Echoes of Appalachia

When I was a child growing up in the Appalachian Mountains of Western North Carolina, New Year’s was a time full of excitement and family traditions, even though we didn’t have much. The turn of the year carried with it a sense of hope and renewal. We may not have had the extravagance of big city celebrations, but the simplicity of our customs made it special in its own way.

One of my favorite memories was the small pack of firecrackers my momma would get us. They weren’t much—just a few little fireworks to light up the night sky—but they filled the air with joy as we counted down to midnight. The echo of the church bell ringing in the distance signaled the arrival of the new year, and we could hear gunshots ringing out from all directions. People in our community, like us, believed in ringing in the new year with a bang. Some said it was for good luck; others said it was to scare away evil spirits. But whatever the reason, it felt like a powerful way to welcome what was ahead.

In our family, we had another tradition that added to the magic of the night. On New Year’s Eve, we would open our doors as a symbolic gesture to “let out the old year” and welcome the new one in. It was a simple, yet meaningful act, rooted in the idea of clearing out the old and making space for fresh beginnings. It felt like sweeping away the hardships of the past and opening ourselves up to new possibilities. This superstition, common in many cultures, involves opening doors and windows at midnight to usher in the new year, and it was something we looked forward to every year.

As the clock struck twelve, my mother would hand each of us a small piece of paper. On it, we wrote our wish for the coming year. My wish was always simple and reflective of the life we lived. I didn’t wish for toys or fancy clothes. Instead, I wrote that I wished to survive the year ahead. Growing up in poverty, each year was a challenge, and survival wasn’t guaranteed. But that simple wish, written on paper and then burned to send it into the universe, felt like a way to release my hopes and fears to the world, hoping they would come true.

After the excitement of the night, the day after New Year’s was just as special. We would bundle up and head to my granny’s house, where she would serve the traditional New Year’s Day meal. Granny always made sure we had a plate of black-eyed peas and collard greens. According to tradition, eating these foods on New Year’s Day would bring good luck and prosperity in the year ahead. The collard greens, with their rich green leaves, were said to represent the green of dollar bills, symbolizing financial growth and prosperity. The black-eyed peas, small and round, symbolize coins, bringing wealth and good fortune. And of course, the ham hocks added that bit of flavor and richness that made the meal feel like a warm hug on a cold winter day.

Even though our family didn’t have much, those traditions gave us something invaluable—hope, joy, and a sense of community. New Year’s in the Appalachian Mountains was more than just a holiday; it was a time to reflect on the struggles and blessings of the past year and to look ahead to what the future might bring.

As I’ve grown older and life has changed, I still carry those memories with me. I’ve come to realize that the most important part of those New Year’s traditions wasn’t the food or the firecrackers, but the sense of togetherness and the belief that, no matter how tough things got, the new year always brought a fresh start. And as I sit down with my own family now, I still find myself wishing for survival, good fortune, and hope, just as I did when I was a child in the mountains of Western North Carolina.

-Tim Carmichael