Clinch Mountain

I grew up near this mountain and sometimes Dad took us that way on our semi-annual trip to Grandma's house in Tennessee. I never liked going that way much. . .made me kind of queasy riding in the back of a 64 Ford Fairlane, especially if it was cold and the windows were rolled up. Nothing like a heater going full blast with two smokers up front. Cured me from ever wanting to smoke though. Maybe that's why I never was interested in the culture that flowered on that mountain. Nah. . .that's too superficial. I didn't like it because I was too cool. It was the sixties and I wanted to be in San Franciso listening to the Dead and Jefferson Airplane rather than the "hick" music from the sticks of Southwest Virginia. But being cool (which I didn't really pull off to anyone except myself) cost me. Now I'm almost 50 and I find I have an irresistable urge to hear bluegrass music and the lonesome achy twang-soaked vocals Clinch Mountain seems to produce. If you've heard "Oh Death" from "O Brother Where Art Thou", then you know what I mean. I want to learn the songs from that mountain. I want to know what they were so upset about. I want to write some of my own. But it's going to take some time. . .better get started.