Old Folks in the Holler: Walking down to Eunice’s

I’ve always loved walking.

When I was very small, I was allowed to roam up and down the creek where we lived, visiting the near neighbors on the same side of the road. I had to be careful — I grew up beside a deep mine, with lots of mining equipment and workers nearby. As I got older, and my parents trusted that I could cross the road without getting killed by a coal truck (a fate that befell family dog after family dog at our house), I’d wander further afield, up and down the holler, visiting friends and the “old folks” nearby.

I came to know the natural features of my place intimately — the hollow oak up on the mountainside where my cat had kittens one year, the tiny spring that ran only in springtime (a spring spring?) that I’d lie down on my belly to drink from, and the black raspberry and blackberry bushes that grew in a thicket on the strip mine up the road.

But the neighbors were the real treasure.

Growing Up Among the Elders

I was the kind of child who loved being with my own grandmother (who lived with us after my grandfather died) but also with any other elders I could find. They all knew how to do such interesting things, and they always seemed to have time for me.

One thing you need to know about where I’m from is that gardens are a central topic of conversation during the growing season, especially with older folks. When you visit someone, or they come to visit you, the visit is often kicked off with a walk through the garden.

My grandmother and I took great care planning and planting ours together — flowers and vegetables both. So it’s no surprise that when I visited the elders around me, we talked gardens.

Walking Down to Eunice’s

One woman who lived downstream, Eunice, always had time to sit with me on her porch. We’d look out over her garden, and she’d often have a slice of cake to share. The carrot cake was my favorite. Her husband had passed, and although I didn’t realize it at the time, she probably welcomed the company — young though I was.

I think about Eunice a lot. About what it meant that she always had time for me. That her porch was always open. That she most always had cake.

The Most Generous Thing You Can Offer

Walking those hollers is part of how I first understood that the most generous thing you can offer another person is your unhurried attention. (And maybe the folk skills and traditions that are just part of who you are.) Eunice didn’t teach me that in words. She just lived it, like so many of the old folks I spent time with.

It’s experiences like this that I try to bring to my own teaching. The presence and the warmth. The sense of passing something on.

How This Spirit Lives in Appalachian Flatfooting

If you’d like to experience what I’m talking about, it’s baked into The Walking Step Challenge, which I invite you to try if you’ve been wanting to learn more about Appalachian dance. The course is an invitation to slow down, pay attention to where your feet are taking you, and remember that walking has always been how we’ve found our way to each other.

Honestly, it’s one of my favorite courses I’ve ever built, and you get a ton of value for the price. It’s worth way more than I charge, but I offer it in the spirit of generosity — and in the hope that a few of you might decide to study dance with me in a deeper way after you experience it.

GET THE WALKING STEP CHALLENGE FOR ONLY $11

More Stories from the Holler

This is the first post in what I’m planning as an ongoing series , because there are more stories worth telling. I’ve got a good one about a man who mowed a hillside meadow with a scythe like it was the most natural thing in the world.

If you don’t want to miss the next one, subscribe below so new posts come straight to your inbox. And if you have your own memories of elders who shaped you, I’d love to hear about them in the comments.