appalachia

Finally, we entered Chetaube County, my imaginary birthplace, where the names of the little winding roads and minuscule mountain communities never failed to inspire me: Yardscrabble, Big Log, Upper, Middle and Lower Pigsty, Chicken Scratch, Cooterville, Felchville, Dust Rag, Dough Bag, Uranus Ridge, Big Bottom, Hooter Holler, Quickskillet, Buck Wallow, Possum Strut ... We always say a picture speaks a thousand words, but isn__ the opposite equally true?

If it ran, a Bean would eat it. If it fell, a Bean would eat it.

If it ran, a Bean would shoot it. If it fell, a Bean would eat it.

What on earth would I do if four bears came into my camp? Why, I would die of course. Literally shit myself lifeless.

It was still late summer elsewhere, but here, high in Appalachia, fall was coming; for the last three mornings, she'd been able to see her breath. The woods, which started twenty feet back from her backdoor like a solid wall, showed only hints of the impending autumn. A few leaves near the treetops had turned, but most were full and green. Visible in the distance, the Widow's Tree towered above the forest. Its leaves were the most stubborn, tenaciously holding on sometimes until spring if the winter was mild. It was a transitional period, when the world changed its cycle and opened a window during which people might also change, if they had the inclination.

We're all Hitler inside. We're all Christ inside. I'm not keen on the idea, but it's true, isn't it? We've all got a little bit of the devil in us.

Nothing else in the whole wide world matters as much as avenging your sister.

It's Coke, my man. You really think I'm going to let you pour any more alcohol into your body tonight?

You are not a handgun. More like a pellet gun. Maybe even a slingshot.

Here's how I'll tell you what I think__f you see white smoke then you know I picked a new pope. And if I'm drinking a Snapple then you know I don't give a shit.

Preston Black couldn't sleep the whole night through, Preston Black couldn't sleep the whole night through. He'd lay in bed 'til the morning came, but the devil'd visit him just the same. Preston Black couldn't sleep the whole night through.

Yeah, but a hellbender never dies. You ever see a dead one?

Music lets you write your own checks. Don't ever forget that.

True, beneath the human façade, I was an interloper, an alien whose ship had crashed beyond hope of repair in the backwoods of Southern Appalachia__ut at least I__ learned to walk and talk enough like the locals to be rejected as one of their own.