18/08/2023
Mountain Man
If you traveled the foothills of the Blue Ridge in the 1930s, you may have met him; he was corn-fed, creek-baptized, lean as a fence rail, wore bib-overalls, a black hat, a big black beard and was “mean as a snake when messed with.”
He lived close to the land, knew when fish would bite best, what kind and where. He was a man of faith and never doubted that spring would come again to the land, the rains would come at the right time to save the crops and in the end, all would be well with the world.
His handshake was his bond and he brewed the best moonshine on God’s Green Earth. ”Them revenoors” were the enemy and he liked nothing better than matching wits with “them cussed devils.” Should they drop by his still place, he was long-gone and already cooking in another holler.
He was King of his Castle, (such as it was) kept his kids on the straight and narrow with a hickory switch, chopped firewood with a double-bladed axe, hunted, fished and dug a living from the same fields his ancestors dug out of the woods at the beginning of time.
His “huntin’ dawgs” were his pride and joy and many were the nights, he listened to Ol’ Blue chase a fox in the mountain side; the best music known to mankind. Ol’ Betsy was his shot-gun and his best friend; he hunted with it and when Mama went on the warpath, he slept with it.
If ever there was any doubts about him being a tough old bird, they were proven wrong on the last day of the year. He and his pals took on a bait of moonshine, climbed out of their clothes and went “skinny-dipping” in the ice-cold creek at the stroke of midnight to greet the New Year.
Should you wonder who this legend might be, he was what Flatlanders called a “Mountain Man.” He was someone’s Pa, Grandpa or maybe even someone’s Great Grandpa and could have been yours or mine. He was a rough tough character from the hills who was afraid of nothing but his wife. Even so, he had a heart of gold and would give you the shirt off his back if you were “in need.”
He spent his entire life within sight of the place he was born and no desire to see the outside world, because he already lived in Paradise, as far as he was concerned. Let us hope and pray that maybe, just maybe some of his traits rubbed off on us and let’s never forget those who came before us; to whom we owe so much.
-Wayne Easter