Descended From Dan'l, Davy, and the Devil Himself

Descended From Dan'l, Davy, and the Devil Himself Garry Barker The older I get, the more I begin to understand about myself and the men who came before me, the storied "Kentucky mountain men" who surely must be descended from Dan'l, Davy, and the Devil himself. The popular image of us ranges from the bearded, barefooted, rifle-and-jug-toting hillbilly to the stubborn, courageous frontiersman, with Boss Hogg, Jed Clampett, and Little Abner tossed in to muddle the waters. We are labeled as quaint, quare, violent, independent, incestuous, and a bit of every other quality ever exhibited by any male mountain resident, a lanky legion of cockfighting, whiskey-drinking sharpshooters, storytellers and balladeers, brawlers who are handy during wartime but troublesome when there's no common enemy to kill. Fess Parker and John Wayne swaggered across the TV and movie screens portraying the silver-tongued Tennessee and Kentucky backwoodsmen, but movies such as Deliverance brought about an uglier image. There's likely a tad of truth in all the popular stereotypes, but over the past decade or so I've become even more aware of the traits either born or trained early into me that have outlasted all the more subtle contemporary influences. Like Daniel Boone, I have to have elbow room. A neighbor's chimney smoke won't send me off in search of a less populated wilderness, but I have to be left alone for a goodly portion of the time. Boone never admitted to being lost, as he traveled uncharted wilderness, though he did confess to be "bewildered" for up to three days running, more than once. Me too. My own bewilderment is more likely to commence in a crowded city than in the Kentucky hills, and I'm most bewildered when I'm supposed to mingle with a bunch of people I don't even know. Garry Barker is director of the Appalachian Arts and Crafts Center at Morehead State University (Kentucky). He is afreelance writer ofbothfiction and nonfiction. 25 Maybe Boone also set the tone for our lifelong affinity with the rifle, though "Old Betsy" was replaced a hundred years or so ago by the Winchester .30-.3O and the .22 varmint rifle and the modern assault weapon; in recent years the muzzle loader has made a sizable comeback. I personally cannot "bark" a squirrel, but for some reason would feel as naked as old Dan'l would if I didn't keep a rifle handy. Like Davy Crockett, I love to tell a good tale, and when doing so I do not feel at all constrained by the truth. Davy invented the backwoods persona so essential over the decades to our politicians, humorists, columnists, and store-porch philosophers, the "good old boy" approach that conceals wisdom in the guise of helplessness that deliberately misleads and takes advantage of the outsider who has assumed that he mountaineer is sadly lacking in intelligence. From both Daniel and Davy come the stubborn independence, the fierce loyalty, the daring, the fighting spirit that manifests itself in so many ways. Maybe from the Devil himself comes the taste for strong whiskey, homemade or store-bought, and the sullen, almost savage black mood swings too common for too many of us, the trait that can sometimes combine with the strong drink to manufacture mayhem. Or more. After fifty-five years, many of them spent away from the real mountains, I realize every day that I'm getting more and more like what I really am and less and less what the world told me I ought to be. Maybe moving back so close to my Elliott County roots has accelerated the reversal process, gradually peeling away the layers of "civilized" veneers, bringing back what's always been there at the core. I'd rather be around my own kind, those who were born poor and came up hard, who know what it's like to use an outhouse, butcher a hog, farm, timber, tinker with old cars and trucks, shoot, laugh, and love the rugged old hills from whence we spring. I need dogs, pickup trucks, firearms, and some space, country music, and food you can taste...