The Red Flannel Rag

American world. Many times during recent years I have brought this picture to mind

when I needed to understand my responses to everyday situations and challenges.

All of my life I have felt the effects of living with my feet separated by a mountain.

My right foot was embedded in traditional Appalachian Mountain culture. Here I

identified with family and community commitment foremost. My left foot led me,

sometimes reluctantly, into mainstream American culture where I identified with

competition, achievement, and individuality.

There was another dimension to my divided identities. My Appalachian

community was not highly regarded in the outside world just a short distance away. So

when I was outside my community, I heard Shenandoah Valley folks talk about my

people in very negative ways. But when I was in my mountain community watching the

events at a hog killing or an apple butter boiling, I felt very comfortable. I felt a sense of

connectedness and continuity. I knew I was going to enjoy that apple butter with a nice,

big slice of Dad’s home -cured ham in the winter months to come. I safely anticipated

these mouth-watering treats because I had enjoyed them the year before and the year

before that.

I loved my community, but I also felt ashamed of it when I heard outsiders

discuss the latest news-making events. People talked for a long time about how one

community member stood on his porch with his twelve-gauge shotgun and blew large

holes in a father and son also from the community. I heard folks say the fight started

over a gallon of moonshine. Judgments were made about the worth of a gallon of

moonshine compared to two lives, and they commented about how the people in my

community didn’t know or didn’t care about the difference. At the same time, I was

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