You hick, hillbilly, redneck, yokel, backwoods idiot, poor, shoeless, toothless, dirty, grubby, scum of the earth. 

I believe my first exposure to the depiction of a hillbilly was a bugs bunny cartoon – Hillbilly Hare. I absolutely loved the square dance scene. My brother and I sat in my grandfather’s basement rolling on the cold linoleum brick patterned floor laughing. I had no idea at that point that the county I grew up in nestled softly in the Appalachian mountain range was to the majority of the outside world filled with a bunch of hicks, rednecks, yokels, backwoods people – hillbillies.

On warm summer weekends once a month our small town would block off the street between the court house and the bank. People would bring their folding chairs and a live band would play upon a wagon. Old men and women would dance in the street and young children would bop around together as the square dance calls filled the air. I was far too shy to dance, but I loved these events.  The street brimmed with so much joy and happiness and community. I assumed every town did the same. 

The self consciousness and shame of my mountain accent and my Appalachian culture came later. By the time I was fifteen I was well into the process of washing the twang from my voice. The beautiful melody replaced with the voices I heard on the TV. I thought my intelligence and ability to succeed would be questioned if I let the voice of the Appalachian mountains come through. 

By the time I was a young adult I witnessed many times over the negative stereotypes like the images flashed upon the screen in Deliverance. The Hillbilly Hare no longer made me laugh. I felt shame. I felt misunderstood and misrepresented.

Today when I drive the curves of the five mountains to return to my family home I roll down the windows to let the fresh cool air of Ramsey’s draft pour into the car. I can finally take a deep breath. I know I am on my way home to the Blue Grass Valley and the mountains of Appalachia.

Hillbilly proud am I. 

I am free

I am wild

I am raised by the mountains

I know where the wild ginseng grows

I walk in the darkest of evenings without a stumble

I know the sweetest strawberries grow in mossy bogs along the Fork

I am free

I am wild

I am raised by the mountains

Wood smoke always perfumes my hair

I wear dandelion chains around my neck

And squirrel tails streamers on my bike handles

I am free 

I am wild

I am raised by the mountains

The twang in my voice was a badge of honor

The callouses on my hands and feet a sign of real living

These mountains taught me how to truly love and to just be me.

The twang I washed away is something I regret.

But the pride of where I come from will never fade.

Hillbilly proud am I.