Literary Spotlight: Appalachian Studies Class Writes "Where I'm From" Poetry

Inspired by George Ella Lyon's famous poem, "Where I'm From," Mrs. Hilary Newby's Appalachian Studies class wrote their own versions.  Check them out!

Lindsey Henley

I’m from the swag-wagon
dented and dusty from back roads
and deer attacks
I’m from Mason Jars of sun tea, can sugar, and wine
I’m from the black stained hands of walnut trap dye
(musky, earthy, rusty from unpaid attention)
I’m from grandma’s carnival glass, a pie safe from Wytheville, stained from Thanksgiving,
rich with food and family

I’m from butt-whoopins for a repeated overheard word from the kids
at the back of the bus.
Pappy’s pone bread broke at Sunday morning breakfast
Late Saturday nights with friends
lit by the bonfire
Cast iron skillets and “patience is gravy”
I’m from the dirty duck pond and frog gigs
from “is supper done yet?”
brothers and sisters and old man stained into my skin for life
from looks that carry more words than tongues

I’m from that haunted mansion and
a root cellar where daddy stores that special occasion fire water
from “I miss Momma” and silent tears
that I see when I bed-check before I sleep
from the fire pit in the yard that dad built because
“I’m a fire bug”
Outside my kitchen window there is that
big ole butterfly bush and beyond are those
true blue mountains I know
I will never leave

Kelleigh Hyler

I am from the smell of linen running off the clothes line
I am from children in the front yard
I am from family playing games
I am from my favorite tire swing
I am from the comforting hand of my dad
when my mom was never there
I am from a dark wooden stair case
I am from family cookouts
I am from apple butter and biscuits
I am from the Word of God and the perfect Pentecostal Church
I am from my father’s singing in the choir
I am from my beautiful grandmother who will always be in my heart
I am from holding potatoes over the swell of a woodstove
I am from a gorgeous little town
I am from a place where everybody knows everybody
I am from a place where “blood is thicker than water” and “ya get what ya get and ya don’t throw a fit!”

Tevin Anderson

I’m from waking up early on Sunday mornings,
eating breakfast at noon
I’m from laughing and eating the good country cooking,
with my cousins and aunts, starting a good day
I’m from playing out in the yard, tossing football with my dad and Travis
Having fun with my family and enjoying my life
Running around the house, hearing my aunt say,
“Stop running around like a chicken with its head cut off!”
I’m from going to the park and walking on the trail,
walking with my dad
Picking up rocks and sticks on the way
from grilling out on warm nights, eating the delicious grilled food
Playing on my four-wheeler
rolling around in the yard
Having fun with my family and loving them all

Blake Holmes

I’m from throwing baseball in an empty field
a crab-apple tree and apartments down the street
I’m from the red wagon, the old evergreen
and the old bush that never actually grows
I’m from a tractor store, visiting the Vaught’s house, and watching weekend movies
at the drive-in
I’m from Zak’s bullying, even though it is not real and
going to see Grandpa every Sunday
I’m from “If if’s and but’s were candy and nuts, we’d all have a Merry Christmas,”
and “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want, He makes me lie down in green pastures.”
I’m from visiting my cousins in Virginia Beach, Winston-Salem and Nashville for our yearly visits
and from going to Holden Beach every summer

Katie Hackler

I’m from kittens and canines
memories and madness
I’m from a creek in the woods
and animal death sadness
I’m from a city full of great memories
I care about dearly
I’m from Mom, Dad, Jake, and Molly
who are all so close
oh so very clearly.
I’m from the beach with mom
yelling “quit eating the sand!”
So I’d fuss and fight as my belly would expand

Maddie Akers

I am from the soft sound of hooves hitting the earth
from the hairs that run and jump in the yard.
I am from dark red mud that covers the ground
and my boots.
I am from a backporch swing, from Memaw’s soft voice.
Telling me “you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar…now shooo!”
I am from dad’s roaring voice yelling: “Don’t give up. Just get back on.”
From a hard turn of the last barrel.
I am from bare feet running the yard. The fresh cut grass under my feet.
I am from long rides through the field and down through the thickets.
From an old road in an old town.
I am from old shoe boxes in the basement—full of my childhood, from the crack in my mom’s favorite lamp.
I am from an old barn in the middle of a grown-up field,
from the gentle touch of a forgetting Paw.

Cade Rouse

I am from the pop of a bow target
in the summer heat
I’m from fresh deer meat hanging in the barn
and Momma hollering get out of the creek
From a place full of mountains and fields
creek bottoms to hollers full of memories
Memories of hunting and fishing all day long
working in the garden to splitting wood
To Friday night football
And college game day
Uncle Dean’s goober
to Mawmaw’s helper
and grandma’s big boy
I am from a place where hunting and camouflage is a way of life…
to helping neighbors get through life
These memories of life are here to stay
for they will never let me stray
for where I’m from:
Mountains and hollers, I’m here to stay.

Amanda Primm

I am from the cool water of the
pool, and the heat of the trampoline
in the summer.
I am from going home to see
my wonderful family, and having a
good dinner awaiting us.
I am from a big house with an even
bigger story.
I am from a warm place filled
with respect and happiness.
I am from waking up in the
mornings from the rays of the sun
in my face.
I am from watching TV in the family room
and enjoying family time.
I am from going to school 5
days a week and enjoying school.
I am from going to football
games on Thursday and Friday nights.
I am from a place I call home.

Tiffany Church

I’m from the front porch,
watching the seasons go by.
To the living room filled with laugher and cries.
I’m from my dad’s chair,
where no one sits unless he’s not there.
I’m from the grandfather clock,
ticking away the hours.
To candy at Halloween, sweet and sour.
I’m from dirt roads,
dusty like fog.
To the sound far away
of a barking dog.
I’m from the creek on a hot summer day,
where the children laugh and play.
I’m from my mom and dad
who correct when I’ve done bad,
But love me still, like the love they have.

Breanna Chandler

I am from chickens crowing at the morning sun.
I am from the big tall oak and rope swing,
from horseshoe pits
I am from targets and guns
I am from cowboy boots,
from bows and arrows
I am from warm blankets on a crisp winter day,
from the sizzle of a frying pan.
I am from an open family,
from “hush up” and “sit down”
I am from Friday night football and cheering fans
I am from the woods
from dirt and changing leaves
I am from a small-town market
I am from the playground and stables,
from Grandma’s voice calling from the kitchen
I am from home cooked meals and knitted sweaters
I am from close friends
from pinkie promises
I am from a shoe box full of memories
I am from heartaches and happiness.

Emily Cook

I am from love and kindness filling the home with warmth.
I am from tiny golden puppies and a wooden
swing set built from scratch.
I’m from yellow daisies shining their faces in
the early morning sun.
I am from the ancient dirt road and the
forest full of life.
I’m from a sparkling flame in a cast iron stove.
I am from old war coats hung with pride.
I’m from early morning rising and farming in the field.
I am from sweet words from my Grandfather after a long day at school.
I’m from the smell of fresh baked pumpkin
on a fall afternoon and campfire cooking.
I am from burnt marshmallows and crawdad fishing.
I am from the roots of Appalachia.

Jessica Venters

I am from poker cards,
smelling of change.
I am from smoke-stained walls,
above the burning wood stove
And family pictures full of smiles.
I’m from big, green watermelons
sitting in the garden.
I’m from cold, trickling creeks
And little, black horse statues.
I am from old, noisy barns
And painted horses playing in the fields.
I’m from long paths up the mountain.
I am from Daddy’s gravy and biscuits
and Momma’s humming to solitaire.
I’m from rose gardens,
dedicated to family memories.
I’m from constant reminders to get coffee
and early morning wake-ups.
I am from the preacher’s often prayer requests,
in the old carpeted church pews.

Garrett Wright

I am from a rural retreat…literally.
I’m Virginia-born, Virginia-raised.
I am from the land of Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson and others.
I am from rodeos and tractor pulls.
I am from bluegrass and country music, hearing it all night long.
I am from Friday night football and Saturday night racing
I am from relaxing after the work is done, not on the job.
I am from good country cooking and not being afraid to get my hands dirty,
I am from coon dog barking and cricket chirping
I am from hunting and fishing for food.
I am from the crack of a rifle and the shwack of an arrow
I am from the sound of a diesel engine
I am from sweet tea drinkin’ and front porch swingin’
I am from getting sick and taking awful medicine
I am from “Hey, Jack”
I am from turkey calling and winning prizes
I am from golf ball hitting
I am from deer skinning
I am from people calling me “hillbilly” but I say
“shut your mouth.”
I am from the good ole South