Echoes of Appalachia

Growing up in the small community of Spillcorn, nestled in the Western North Carolina mountains near Marshall, profoundly shaped who I am today. Our three-room house—a simple arrangement of a bedroom, living room, and kitchen—was modest, but it was filled with warmth, laughter, and the daily hustle of life shared with my two sisters and my brother. We all squeezed into that little bedroom; the sheets hung up for privacy creating a cozy haven that made us feel safe. Life was often tough; I remember days when my mother would open a jar of green beans and split its contents among us because that was all we had to eat. Yet, in those moments of scarcity, we always managed to find joy in one another’s company and the love that filled our home. The photo below was our tiny house.

My Granny Norton was our guiding star. She was a remarkable woman with an incredible gift for healing. When any of us fell ill, we didn’t rush to a doctor; we turned to her. With her deep knowledge of herbs, roots, and berries, she could whip up remedies that felt like magic, often having us up and running in no time. I can still picture her gathering wildflowers and foraging for plants, her hands deftly preparing potions and teas that soothed us when we were sick. Her quilting skills were equally extraordinary. The quilts she made weren’t just functional; they were vibrant pieces of art that wrapped us in warmth and comfort during cold nights. Each stitch was a testament to her love and dedication, turning the simplest fabric into something beautiful and meaningful. Those quilts adorned our beds and couches, each one telling a story, each patchwork piece a reminder of her nurturing spirit. The picture below is my granny Norton in 1957.

Our home had its quirks. We relied on an outhouse out back and used the creek that ran by our house as our refrigerator, keeping our food cool and fresh. I remember the summer days spent wading in that creek, the cold water refreshing against my skin, while my siblings and I played games and caught minnows. Those unconventional living conditions taught me to appreciate the little things and the beauty of nature surrounding us. I spent countless hours exploring the woods, collecting wildflowers and climbing trees, learning to find joy in the simple pleasures of life.

When I was in the eighth grade, our family moved to Flag Pond, Tennessee, bringing us closer to my father’s side of the family. This move introduced me to a broader world filled with new experiences and deeper connections. In Flag Pond, I spent a lot of time with my Mamaw Tipton, who was a master in the kitchen. Her cooking was legendary in our family, and I can still recall the comforting aroma of her biscuits and gravy wafting through her home. I remember standing on a stool, watching her roll out the dough and teaching me the art of making those fluffy biscuits. She had a way of turning ordinary ingredients into extraordinary meals, filling our bellies and our hearts. It became a cherished tradition to gather around her table, where stories were shared, and laughter echoed, creating memories I hold dear to this day.

My father had a complicated role in our lives as a moonshiner. For nearly 60 years, he crafted moonshine to provide for us. Some might label him a sinner, but I never viewed it that way. He did what he had to do to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. He would often tell us stories about his early days, the risks he took, and the friends he made along the way. In our small community, everyone was aware of his moonshining, and when that money hit the offering plate at church, I never heard anyone question its source. To us, it was simply part of our reality—a reflection of survival in a world that didn’t always offer us many choices.

Looking back on my upbringing, I am filled with a deep sense of gratitude for the remarkable people who shaped my life. Each person contributed to my understanding of love and sacrifice. From Granny Norton’s nurturing spirit to Mamaw Tipton’s culinary expertise, I learned invaluable lessons about kindness, hard work, and the importance of family. I saw firsthand how a community can rally around each other during tough times, providing support and strength when it was needed most. Those connections, formed in the face of adversity, taught me that we are never truly alone, no matter how difficult the circumstances may seem.

As I grew older, the lessons I learned in Spillcorn continued to influence my life. The values instilled in me by my family and community became my compass, guiding me through life’s challenges. I carried with me the understanding that hard work and dedication can create opportunities, even in the toughest situations. I remember the joy of returning home after school, sharing stories with my siblings, and helping my mother with chores while Granny shared her wisdom. Those moments reinforced our bond and reminded us that love and support are the greatest gifts of all.

In a world that often overlooks the struggles of rural life, I carry my Appalachian roots with pride. Those experiences—marked by both hardship and joy—have forged my character and continue to guide me. I may have grown up in poverty, but I was rich in love, community, and the strength of my family. I look back and realize how fortunate I truly was. I was one lucky man, and I wouldn’t trade my upbringing for anything. Each memory, each lesson, and each moment spent in the embrace of my family has become an integral part of who I am today, shaping my perspective and fueling my appreciation for life’s simple joys. The mountains, the creek, and the love shared among us remain a cherished part of my heart, reminding me that even in the toughest times, there is beauty and strength to be found.

-Tim Carmichael