Maybe it is the change from cold air to warmer air. Maybe it is the disappearance of snow, or the daffodils flowering across the hill. For me, life seems to open up into that renewal at an ever increasing pace. During the lengthening days, I have walked around outside and enjoyed the changing world. As I take in the scenery, I wonder who has walked the path before me. I wonder what type of life they had, who they loved, what their ultimate sadness was.
Living in Appalachia, it is not hard to imagine what type of life they carved out for themselves. Just down the road, an ancient looking stone house juts from an untouched landscape. A little further is two small stone barns with wooden beams still attached. The roofs have fallen, but the stone has stood the test of time. I look at them and can almost see the life and the people who once stood, played, loved, and laughed there.
As a writer, I love those types of moments. The moment where a snippet of the past fills my mind. As a child of Appalachia, I am immediately proud and then saddened at the scene. Proud because my ancestors helped shape the community I still live in. Proud because they withstood so much and bore so much heartache and toil to create a better future for the futures of their families. Sad because it must have been hard. Sad because life isn't better for some. There is still toil and sadness. There is still strife. Poverty still exists. Despite that, those in my community still hold onto old ways of life with such pride that they continue to pass it on to the young.
With the world waking up, these snippets of times gone by will slowly disappear under ivy and other creeping vines. Leaves will unfurl and cover the stone buildings one by one until all you see is nature. The whispers will be silenced by nature herself waiting until autumn to appear again.
Perhaps that is why I love and loath spring. I lose connection to the past and become forced to greet a new season.
Living in Appalachia, it is not hard to imagine what type of life they carved out for themselves. Just down the road, an ancient looking stone house juts from an untouched landscape. A little further is two small stone barns with wooden beams still attached. The roofs have fallen, but the stone has stood the test of time. I look at them and can almost see the life and the people who once stood, played, loved, and laughed there.
As a writer, I love those types of moments. The moment where a snippet of the past fills my mind. As a child of Appalachia, I am immediately proud and then saddened at the scene. Proud because my ancestors helped shape the community I still live in. Proud because they withstood so much and bore so much heartache and toil to create a better future for the futures of their families. Sad because it must have been hard. Sad because life isn't better for some. There is still toil and sadness. There is still strife. Poverty still exists. Despite that, those in my community still hold onto old ways of life with such pride that they continue to pass it on to the young.
With the world waking up, these snippets of times gone by will slowly disappear under ivy and other creeping vines. Leaves will unfurl and cover the stone buildings one by one until all you see is nature. The whispers will be silenced by nature herself waiting until autumn to appear again.
Perhaps that is why I love and loath spring. I lose connection to the past and become forced to greet a new season.
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