The Hills are Calling

I have never cared much about music - especially bluegrass and the nasal sounding Appalachian hymns that you used to 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 death 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.