A New and Unexpected Spiritual Experience

Cernunnos by Barbarafineartstudio

Steffie and I went to a live show of one of my favorite podcasts this weekend. I enjoy the podcast because it reminds me of everything I loved about growing up in the lower Appalachian region. Making a little go a long way, strong mothers and grandmothers who guide families through hard times, a reverence for the green spaces and the old stories. 

The cadence of the narrator reminds me of every evangelical preacher I heard as a kid. Rising and falling like water, soft as a whisper and then crashing like thunder. It's beautiful and hypnotizing and a bit frightening all at once. They really structured the evening like a tent revival too. A little bit of story here, an anecdotal lesson for the congregation, followed by some hymnals, and then another closing story or two. Some of the music was joyous and loud, and others were poignant and heart rending.  

One of the creators spent a small section of time talking about issues we are facing in our world today. I thought it was very clever that she approached it as a call and response sort of format just as I've seen in church so many times. The preacher calls out, and the congregation follows with a forceful "Amen." With each recitation the passion and conviction increase until it is a roll of thunder passing through the crowd. Instead of Amen, the audience followed each political horror and social injustice with a vicious shout of, "HEX!" The room roared their responses. I applaud her sentiment, and I completely agree that we need to fight the atrocities going on, but I did not call out a reply. The power in that room was thick and for the taking. But it was cold and red. Hexes and curses are not my path, and I don't know her well enough to trust her with my own spark of intent outside of my personal control.

We are our Mothers' Daughters

"The women who are counted as true Daughters of Appalachia were seldom gentle flowers as flowers only lasted a season. The women born in the shadow of the mountains stand and thrive through all four (seasons) without complaining. Wouldn’t do no good anyhow. The greatness of mountain families are built upon the bones of such women, rock-spine matriarchs and Mamaws who survived the bad times, the bad weather, and bad men like it was their job because frankly, it was." -- Old Gods of Appalachia, Build Mama a Coffin ep. 1

My mother and the friends' mothers who helped raise me were all strong women each in their own way. My grandmothers and great grandmothers too. Some were strong by nature, and some were strong because life made or required them to be that. They farmed and cooked and cleaned and sewed and worked until their backs ached and their fingers cracked. They were quick to laugh and hug, and there was always a cookie or slice of cake just for you. Recipes were shared with the memories of how they learned them. There were songs in the kitchen while you helped roll and cut out the biscuits or mix the cornbread. Sewing was taught. Gardening was a full family activity. Snapping beans til your fingers were sore and green and husking corn and canning everything that grew so that we could all eat well over the winter. I have learned so much from the women in my family, and I am still learning. My Mama's gone now, but I can and do still call my remaining grandmother regularly. I call just to talk mostly, but sometimes it's to ask for a special recipe or how to grow a certain vegetable or why my beans didn't taste like hers. I cherish all the time I have with her and will never not have questions to ask her or memories to share.

I learned from them to love fiercely, to be generous of spirit, and to be a stubborn, tenacious thorn in someone's side when I believe what I am fighting for is right. They were protective until I could protect myself, and they taught me what I needed to know to be able to confidently go out on my own and succeed.

None of them were or are perfect women. They come from very different worlds from each other and different worlds than the one we find ourselves in today. Sometimes our views do not always mesh well with one another. But I never doubt they loved me and that I could call on them if I was in need.

Mountain Magic - Exploring my Roots

I grew up in the lower Appalachians, and my grandfather's people were what locals called Mountain People. Until I moved away for college and met others not from that area, I hadn't realized there were so many little differences. We use words that are not in the common dialects even within the South. Our lives were full of little practices and superstitions unique to our area.

Magic lived in the mountains. Everyone went to church on Sundays and thanked God for their blessings, but they thought nothing of going to wise women and seventh sons when someone was sick and the doctors hadn't been able to treat it. There were home remedies for all your ailments, and each family passed down their favorites from generation to generation. Grandmothers knew under which moon you should pick each plant. Herb and flower gardens were for more than just pretty bouquets and cooking. Little bowls of milk and honey were left on doorsteps for the wee folk. Coffee grounds in the bottom of cups were mysteries our grandmothers could solve. Mirrors were covered and the deathbed window was opened if someone passed in the house. Porch and nursery ceilings were haint blue. Dowsers looked for water when a new well needed to be drilled. We never plant cedar trees on our property or rock empty cradles. If I gift a blade of any sort, the recipient has to pay me a penny per blade to ward off bad luck. We didn't wash on New Years, and we always ate our greens, hog jowl, and black-eyed peas. Omens were everywhere.

I didn't realize that wasn't the norm because it was my life. I never thought of the wise women and men as witches or what they did as witchcraft until much later in my life. I doubt any of them thought of it that way. They were all God-fearing people, and they would have been horrified to be viewed that way. I see the connections now. I can see how the Druidic and Celt traditions brought to the Carolina mountains by our Scots ancestors mixed with those of the First People who were already there.

Mountain magic is practical and purposeful and humble. The people were poor people for the most part, and they made the most of everything they had. Practical magic was a resource too for healing the sick, blessing new marriages and homes, birthing babies, nurturing crops and livestock. The superstitions and customs blended so seamlessly that over generations most people became blind to what they really were. It was just the way things were in Appalachian life.

I wish I could go back and ask my great grandmothers and great-great grandmother who all lived to over 100 to share what they knew. It would have been a fascinating conversation.