The Hills Are Calling

I have never cared much about music - especially bluegrass and the nasal sounding Appalachian hymns that you always hear in church and the local radio stations around here. However when I moved to West Palm Beach I was usually so homesick that if I would even get a whiff of bluegrass in the air my eyes would lift to the hills automatically looking for home. Now that I have moved back home, I still have an appreciation for both forms of music. It means "home" to me.

One time I was getting in my truck at the local Winn Dixie when I was living in West Palm. Just as I was closing the door a man came running and screaming at me. (scaring me to I might add) I was ready to to screeching out of the parking lot when I heard what he was yelling. "What part of West Virginia are you from?" "What part of West Virginia are you from!" I saw the desperately friendly smile on his face so I rolled my window down. (I recognized that smile as one of my own)

I told him I was from Logan and he proceeded to chatter on about where he was from. He told me he was sorry to scare me but he wanted to stop me before I pulled out when he saw the license plate on my truck. We had a wonderful conversation about being homesick and he told me he was living in Stuart. (just north of West Palm) He said, "there's lots of us down here, you know. We have a West Virginia reunion every year in Stuart and you just gotta come."I told him indeed I would come and I planned to be there but I never heard from him again.

Another time I answered my phone and I had a collect call. I didn't know who the caller was, but I recognized the accent and out of curiosity I accepted the call. It's a good thing I did. "Danny" was calling me from the West Palm Beach auto auction. (it was only about 3 miles from my house by the way) He had driven a car to Florida for my dad and my dad had told him to call me when he got here. Unfortunately my dad had neglected to tell me anybody was coming. Fortunately for Danny I knew what an inconsiderate ass my dad could be and I went to get him.

Danny stayed with us for 3 days until my dad made it Florida to come get him. Danny was about as backwards a Logan County boy as I ever met, but he was nice and a lot of fun. Bobby and I had a great time showing him the sites of West Palm and of course taking him to the beach for the first time in his life.

When we were leaving for the beach, Bobby offered to loan Danny a pair of swimming trunks. Danny declined saying his old worn out jeans and work boots would suit him just fine. Knowing better than this I packed him a pair of trunks and flip flops for the beach and we were on our way. At the beach he took his boots off and was running through the foamy part of the waves when he told me that he wished he would have taken us up on the swimming trucks offer. He was delighted when I pulled them out of my bag and he proceeded to the bushes to change into them.

Danny joined Bobby and I in the water and we had a great time playing. Then Bobby and I decided to play the old "shark!" joke on Danny. We started to run in unison to the shore, screaming "Shark! Shark!" The petrified look on Danny's face was absolutely priceless. He shot out of the water so fast that I swear he was actually walking on top the waves as he skimmed across them to the beach! Bobby and I collapsed in the sand laughing at him and Danny was so mad that he sulked for about an hour before he would get back in the water with us.