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SIDNEY SAYLOR FARR 217 be pain in the missing part buried so deeply in hillside soil. Mountain people have a strong sense of place; they know where they belong. It is always a joy to me to leave cities behind, to travel through the Bluegrass section of Kentucky and on to the hills. fu the mountains unfold for me I have a feeling of belonging, of being protected, ofwanting to settle down and stay forever. My friend Jane Wilson, an East Tennessee woman, says it well: "I can walk back home from just about anywhere." She and I both have a sense of place-a knowing that if all else fails, we can always walk back home and there will be space for us, and people who care about us. GRANNY BROCK from Headwaters (1995) "Granny, is it gonna rain?" "My bees worked in the clover early and late, and the moon had a ring around it these past few nights. There were red clouds in the sky this morning, the wind turned tree-leaves underside over, and redbirds called 'wet, wet, wet' all day long. That's a sure sign of rain," she says. "Granny, is it gonna snow a lot?" "The woolly worms done give us their opinion, and crickets're singing their lonesome winter song. The cornshucks're thick and stiff this year, and moss is growing on the north side of trees. That's a sure sign of a bad winter," she says. "Granny, why's there so much trouble?" "The east wind of trouble travels far and near, and bad times come but they do go away. Once I was younger in older times, when a good day's work brought a good day's pay. 218 LISTEN HERE Back then was the dayburst, now it's coming down dusky, but it's not yet plumb dark in our landthat 's a sure sign," she says. MOUNTAINS FILL Up THE NIGHT from Headwaters (1995) I know the mountains covered with snow, and misty green of earth's awakening, when they are drenched in summer storms, painted with master colors softened with Indian Summer smoke. Mountains, so steady, and yet they change when each determined morning climbs. Some of night sneaks into hollows but noonday sun blasts it out, gold heat here but up there-trees. I know the mountains when heat is gone and sun challenges the regal night. I know them when raindrops fall and break, and wet the silver lichen; and white mist tassels the trees. Then dusky dark, its curtain silent; the mountains grow star-ward around us, and over us and under. Even inside us. Where do the mountains stop? ...

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