Dearest Gentle Reader,
As has been my custom for the past sixteen years, there is a cup of coffee to my right, the blank page is in front of me, a collection of pens and notebooks resides to the left of me, and all that remains to be done is to put my heart beneath my words for you. Ponder. Write. Save. Send. Ponder. Write. Save. Send. For sixteen years, that is the world I have lived in. For sixteen years, my words have been written for you.
As some of you are aware, I am writing a book. It is an Appalachian tale of some truth and some fiction. I have carried these characters with me for years now. I know their names. I know their temperaments. I understand their motivations. I hear their voices. I want to tell their stories. I want to let them speak.
I joke that when I am here by myself, were anyone to pass by my house, they would think it full of people as I speak the dialogue I want to write out. I sometimes think I know them better than I know myself, but they have always been hidden on paper, never offered to others to be shared.
Since my retirement, I have attempted to both write for you and to make this book of longings become a reality. It has grown increasingly difficult to be a columnist and a want-to-be author, for the brain has to shift the words, tone, and intent. So with this missive today, I have decided that this column will be my last.
There are so many people to thank. You know who you are, whether you granted me the opportunity to write, or you merely picked up a paper to see what was transpiring in this mountain community. I thank each of you.
I have been touched by your kind words to me. From the filling station to walking out of the beauty shop with a fresh haircut, you have stopped me and told me what my words have meant to you. Some of you communicated by e-mail. Some by letters to the paper itself. Some of you told me that I made you laugh. Some of you have told me that I made you cry. Some of you have taken my wishes and turned them into realities. Some of you have cut my columns out and saved them. Some of you sent word to me by family members when a particular column hit home. No matter which of these you were, I truly thank you.
I have no idea what or who will take my place in the paper each week. Secretly, I hope it is another columnist with a deep love for Appalachia and her people. Someone who can take a birdsong and make it magical. Someone who can turn canning season into treasure gathering. Someone who knows the bounty of these hills and the beauty of the people who call it home. Someone who has slept beneath a homemade quilt and weathered the blustery cold. Someone who knows what bare feet in fresh dew feel like in the summer. Someone who knows the history and folklore of this place we call home. Yes, I hope it is someone who cares for you as I do.
So, I bid you farewell and godspeed. It has been my beautiful pleasure to put ink against paper for you each week. I wish you joy in your journey. May every good thing chase you down and kiss you soundly.
But most of all, I wish you love, a deep abiding Appalachian love,
Debbie
