An endless canopy of deep green stretches across the wild expanse of sequestered Appalachian Mountains. Peaks cloaked in blue mist (thus the name Blue Ridge) appear to reach beyond the clouds. The wind whispers through the trees of the mystery these mountains hold. Everything seems to tell a story of days long passed. This is Appalachia (App-uh-latch-uh, for those of you aren't sure how to pronounce it correctly).
Perhaps you know it only by the stereotypical hillbilly stories - widespread poverty and little education, kids running around barefoot and soot faced, grandma spitting tobacco, all the while banjo music plays in the background. Though this story may be steeped in some amount of truth, it is not the whole story - not even close. It doesn’t speak of the connection Appalachian folks have to the land. It doesn’t speak to the devotion they have to family and heritage. It doesn’t speak to their unwavering strength. It doesn’t speak to the pain, loss, and injustice they have…
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