fame].

Like I said, [Papaw] loved it here, but he did not want to lead the coalminer life. He tried it and it just was not what he wanted. My Grandma grew up in Letcher County. She’s from Linefork. Her maiden name was Georgia Cornett, now she’s Georgia Brown. 

It’s funny, growing up I always thought I preferred the city life. I always thought I wanted to go back to that. About this time last year, I actually made the move to Chicago. I said, ‘I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to get out and have a real life.’ That was my way of thinking. I ended up coming back because college credits that I had earned here in my first year of college would not transfer, so I had to come back to finish school. 

It was in that time, since then to now, that I have gotten involved with Higher Ground and the It’s Good 2 Be Young In The Mountains Planning Committee. They’ve just completely changed my life. They’ve opened their hearts up to me, and made me see this region in a way that I’d never even thought about looking at it before. Now, I really love it here, and the culture here. But I can’t choose between the two, honestly. I guess I’m kind of a hybrid. Or I just don’t like decisions. When I’m here, I enjoy it, and when I’m with my Dad I enjoy that. I just try to live in the moment. There’s beauty to both sides of it, really.

Higher Ground is a community performance project. It’s like community theater. I think it’s been going on for about 10 years. I just joined their last performance, Higher Ground 5: Find a Way. I knew Robert Gipe from high school. He used to come to my high school. I took Drama there; he would come sometimes and help us out with things. I saw him one day on Southeast’s campus and just said, ‘Hey, are you doing anything with Higher Ground soon?’ And he was like, ‘Yeah, we’re actually starting a new production, so you should come and check it out.’ I joined it, and I just fell in love with the people. They just welcomed me in like family.

Robert Gipe is… aw man, who isn’t Robert Gipe? He is an author, he’s an actor, he lives here in Harlan, Kentucky. He’s just a firecracker. He is the catalyst behind Higher Ground. Higher Ground is completely original, it is written by people here. We take the stories of Eastern Kentucky people and weave them into a play. We do it in a way that is honest and respectful of the people here. We don’t want to [do it like] if an outsider came in and took stories and tried to turn it into something. It would not be the same. We are our own people telling our own story. We talk about issues that people face here. In the last production, Find a Way, we talked about a coalminer that lost his job and then immediately lost his son. Then his daughter had to come out to her parents that she was lesbian. We discuss real issues that people have faced here, and how they have overcome them.

A lot of times, people will come from outside of the region, and/or maybe not even make the trip, they just base it off of what they’ve seen in the media, their opinion of the people in the area. It seems to be particularly negative; you know, the barefoot and pregnant stereotype. That’s just not true. You see that here, but you see that everywhere. Really, if you look hard enough, you will see it in cities. Everyone has their problems. 

What this place has that I think the media doesn’t show enough of, is the art that is created here. The beautiful minds. People work hard here, and they explore, and they create things that are beautiful. It’s hard to see that in just one trip here or one documentary. If someone really wanted to know what life in Appalachia is like, they need to come and spend a week with a family that lives here, and let them make ‘em feel at home, make ‘em some soup beans and cornbread, and show ‘em the country way of life. It’s a beautiful life.

(Stereotypes) Maybe they don’t think we’re smart enough to understand it and realize that they’re putting us down. But we do. That’s what this group of people here today is all about, showing that it is good to be young in the mountains, and we’re more than stereotypes. One girl, when we were telling her about the conference, she was like, ‘Is it really good to be young here? You know, with all the stereotypes?’ We quoted her as saying, ‘I’m more than a stereotype.’ That is 100% true. We all are.

We’re calling it’s Good 2 Be Young In The Mountains [IG2BYITM] the conference that feels like a festival. Essentially, it was created by a group of young people in Appalachia that wanted to make their voices heard. We heard about all of these events and organizations that were talking about rural development and developing the Central Appalachian region, and we were like, ‘Well, let’s do that!’ As young people, let’s come together and share our ideas and our thoughts and our skills, and work together to move forward and create a brighter future. That’s what we’re doing here. We’re teaching people new things. We’re meeting new people. We’re challenging ourselves, we’re challenging others, challenging the community. My personal goal is, at the end of this event, to walk away with new skills and a renewed ambition to build a brighter future for Appalachia. 

We have people [in attendance] from West Virginia, Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia, North Carolina… I believe there’s somebody from Oregon, which is not Appalachia, but whatever, join the party. We actually have some internationals: someone from Italy, someone from the Ukraine.

We’re the future. We are the roots we will build the future on. Tomorrow’s ours, and to me that’s the most exciting thing. What’s next? Who can answer that question, really? That’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to create that answer. Hopefully it’s a really, really good one (laughs).

Am I a hillbilly? Yeah, I guess I am. It means that I’m somebody that knows how to have a good time in the hills of Kentucky and I’m not afraid to say it.

Here [at Mom’s house], it’s like, soup beans and cornbread and all them country vittles. Then, I go to my father’s house and they have shawarma and tabouli and falafel. It’s completely different. I love falafel, it’s my favorite. My Grandma and my Dad’s sisters, they’re both the best cooks I know. If I have to be honest, my favorite is the Middle Eastern cuisine. I have a pretty diverse palate. Maybe it’s because I don’t get to eat it that often, when I do I’m like, ‘This is so good.’ 

[Where else will the voices of this conference be heard?] We’re trying to encourage people to get more involved in their communities. So, you know, going to town meetings. We’re doing a power mapping activity later on, over the course of the event, to find out where the power is in our region, and what we can do to contribute to that. I hope people take some of it into their personal lives, too, to just step out and do their small part in the community. For me personally, I’ll be going to Eastern Kentucky University. This time next week, actually, will be my first day there. I’ll [be] applying for an internship with an agency working to improve life in Eastern Kentucky. I definitely want to do more things like this in the future, and get involved in rural development, philanthropy, and things like that. Officially, I’m a Public Relations major, but I do want to go into the non-profit field. 

What’s the answer [to the future of Appalachia]? Diversify, for the economy. Definitely can’t put all your eggs in one basket. We saw that worked for a little while, worked for a long time, but it’s not working anymore. The thing is, there’s so much potential here and I don’t know why it hasn’t been utilized yet. We have smart people. We have hard working people. We have talented people. There are so many things that could take root here and take off and be something great. I don’t know why it hasn’t happened yet, but I’m really excited and confident that it will happen.

I think [the biggest roadblock] may be a fear of change in the people, especially the older generations. People have got to figure out what they fear more, stagnation or change. Right now, we’re pretty stagnant with the economy. We almost don’t have a choice. I understand that a lot of families were built on coal here, and that’s wonderful and I think that should be celebrated and remembered, but there’s more to us than just that. Like my friend Devyn Creech said, we’re more than a rock in the ground. We have so much more to offer than one thing. We really need to show the world what we’ve got.

When I leave this world, I want to leave behind more than bones. I want people to remember me as a person that had a hope inside of her, that was willing to make changes, and do what it took just to make the world a better place. That opened new doors for people to build their dreams here, without feeling like they had to leave. 

That is really unclear to me right now [if I’ll live the rest of my life in the mountains]. If I do or if I don’t, I will be totally cool with whatever happens because I’ve learned to stop fighting the present and accept where you are. Ever since I started doing that, all of these opportunities have been flooding into my life and it’s great. If I do remain here, I will do all that I can to help this place prosper. If I’m not here, I still want to see it prosper and I still want to do my part to help make that happen.”

Willie Whitt

“[Traditions passed down are] Believe in God, and do the right thing. Be fair to other people. Be honest. Don’t take nothin’ from nobody. Don’t steal nothin’. Just be yourself. Make someone proud of you.” 

Willie Whitt, Sawmill Maintenance Worker; Beckley, West Virginia; 

“I was born in Salinas, California. Dad was stationed in the Army, and that’s where I was born in the Army hospital. I was born in ‘55 and then he got out in ’56, and we moved back to his hometown in Pulaski, Virginia. My first three years in grade school, I was in Pulaski and then he took a job here in Beckley working for Vecellio & Grogan when they was building route 16 to Sophia. He drove a water truck on the road crew. 

[Growing up in the mountains] was great because of all kind of friends, clean air, wide open and just feel free. Sometimes, we’d just ride our bikes and go up in the mountains and ride our bikes down the hill. In the wintertime, we’d ride sleds. 

High school days was a little bit wild. That’s when I met my wife. I rode a motorcycle and wrecked that motorcycle. It was Halloween, I guess it was, I was laid up at the house there. I had a Mustang I wrecked. Her dad and my dad worked together, but I didn’t know her at that time. First time she saw me I was laying on the couch in my underwear. Halloween night and she was out Halloweenin’. My brother seen her up there around her dad’s truck and we didn’t know who it was, but said she was up there soapin’ her dad’s windows. My brother said, ‘You better quit that, I know Mr Lilly, the guy that owns that truck.’ She said, ‘I do too, it’s my dad.’ When I got well enough to go to school, this girl walked up to me said, ‘Hi, I’m Harry’s daughter,’ but I didn’t know who Harry was ‘cause I knew him as Mr. Lilly. So I had to find out who Harry was. That’s how we met. [Been married forty-one years.] 

When I got out of high school, I went to work for Beckley Manufacturing as a line machinist. I worked there till August 10th. We got married on August 10th, ‘74 and that’s when I quit there and went to work for Long-Air Dox over in Oak Hill. [After a varied career, I] went to work for Frasure, Trinity Coal is actually Frasure Creek, over on 61 over at Oak Hill, and got laid off a week before Christmas last year. I just got a job [a few] weeks ago working for my son at a saw mill. 

[My son’s saw mill] He just bought into it back in February and we’re still just learning about it. The business is not real good right now because it’s mine related. We can make mine timbers and cap wedges and crib locks. Right now, we’re mostly selling pallet boards for making pallets. It’s about the only thing going on right now. It’s a tough business. 

[My grandfather and father] were always in the construction business or farming. My grandpa on mom’s side was a conductor on the railroad for Norfolk and Southern.

Mom’s mother and dad they lived the longest. Dad’s dad died when he was only thirteen, so I never knew my grandpa Whitt. My granny Whitt, she had thirteen youngins; there was five boys and eight girls. I had aunts and uncles out the yazoo. I had kin people everywhere. Out of thirteen, the baby is the only one living right now. We have a Whitt family reunion the last weekend of July. [My wife’s] mother and dad was Lilly’s before they married. She’s a thoroughbred. 

I’ve done a lot of traveling. Actually, there’s nothing any more beautiful than West Virginia. Colorado’s pretty, but it’s not home. When you live here long enough, you grow roots. No place like home. [Coming back to the mountains] makes me feel like I’m back home. It gives you a feeling of security. There’s windstorms and everything but no hurricanes, no tornadoes. There’s a lot of snow, but it’s going to melt. 

[Outsiders] I don't think they really understand our way of living. It’s a simple life, and that’s the way I like it. The simpler, the better. I don’t like a lot of silly fancy stuff. The simple life gives you the freedom of doing what you want to do, when you want to do it. If you want to go biking or fishing or hunting or whitewater rafting; West Virginia gives all kinds of opportunities. City folks don’t have that many opportunities. 

I ride four-wheelers, I got a jet-ski, I go water-skiing. I can fish, I can hunt. How many people do you know live in the city that actually own a four-wheeler that can go out and ride it? Because it’s against the law! It’s not against the law here to ride a four-wheeler. [They gotta put them up on a trailer] and haul them to the mountains to where they can ride them. You can ride them anywhere. My son-in-law, he works down there at the Burning Rock Four-wheeler Park, and we have Hatfield McCoy trails. There’s more everywhere. Just like out here on Ellison Ridge there’s trails everywhere. You could ride all day and run out a whole tank of gas and never be at the same spot. 

[Hillbilly means] I live here in the hills. I guess billy means you’re a goat. I just want to live here. Walk in my shoes for a week and see how you like it [outsiders]. I know we could probably change their mind. How much fun do you have living in the city looking at a TV or at a computer? I’m not computer savy; I don’t even hardly know how to turn one on. [But I can] get on a four-wheeler or a motorcycle or take a boat and do whatever I want to do.

[Traditions passed down are] Believe in God, and do the right thing. Be fair to other people. Be honest. Don’t take nothin’ from nobody. Don’t steal nothin’. Just be yourself. Make someone proud of you.

[The mines] are way down. It’ll never come back like it was. They can’t do without coal. You have to have coal to make coke to make steel. There’s no other way around it. So I mean coal’s not dead. The way the EPA regulations are, that’s what I can’t understand. Why enforce regulations here in the United States and then ship our coal overseas and burn it? We’re all breathing the same air. I don’t think it's fair that Americans, the working class in the coal fields, have to do with the EPA when they can send it over there and they don’t have no laws. They talk about the ozone layer and I say it’s all the same earth. It needs to be an international thing. You gonna do EPA, do an international EPA.

[The economy] Everything is too politically correct. It needs to be run like a business. You can’t import everything. When the Second World War was, everybody had a job. We don’t need to take care of everyone across the pond till we take care of ourself. Our politicians have sold us out. West Virginia has potential for tourism because of all the attractions, but West Virginia is not known for tourism. They’re known for coal and it’s always been coal. It’s a coal state. I don’t have an answer for [the economy].

[One of the happiest times] Probably when my grandkids comes over. [I’ve got] six. We’ve got this inflatable that we blow up out there in the yard they have a big time off of. Sometimes, we go four-wheelin’. All my grandkids range from one year to fifteen years. We have to do different things to accommodate for the different ages; to make everybody happy. 

[Saddest times] was probably when my dad died. He died in ‘06 so that made me fifty-one. He meant a lot; he was my icon. When we lived in Pulaski dad always raised rabbit beagles, and he liked to rabbit hunt. ‘Ole Sadie, a sow beagle, she had some pups there, but he took Sadie out hunting one day and Sadie was runnin’ this rabbit toward dad there, and dad was gonna shoot it, and the old rabbit run right between dad’s legs. He still missed it.

[Dad] didn’t actually teach me all I knew, but he taught me the fundamentals of life; [to] trust in God, to do the right thing, treat your neighbor like you’d like to be treated. He’s got all the general knowledge. That’s what I respect him for.”

Jackie Lee Lilly II

“Just be yourself. Go chase what you desire. Do what you want to do. It’s only one life, that’s all we got.” 

Jackie Lee Lilly II, Disabled; Elliston, Virginia: 

“I was born in Beckley [West Virginia]. Mom and dad lived there about a year and a half [after I was born]. First place they moved to was Savannah, Georgia. Stayed there six months and then come back to West Virginia. Then, dad got a job with his brother down there at the truck stop in Elliston, Virginia and that’s where the car broke down and that was it. That’s where we stayed. 

Dad didn’t want to be in the mines. I guess cause he seen so much death and so much struggle over the years in the mines. He didn’t mind the sawmill, but you know sawmills come and go. 

Grandpa, at one time, had about 500 acres on Flat Top. And right before you come in here at the top of the hill, that was his farm on the left hand side. That big old rock root cellar, and that’s where they kept all their food during the wintertime. He’d plant potatoes and corn, had sugarcane, make molasses and kill hogs in the fall. Had a lot of sheep, lot of chickens. Always food there.

[At grandparents’] Breakfast was fantastic, supper was always fantastic. [For breakfast] You could hear them down there cooking, and it was before daylight. You’d smell the bacon and the eggs frying and the biscuits. There’d be a hole in the floor for the vent for the heat to rise up into the upstairs. He’d [grandfather] get up underneath them vents, and he’d holler up ‘Catheads a’comin’!’ And we’d run down there and eat. [He’d cook] Tenderloin, bacon, sausage, eggs, gravy, biscuits galore, tomatoes… it was just non-stop. [Supper was] Lots of green beans, brown beans, cornbread quite often, and pretty much there would always be some kind of a meat, ham or something of that nature. They liked fat back bacon, but I didn’t care for it. It was too salty for me. 

[Summers were] Hot! You get up at the crack of dawn and that’s when you ate. You didn’t know when lunch was coming around, so I’d stuff my pockets completely full of biscuits and I’d take off with my two uncles or my dad and we’d head off out to the fields. It would be night time when you come back home, and that’s when you ate supper. If you got a bath you were lucky! 

[On traditions passed down by family] A good work ethic. By the time I was 20 years old I was a workaholic. It actually started back before then. I’d work two jobs to get a little ahead of life. He’d work the farm [his grandpa] and he was a coal miner, so I knew that you could do it. Grandpa always had pretty good health. He got lung [problems] in the end, but he stayed very healthy. He was about 77 whenever he died [from] an aneurism or a tumor up there on the side of his head, and it killed him. 

We were pretty poor when we first started out down in Virginia. Living in a little old small trailer, two bedrooms, my sister and me shared a room. We always were fed, that’s the Lilly tradition. You do anything to keep food in the house no matter what had to go away. I can remember dad not being able to pay insurance on his car and he’d jack it up, put it up on blocks with the wheels off so that the insurance company could take a picture showing that the car wasn’t being used, so he could get by without having to pay insurance ‘cause there just wasn’t money coming in. It was just rough back then raising children. And then my second sister was born, and mom finally when to work for Graham White Manufacturing. Dad he spent about 24 years in the meat factories at Green Hill in Elliston. He’d work sometimes in the stores and garages, these little stores would have garages on the side and they’d change tires and stuff. 

I worked eight years in the meat factory first, right outta high school I was peeling logs for Shawnee Log Homes. After that, I went to work for Green Hill, spent three years there and then I went to Valleydale in Salem, Virginia. I spent five years there, so I had a total of eight years in on it. Then, I went to work driving a truck and hauling supplies to convenience stores. Got married when I was in the meat factory, went through a divorce and then remarried again when I was out on the truck. After that, I decided to get some more money coming in. We went down to see my ex-wife’s mother and dad, well, she wasn’t my ex then but she is now, but we found a Slush Puppy machine down there and I had been servicing them up here. The guy offered me $5,000 to make it up here for a year, plus the insurance. Well, I sold my home in Elliston, went down there and lived for three years [in Columbia, South Carolina]. Went through a divorce, got remarried while I was down there a third time and moved back to Virginia. That’s where I been ever since. 

I owned a floor care company [and] I started cleaning floors. Got a contract on them, and just kept building and kept building. I’ve got 20 years in of floor care under Heavenly Floor Care Cleaning Service. 

[On what makes Appalachians different] Pride… It’s family… a lot of what you see nowadays, people can’t communicate in their family. It’s just all nothing but hollering and screaming and stuff. And when you have nothing and the whole family works together, you get united. It brings you closer together when you have to struggle together. Nowadays, nobody has to work hard like that anymore. And people just don’t appreciate the hard work. 

[On toughest struggles in his life] This disability I’m on. I was in a car crash five years ago and lost my home, my business and all of it. Lost everything. Just this past March, I lost my granddaughter in a train crash. A train hit my son’s car. He went across the tracks and got hit right in the side. It’s fortunate that it didn’t kill all of them. The car went airborne and everything. Then I lost my little girl. [She was] three and a half. 

When I married my wife…my third wife, Wendy Lilly, that’s the happiest time of my whole entire life. She is the best thing for me there ever was. Third time’s a charm! She’s my world. We got two of our grandchildren that we’re raising ‘cause of the crash. 

[The media] look at us [like] we’re backwards, but we’re not. The closer you get to God, the more you are on the straight and narrow. And the more you get away from God… well just look at Washington D.C. and what kind of a mess it’s in. Everything out there’s in a mess. Schools are in a mess; killings are going on. When I was in school, you didn’t hear about people going in there with the guns and shooting up the kids. That just wasn’t there. 

I think [Appalachia] makes the people tighter and friendlier. I’m not saying all of ‘em, there are thieves out here and drug addicts, but the biggest majority of people in the Appalachian mountain area are good people. They are family people. They struggle from one day to the next, and some of the things are just not right, the way they’re treated by the government. 

I love antique cars, trucks especially. I’ve got a ’53 GMC, a ’63 LeMans, an ’88 Formula Fiero, and I’ve got an old ’47 model International. That’s my oldies right there. [Love from cars came from] my Grandpa Lester on my mother’s side of the family. Grandpa was a foreign car specialist. He was always in the garage tinkering and I would just go in there and be with him. I loved being with my grandparents. I spent my summers up here, so I had two [sets of] grandparents I had to go back and forth from one house to the other house. 

It [the garage] was an old barn, and he just blocked it up one day to keep it from falling over and that was his garage. It had an old dirt floor for the longest time, and [he] finally got to pour concrete and put in some concrete cinderblock walls. It was a pretty special place to me. It was a relaxing place. You could go in there, you could sit down and you could talk. Things were just straight on, you know? You learn things from the older generation and that’s what’s brought on a lot of problems nowadays. We’re losing our information that we had back in the years. People have quit looking at history. For some reason, English and math seem to be more important than history.

He [grandpa] loved Volkswagen’s and old Sunbeam Tigers. He liked a small car with a fast engine in it. He loved doing bodywork on them. It was one of his passions, and I just fell right in with it. My very first car was a 1960 Dynamic 88 Oldsmobile, and from there on it’s been oldies! 
Couple of my old cars was held together with coat hangers! I drive an old ’83 school bus and it’s got my tools right inside. That’s what I drive around. My dad let me borrow his truck to get up here, that old school bus eats up so much gas I can’t get up here. I hate to throw things away that’s good. You know what I’m saying? And I think that’s also a trait of the hillbilly. They know they can use that part and that part’s not a piece of junk. It’s not something that’s useless. Them boys of mine, they can’t understand how I can look at nuts and bolts and tell them exactly what size wrench to use. ‘How do you know that?’ and I’d say ‘well it’s just years using it, guys, just doing it. Get out there and just do it!’

[‘Hillbilly’ means] just a way of life. It doesn’t mean anything bad as far as, you know, some people think you’re a hillbilly and that you’re backwards and that you’re dumb and you don’t know what you’re doing. To me, being a hillbilly is a pride that you just inherit by knowing what’s right and what’s wrong in life, and knowing how to get through life. Hillbillies are not stupid. Some of the smartest people come out of these coalmines. I mean, look it up. It’s a known fact that a lot of intelligent people come from this area. I don’t want to brag… that’s the hardest part for me! I try to stay meeker! That’s what the good Lord wants us to be, you know? 

I’m trying to pass on [to my children] to be healthy-minded and take care of your body, cause it’s the only one God give you. Be proud of what you do, be proud of what you are. Don’t try to be something you’re not. Be yourself, plain and simple. If you can’t fix a car, don’t worry about it. There’s something out there you’re fantastic at. You might be able to operate on a human, and I couldn’t do that if I wanted to. That might be in your capabilities. Just be yourself. Go chase what you desire. Do what you want to do. It’s only one life, that’s all we got.”

Andrew Preston

“I’m not an Appalachian stereotype. I am New Appalachia. I am Modern Appalachia. Neo-Appalachia, that’s a good word for it.”

Andrew Preston, 22, Mental Health Worker, Student, Kentucky Center for Traditional Music, Morehead State; Morehead, Kentucky:

“I am originally from Van Lear, Kentucky. Van Lear is in Eastern Kentucky, between Prestonsburg and Paintsville in Johnson County. It’s [the] home of Loretta Lynn. I’m from a very atypical family. We were all sort of the black sheep of our family. We had a really small family. We grew up right in the heart of Van Lear, right next to the Historical Society. We all just piled into my great-grandmother’s house. It was an old coalhouse [and] we all took turns livin’ there over the years. 

I moved to downtown Paintsville, when I was about 5 or 6, I believe. But we still visited Van Lear, because that’s where my grandparents were. I still love it [and] love going back. We recently played with my band in Van Lear for Van Lear Days. It was the first time I’d been back in a couple of years. The stage ended up being right in front of the house that I grew up in, which was really surreal. I never thought I’d be playing bluegrass music right in front of the house that I was raised in. 

[As kids] We just played outside. I had toys and stuff, but it seemed like you had more fun making mud pies and that kind of thing. I remember one of my friends and I, he was my neighbor, we went and bought a big thing of Elmer’s Glue and we tried to make cement out of mud. We would just play outside all day, catching fireflies and that kind of thing. 

My grandmother raised me, so she feels like my mom. And my great-grandparents felt like my grandparents. They were really great people. I was really, really close to my great-grandmother. She was a great cook. She was really funny. She really liked to say kind of profane things a lot. It was pretty funny because she was this cute old woman. I always have to tell this story; it’s kind of grim. She was getting up there in age; she was in her sixties at this point. I was really young. She was brushing her teeth at the sink and I ran up and hugged her legs. I was like, ‘I love you, Grandma,’ and then she fell over and broke her ribs in the bathtub. I’m laughing because she was laughing (not at the time). And then a couple months later, I was over and I was sleeping on her couch. I was spending the night there and I jumped up out of the couch in the morning because I was so excited – landed on her and broke her ribs again. Two times in a couple months’ span. She was not happy about that (laughs). But she was an awesome woman. She was really strong. 

She was a poet. She wrote beautiful poetry. I recently worked on a song where I found one of her old poems she had stored away in a Bible. I tried to transpose it into music to keep that going. They’re really lengthy. This particular one was called, ‘One Rose.’ It was a very sad poem. It was about growing up in the country, and seeing on television the world passing by you and feeling isolated. I think that speaks to a lot of people around here, feeling isolated. 

My mom was so young – she was 16 when I was born – they [my grandparents] were raising her and me. By the time she was in her twenties and moving out on her own with my dad, I was attached to the area and to my grandparents, so I just stayed around. My biological father I never met. The man that I considered my father, I didn’t really know him a whole lot, either. He worked at a telephone company. My parents got divorced when I was maybe 13 or so, and I haven’t really talked to him since then. My mom and I are really close because of that, because she was so young and we did grow up together. I think that’s what keeps us so close. 

She [my mom] is an incredible woman. She’s artistic and talented. She sings – she swears she can’t, but she has a beautiful singing voice. She’s an artist. She’s a poet. A great visual artist, too. Loves animals; I get that from her. She just brought a cat up to my house last night because we had a mice problem, but I wouldn’t kill the mice and she wouldn’t kill the mice, so we brought a cat to scare off the mice. She’s really passionate about nature and animals and her spiritual voyage.

I liked high school a lot. I hated elementary school; I felt really out of place. I was a shy and insecure kind of kid. I don’t know what happened in high school, it just seemed I sort of blossomed. I made a lot of friends, great friends I still talk to everyday. I did really well academically, which I’m proud of, because we get this rep from being from Appalachia that we’re not terribly bright. I think I’m pretty bright. I got a lot out of high school, had a lot of opportunities. Went to Johnson Central High. We were a real lucky school, because we had all kinds of great chances. I got to travel. That’s where I learned to play music. I had a great band director, Tommy Money. 

A lot of people get [educated about music] through that oral tradition; they grew up in musical families, but I didn’t. My family was poets and visual artists, but they never listened to a whole lot of music around me. They listened to the ‘80s and that kind of thing. It’s interesting, because I got a lot of my inspiration for music from old handheld Nintendo games. You can hear that in my music. I’ve found a niche market online [for] my music – a lot of people refer to it as folk-tronica. There’s a lot of those 8-bit electronic sounds, but it’s mixed with that roots music. 

I’m a college student up at the Kentucky Center for Traditional Music and I’m always tellin’ everyone, ‘Well, you know, that’s sort of my tradition.’ In my generation, we grew up with those electronic sounds and that experimental nature is part of our music. Back in the day, people didn’t have access to classical music; they didn’t have these big pianos and these classical music teachers and training. So they would go down and play their uncle’s banjo. That was a form of experimentation. That carries on in a different way now, but it’s still that resourcefulness and that artistic-ness that we have in the mountains here. 
My great-grandmother had an old air pump organ. I would play ‘Silent Night’ and Christmas songs at Christmas when I was maybe five. I taught myself guitar when I was about 12, and I started writing songs [at that time]. The first song I ever wrote, I wrote it in music class on the piano. It was a little ragtime tune that was called, ‘Cats, Cats, Cats.’ It was about cats (laughs). I love ragtime. I love all kinds of music. I try to not just play folk music because all kinds of music are beautiful, and they’re all part of our culture now because of the internet. I was real young when I started, and I’ve been playin’ and writing ever since. 

I play about 14 instruments. I teach a lot of music, primarily guitar and piano. I sing. Ukulele is one of my favorite instruments. I love Hawaiian folk music. I think there are a lot of parallels to Appalachian music people don’t think about. I play the penny whistle, the harmonica, the bass, upright bass, and keyboards. I’m pretty good with electronic synthesizers, banjo, and fiddle. The custom instruments are always the best ones, because they’re fine-tuned for you. 

I was really blessed to be accepted into the International Bluegrass Music Association Songwriting Showcase this year. I’ll be performing in Raleigh, North Carolina. It’s a song called, ‘The Mountain Wayfarers’ that I wrote. It’s about two people that fall in love in the mountains. The first line is:

I know when I grow oldI’ll grow like hazel in the cold wet snow.I did not foresee a lonesome soulWho’d melt me even when the cold wind blows.

There’s a line in there, ‘You got the wild of the mountain in you, child.’ That line really speaks to me, because there’s a freedom in people that you fall in love with, especially around here. I tend to gravitate toward people that remind me of home, the mountains and that freedom of living here. I write a lot about that, a lot about nature and the mountains in general. It’s really inspiring to me.

I just got my degree in psychology and I’m finishing a second degree in music. For years, I wanted to be a psychologist. I was a very good psychologist. I did a lot of research on Appalachia and art and music, and stigma associated with Appalachia and the art and music industry and the LGBT community and minorities. I’m very passionate about my research and mental health. I was set to graduate, I was elected commencement speaker, I was the Valedictorian, I guess, of my university, which was an incredible honor and I’d never dreamed I’d have the opportunity like that. But, I realized I was a good student, I was a good psychologist, but I wasn’t necessarily a happy psychologist. I was putting my art behind me. And so I declined to speak. I declined my graduation for another year so I could stay at the Kentucky Center for Traditional Music and fine-tune my musical skills. 

I want to continue my musical research; I want to teach. And I’m doing that. But I am a musician at heart. I am a songwriter, and I want to continue doing that. I’m very passionate about doing that for a living. My friend [and I] formed a band. We’ve been playing all over this summer. It’s been one of the happiest times of my life, playing with him. We met in college; we had the same guitar teacher. He kind of implied, ‘You guys are both really weird. You should probably pair up and write some music together.’ So we did, and it worked really well. We love those Everly Brother kinds of harmonies, and we like to mix it with interesting sounds, and just experiment. You got to have fun with it. If you’re not experimenting, it’s not art. [Our band is] The Mountain Sound. It’s funny, because we intentionally chose a pretentious and self-aware, but vague name for our band because we don’t just play folk music. We do a lot of electronic and experimental music within the realm of folk music. But that is the mountain sound nowadays. The mountain sound is evolving, and it still encompasses that resourcefulness of the mountains and our people. 

Growin’ up, I didn’t [have a connection to roots music] either. I listened to punk rock. I listened to a lot of experimental music, electronica. As I got older, I wanted to move away. I didn’t like it here. I felt out of place. I felt like my values and my lifestyle didn’t fit in in Appalachia. But as I got older, I realized, it did. It is an embracing place. As you grow, you start to fall back in love with where you’re from, and you see, at least, I hope that you see, the good in this area, in how many artistic and incredible people there are. I realized the parts of the music that I loved, no matter what the genre were, were parts that were so common in traditional and folk music. It’s the stories and the connection it has with your roots, with your culture. I’m only 22, but the more and more I played bluegrass, the more I fell in love with it, the folk music and the words just started to resonate with me. It changed the way I write. It made me really appreciate where it came from.

I find myself feeling more and more like her [my grandmother] everyday. Like I said, she was a poet, she was an artistic soul, she was very kind. She was blunt; I like to be blunt. She didn’t care about what other people thought. She was an activist in her own right, in a lot of ways. She wasn’t necessarily forward enough to say that back then, but I get that from her. I’m a very forward person. I like to stand by what I believe in, and help people, and I think I get all that from her. There’s a lot that I support. I’m a mental health professional; I support the wellbeing of others. Lately back home, there’s a lot of flack against minorities of all types: sexual minorities, racial minorities and religious minorities. We just got to learn, in Appalachia that’s what we stand for. We want to embrace people and bring them into our community. Everybody’s one of us. That’s what I stand for. I want to fight for everyone’s rights. Everyone deserves that. I want my music to speak to that, too, and my art. I wouldn’t say I’m an activist because I’m not a terribly aggressive person, for the most part. But I am an activist because I support those things, openly and proudly.

Back home I didn’t really resonate, when I was younger, with the area. I’d see things on TV and I would think, ‘Oh, that’s hilarious and that’s so true, people are hillbillies like that.’ Then when I leave, I do all those things. I went to Chicago for a psychology conference last year with my guitar teacher. We went to this Italian restaurant. We were so confused because it was just set up so different than restaurants around here. I’ve never felt like more of a redneck than when I was in that restaurant. I didn’t know what I was doing. It was funny, because people do portray us like that, and some of the stereotypes are true. But some of the things they portray aren’t necessarily bad. I’ve learned to embrace it. I like the culture and I know how to laugh at myself, at the things that I do that are similar to the stereotypes. 

But, there are things that shouldn’t be portrayed. We aren’t unintelligent. We aren’t all poor. I grew up in a poor family, but a lot of my friends were wealthy middleclass folks, just as kind as anyone else. I think we need to broaden our horizons. Everything about Appalachia to me is breaking the mold. Appalachia is a culture, but it’s not a stereotype anymore. I’m not an Appalachian stereotype. I am New Appalachia, I am Modern Appalachia. Neo-Appalachia, that’s a good word for it.

We have the internet and we have people traveling all over the world, but we still keep that resourcefulness and that creativity in the mountains. No matter what we’re doing, what music we’re playing, what our art looks like. Things are changing, but we still keep that creativity and that genuineness and that embrace of the mountains. We feel a little isolated in the mountains, but that’s where the culture grows. That’s what Neo-Appalachia is; embracing the modern, but appreciating the roots. 

I don’t want to be remembered on a wide scale. I want to be remembered by the individuals in my life. As I grow and I meet new people, I find that connecting on that individual level is what keeps me going. Everybody has something to bring; everybody has a story to tell. Whatever someone wants to take from me, if they hate me, if they don’t hate me, if they love my music…I met a man from China that translated some of my lyrics into Chinese. That really touched me. I don’t know if he’ll remember me, but that’s a way that I can speak to people that you can’t any way else.“