This Side of the Mountain Sidney Saylor Farr In the Summer 1996 issue of Appalachian Heritage, four people wrote about their different viewpoints of growing up in Appalachia. Reading and editing those pieces for publication brought to mind my own life in Southeastern Kentucky. It is said that immigrants need three generations to become Americanized, but that Appalachian people only have one generation in which to do it. It is a great psychological bridge from the mountains to wherever we go. For generations mountain women knew where their place was and how they fit in their various roles. Their strength and independence grew from their ties to the land and to families. Everyone worked to help the family survive. The women were strong and used to defending their own against the outside world. The roles mountain women have played since early pioneer days have changed. Land that once nurtured them and their livestock does not look the same any more. Many mountain women have moved with their families "up north" hoping for a better life. Yet they found that people there had not woven a garment of love and welcome for them, and often classified them as ignorant hillbillies, too lazy to work or do much of anything else. With this kind of stereotyping, it was hard for them to keep in mind that they were once individuals, making a difference in their communities at home, and that they were still the same people, only farther away from home. Can we ever measure or weigh the worth of a human being? How does one make the transition from a traditional society into a modern society and keep any realistic image of self? I am the oldest of ten children from far back in Bell County, Kentucky . Father worked in the timber woods when he could. We ate what we grew on the place or could glean from the hillsides. Just about everything was made by hand, and we had little contact with people outside the region. I married when I turned fifteen. I wanted to go to school, but Father said no. There was no money for me to be a boarding student at the Red Bird Mission School or the Pine Mountain Settlement School. We would not take handouts from those people, he said. My introduction to the world beyond the mountains came when I was nineteen. Missionaries from the Red Bird Mission came to Stoney Fork to start a community center and build a church. I thought the missionaries were perfect people. They brought me books to read, taught me to play the piano, and told me about Chicago, New York, San Francisco, Europe. I decided that if I were to live in a town or city some day, I'd need to talk and act like city folks did, much to the disgust of my family and friends. However, I was more driven to "get above my raising" than they ever imagined. I worked for my high school diploma by correspondence from the American School in Chicago, graduating in five years. In 1960 we, as thousands had done before us, went to a big industrial city to find work. I worked doubly hard to prove that I was worthy, even if I was from Appalachia. However, in this new environment I never told anyone voluntarily of my origins. But I managed to fit in very well while learning first-hand about things I had only read about before. Away from the mountains, I was dreadfully homesick for them. To alleviate some of the pain I felt at that time, I began writing about the mountains and my people. In 1962 we moved to Berea and in 1964 I began working for the Council of the Southern Mountains on the staff of Mountain Life & Work, a quarterly publication. There I was again brought face to face with my people and Appalachia. The council was involved with the War on Poverty; college students, community activists, social workers, and educators came in on a wave of money from Washington, D.C, and streamed out into the mountain communities to live and work. Although I was not directly involved in the social...
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