Kentucky Blues

I use the faded map to get my bearings as best I can. I trace my route along the creek and feel my fingertips tingle with excitement. I hear the echo of my great-granddaddy’s words, “last I knew they was hidin’ in some holler near the ol’ creek we all used to live on.” Best I could tell, the whole of Kentucky lived on a holler on a hill near a creek, just some had roads to ‘em and some didn’t. My whole family, especially my folks think I’m crazy. But I just had to come look, and in the end Pop let me use his rusty farm truck. It got me safely here from the other side of Kentucky. My great-granddaddy grew up in these hills before moving away and starting his family elsewhere. Deep down I know why he moved, but I cain’t help but wonder how things might be different, better, if I grew up with my kinfolk here.  

Still, I know there is no sense is wasting my life worrying over what could have been. No amount of fretting will make it come to pass that way. I fold up my map and think to myself, “I best take off.” That’s just what I do. I stick as close to the creek bank as I can. That creek is so pretty it could make a body cry and so cold it made teeth ache just thinking about it. The forest was so peaceful and green. I’ve always felt more at home in the woods than in the fields on our farm or in town. I never fit in with my family or anywhere. The woods never made me feel bad about myself like others were wont to do. I just wish my brother, Tom, was with me. He’s good company and would chase away all my fear and doubt. Pop said he was needed to weed to field. After all a farmer’s work is never done. I sigh. It’s funny to me Pop only says that when he wants to get his way about something. I whistle with the whippoorwills and laugh at the funny squirrels and feel a little less lonesome.

The whole time I’m walking all over this mountain, I am looking for any signs of people. I come to a shanty and ask the people inside if they might know where my kinfolk be. They slam the door in my face. The next place I come to, they are outside, but they make for the door as I step into the yard. They barely let me get my questions out before they shut and latch the door. I just go on with myself. The third place don’t even open the door for me tho I see their pale, grubby faces looking at me from the cracks in the wood. This sets me about crying. No different than being home. How I had hoped that they were more used to seeing my kind.  

My stomach gets to grumbling something fierce. I make sure I am well away from that last shack before I plop down on a flat rock. I strip my socks and shoes off so I can dangle my feet in the water of the creek. Mama packed me up a knapsack with some food. I nibble on what’s left of the ham and biscuits. I wash it down with some creek water and decide to save the apple for later. I wipe my hands on my shirt before I take out my map. I try to figure how far I come. There’s still a lot of creek left. I don’t think I made it halfway yet. I get back to walking and looking. I do a li’l praying to the almighty, too. I sure hope he help me find my kinfolk, my kind. 

I think of my happiest day to keep my spirits up. It have to be the day I go berry picking with Mama. It sure made me feel special when she take me all by myself and tell me I’m the best berry picker in the whole family. Now that I’m grown I know that’s a lie. I weren’t but about five or six. A kid that small is likely to eat more berries than they pick. I know I sure did. Being so little, I really believed Mama when she said I was the best. We picked berries all day long. When we got tired, we sat on Mama’s old quilt, and when we were thirsty we drank from Mama’s thermos of spring water. We sang and laughed out in them berry bushes. My hands and mouth got stained dark with berry juice, but Mama just laughed when she saw me.  

The sun don’t last very long in these Kentucky hills where the shadows from the mountains are long. I pick up my pace and hobble on my achy feet as fast as I can. I stick close to home most day, and I ain’t used to walking this far. I don’t rightly know what I’m gone do if I cain’t find my kinfolk or someplace friendly to stay. I prayed so hard I reckon I never thought my prayers wouldn’t get answered. I get a li’l scared thinking ‘bout being in these woods after dark. I never been by myself after dark ‘fore. I try to think ‘bout how Mama tell me I so brave cause I face my trial everyday and don’t cry over it none. I try to feel brave now, but Mama don’t know the truth. I just wait ‘til I’m by myself to cry.  

I try to keep thinking ‘bout the good times, but I cain’t find no more now that the sun has almost set. My mind keeps going to the worst day of my life. It weren’t very long after me and Mama’s berry picking day. It was the first day of school. I had to beg Mama to go. She wanted to keep me at home with her. Tom was still too little so it was just me and my older sister. My big brothers stayed home to work the farm. My older sister, Sally, never cared for me, and I had to run to keep up on the way to school. Soon as we got to the schoolyard I done know I made a mistake. Sally left me on my own, and the other children commenced to taunting me. They pushed me in the mud and tore my best dress. I ran all the way back to Mama and cried ‘til snot ran down my face in big, nasty globs. Mama tried to comfort me, but I hurt so bad inside. I saw myself for the first time like the world saw me, ugly and unnatural. I wish with all my heart I had let Mama keep me home.  

There’s just one sliver of sunshine left on the top of the mountain to light my way, and I get to wondering if I should have let Mama keep me home this time, too. Lord know she tried. ‘Course Lord also knows that there ain’t much you can do to change the mind of a twenty year old girl who done made up her mind. I sure wouldn’t change mine. I try not to cry as I sit down on a log. It’s too dangerous to try to walk back to the truck this late seeing I don’t know these woods well enough. I’m near desperate for some warmth and comfort so I wrap my arms around myself. I’m too scared to go to sleep so I just sit with my eyes close and listen real hard so nothing can sneak up on me. “It’s just for tonight.” I tell myself. “Then we can go on home.” I loathe to go crawling back to my folks place with my tail tucked between my legs. I don’t see no other choice. I certainly cain’t live out in these woods by myself. I thought I was a Kentucky mountain girl born and bred. Turns out living on a farm next to the woods is a whole lot different than living off the land.  

I didn’t mean to fall asleep in the night. I must have though ‘cause I startle awake with a crick in my neck and a face full of drool. The sun is just shining it’s first rays across the Kentucky mountains. The birds are chirping a beautiful song. Hard to imagine this pretty land as the place of my defeat. I make like I am leaving, but something stops me. Very faintly I hear some singing. The voice gets louder. I can make out the words of an old hymn ‘bout going to glory. The singer crests the hill with rays of sunshine around her head like an angel. She’s carrying a bucket to draw the morning water from the creek. She sure look like an angel to me come to save me ‘cause right away I can tell she’s one of the kinfolk I came to find. She walks almost up to the river ‘fore she catches sight of me, and when she does, she drops her bucket and stares with her mouth wide open. She look to be about my age.  

I reach out my hand for her to shake and introduce myself, “I’m Stella. Ray is my great-granddaddy. He used to live here, but he moved away ‘fore I was ever born.” My words tumble out of my mouth in one great big stream. I don’t hardly dare to take a breathe.  

“I’m Ella Mae. John is my great-granddaddy. He’s brother to your great-granddaddy,” she introduces herself in a sweet voice. I don’t hardly pay no mind to her.  I keep my eyes on our hands. She is blue just like me. I never seen another person with blue skin ‘fore. I thought I was all alone in this world, but I ain’t. I found my kinfolk, my kind. I don’t realize how hard I hold her hand until she wrenches it away. I feel my face darken with embarrassment. I kind of kick my foot in the dirt not sure what to do now. 

“I expect you’ll want to meet the rest of the family,” Ella Mae pats me a little while she talks, “We’re the Blues of Kentucky, blue just like you” 

Her words are a balm to heal my wounds. I found where I belong. We fill up the bucket with creek water, and we go on home.  

Author’s note: The Fugates are a real family that once had a rare hereditary disorder that made their skin blue. The family lived in Hazard, Kentucky and on Troublesome Creek This story is inspired by that family, but the characters are entirely fictional.