Giving Back

I CRAVE THE MOUNTAINS

by Amy Ammons Garza

Every once in a while I hear those I care about talk about traveling. Some want to go to Alaska; some want to go to Ireland, to Scotland, to England, to Paris, to Tibet. Or they simply want to go to the beach and “soak up some rays.” Every time traveling somewhere is mentioned, I picture in my mind how wonderful the place might be. Just to see the green emerald isle of Ireland and walk along its sloping terrane would be heaven, I think.   
    Well, I have traveled before. During my lifetime of more than 60 years, I have traveled to Canada, to Mexico, to just about every territory in the United States except the northeastern states above New York. What a good time I’ve had seeing all those places with my children when they were small, and with my husband before he passed away.
    However, this was all before I came home to Jackson County, North Carolina. When my sister Doreyl and I returned sixteen years ago, we came back with a definite purpose of giving back to our community by directing our energies toward sharing with the children of Appalachia stories of our own mountain upbringing.
    Once I returned home to my roots, something strange happened. There had been an emptiness in my soul that I had not even realized. Gradually, that void began to fill. Walking among the mountains where I grew up, a sense of belonging began to steal over me.  It seemed as thought I could see my grandpa walking beside me, his cane tapping the rocky road. At times, Grandma would show up swishing through the gooseberry bushes ahead of me, her voice encircling my head with wise sayings.
    The cool earth beneath my feet took me back to planting seeds in the ground, walking behind Daddy as he plowed the fields calling out to the mule “Gee...Haw.” And in the evening hours, I could hear my mother telling me to haul the bucket of spring water in to fill the kettle on the wood stove so we could take a bath before dark.
    Home. I was home. When the reality of it hit me, it almost knocked me down. Where had I gone astray? When Daddy took us away from the mountains, I was but a teenager. Life’s struggles slapped me in the face, stealing the innocence and creativity of childhood, the freedom of choice, the sense of belonging. Once you’re caught in the web of adulthood, necessities of the world you’ve build around you take over. The needs of those you’ve grown to love and to support come first. And all the while the road back grows longer and more rocky. Caught in this trap, it is very difficult to “all of a sudden” decide that maybe the real reason the joy has gone out of your soul is that you’re in the wrong place...you’re not flowering in the cement of “modern” society.
    One day I woke up and craved the mountains. I could not stand it any longer and had to do something about it. The words came out of the sky, “It’s Time!”

    Satisfaction comes in the morning with the sun rising over the mountaintops as you sit on the porch with a cup of coffee in your hand, the dog at your feet and the breeze slipping the smell of apple blossoms around your head. Happiness comes when you pass your neighbors and they smile and throw up their hand in greeting. Contentment comes when the weeds are pulled from the garden patch at the side of the house, and you’ve just picked  the first ripe tomato of the year. Joy comes when the eyes of the children suddenly light up as they watch my story come alive with Doreyl’s pastel strokes.
    When we’re booked in other areas of the US with our performances, the best part is coming home. What a great feeling it is seeing the mountains rising in the distance! Travel? Not me. I’m satisfied right here, right now. There is no place on earth I’d rather be than here in the mountains. Like cool water to a woman in the desert, I crave the mountains.