Where the Mountains Speak: Writing the Essence of Appalachia

Because of my background, much of my writing is centered around the southern Appalachians as a setting, a setting I often view as a dynamic character in my storytelling and certainly an equal participant in coaxing out the secrets of my characters. The areas close to where I grew up are the Cumberland Plateau, Lookout Mountain, Signal Mountain, Monteagle Mountain (all part of the larger Appalachian Mountain system), and, of course, the Great Smoky Mountains region, which also happens to be the most visited national park in the United States. My relatives lived on the peaks and valleys of these mountains, and they are an integral part of who I am. There are plenty of towns and cities within Appalachia, but for this essay, I want to stay within the forest. The towns, cities, rural, and urban sections will get their say in later posts.

As we venture, if you will, into the Appalachian Mountain system and the forests of my childhood, we are enveloped in a world of luscious sensory triggers as clear and telling as the lines on an old man’s face. The layered ridges, dense forests, mist-shrouded valleys (from which the Great Smoky Mountains National Park gets its name), and the vibrant sunrises and sunsets are all rich in the nuance of a personified setting. Seasonal changes such as the blooming spring wildflowers and light green leaves, the summer claustrophobia of rich, dense vegetation, the fiery autumn that attracts tourists by the thousands, and the cold, dangerous, bare, yet also claustrophobic winters, all avail themselves to thematic nuances. Everywhere are the sounds of Appalachian life: crickets, distant rivers, bubbling streams, wind rustling through the trees, animals scurrying out-of-sight, and the buzz and calls of regional wildlife. Those who think they go into the forest for peace and quiet have never been in an Appalachian forest. And the smells are always vibrant. One can’t walk through the woods without the scent of pine needles, skunks, foxes, wildflowers, or the cloying fragrance of rain-dampened soil. Lean against a tree and feel the tactile experience of rough bark, put your toes and hands or even splash your face with the coolness and sometimes frigidness of the mountain streams, or sample (probably against some park rules) the delicious taste of wild blackberries. The Appalachians hold an incredible array of options for creating a sensory sense of place and a malleable character unto themselves, each experience a vivid and engaging part of the narrative.

Introducing humans, there are plenty of activities for characters to do within these timberlands. Hiking through forests, fishing in creeks, foraging in the woods. Stories are best progressed when characters interact within their setting rather than being placed there and, in Appalachian hands, they become one. Utilizing these aspects of the forest and combining them with the arcs of the characters, harmoniously and at odds, creates a unique relationship between the characters and the environment itself. I’ve noticed a palpable difference between those who have grown up in this environment and those who are visiting. I think that could be said of any setting. Those who visit a new place see it; those who live there have absorbed it. That’s why I think writing about places you know is so important. And, of course, the people. Cultural ties in these mountains shape characters’ identities just as my own have been shaped, ranging from the endless green to our traditions of mountain music and crafts to the feelings sometimes of isolation and misunderstanding, but with a heavy dose of our own resourcefulness. I’ll differ with some writers who offer a eulogy for the Appalachians. They have it wrong. The Appalachians don’t need a eulogy. They need a proper portrayal.

There are themes hidden in these Appalachian forests. The rugged terrain easily mirrors characters’ internal struggles, highlighting perseverance against adversity and survival mixed with resilience. The vastness of the mountain ranges lends itself to themes of solitude, as well as rural connection, as characters navigate the duality of isolation mixed with the togetherness of close-knit Appalachian communities (and, indeed, they are as close-knit as an Appalachian quilt). As a child, teenager, and adult, I was well aware of a sense of timelessness in the woodlands. There is a sense of foreverness among the trees; we are just a blip. The unchanging mountains (if you exclude the acid rain) counter a rapidly shifting and unstable world outside the strong anchored roots of isolated mountain folk, providing a sense of continuity and stability amidst the chaos of the world.

I am a storyteller because of these mountains. There are facts, to be sure, but there are also Appalachian folklore and mysticism. Believe what you will. Stories, spiritual beliefs, and myths are tied to these mountains, like tales of mountain spirits, ghosts, and Cherokee legends that become the marrow of your bones. Mixed with these tendon-like parts of our marrow, there are changes, mainly to society and the environment. Depending upon one’s perspective, these are welcome or to be shunned. Environmental issues like coal mining’s impact and deforestation, mixed with efforts to preserve the region's beauty, integrity, nature, and diversity, add conflicting depth to what is being experienced now. There is economic hardship, but as my grandfather said, it has always been that way, and we have done just fine. There is prosperity and economic hardship elsewhere as there is here in these mountains.

As this writer believes, every location should be a character, and what a wonderful character the Appalachians provide. They are a living, breathing entity full of richness. Plots and lives revolve around these forests as though it, maybe, is the story's main character, which I wonder if it is not. It is never about us, but rather the rise and setting of the sun over that misty forever. The mountains are full of change, sometimes too quick to unwary hikers’ chagrin and even death. Weather and seasons are characters themselves. Tie these to the historical and cultural layers, add atmosphere into the prose, and have a strong central character as vibrant as any human.

For writers like me, the Appalachian Mountains are more than a backdrop. They are a central, dynamic presence that shapes the story. Each day, as I write and reflect, I discover new things, like new species of microscopic beings, that I had not seen, noticed, realized, or acknowledged before. I will spend my life physically, spiritually, and mentally exploring these mountains. In their sense of forever, I will never get their whole essence, but I will feel their chill and warmth and smell their hidden secrets long trapped in caves I have yet to explore.