Appalachian Heritage

Appalachian Heritage

Cold days ushered in snow and harsh winds,

Finding their way up the hill and around the bend.

It’s the early days of winter, the first few days of December,

Hog-killing time, necessary days for coal miners that I remember.

The chore was sort of a family gathering,

Building fires, hoisting ropes, everyone clamoring.

Building the fire upon which a barrel would rest,

Boiling gallons of water to complete our quest.

Together we climbed up a hill lifting and tugging,

The harvested animal now beyond any suffering,

Up the embankment everyone was lugging,

Once at the barrel, into the water for the dunking.

Winter’s winds swirling upward from the valley,

First small flakes, then turning to heavy flurries.

It was winter’s offering, this carcass awaiting,

All in attendance for some portion of the taking.

Once hoisted from the boiling with shouts and warnings,

My dad pointed to the metal straps, shouting and cautioning.

Standing clear, I and my brothers had little to say,

It was the way of life for coal miners these hog-killing days.

Hoisting completed and scraping begun,

It was time for the yucky parts, it was no fun.

With sharp knifes flashing this way and that,

The harvesting continued sparing neither lean or fat.

Winter’s hands were upon us during those days,

When harvesting was required as we all turned and gazed.

Barrels were emptied, portions divided,

Fire was rekindled for late evening snow riding.

Mom in the kitchen tending to her chores,

Finishing up the first portion, knowing there would be more.

Washing and cutting and wrapping was never ceasing,

Until all was put away for the long winter’s season.

By Dan R. Fowler (Papi)

for Astrid