Occupy Mountains

A little over a year ago I drove 14 hours down the Appalachian Trail to cut the familial umbilical cord and settle in what I hoped to be a grimy red state south of the Mason Dixon, filled with moonshine nights and shit-kicking days. Now, living in close quarters with Rustic Village, the most run-down trailer park in town, and feeding my goats in dresses and boots on hot mornings, I really am living the grime.

I used to park five blocks away from the library so I could walk down and then walk another five to get to the café. I met all kinds of people this way. One old man used to wander around the sidewalks, bible in hand, and tell me that I was going to kick the world. I hugged him. I met a man with the batman symbol tattooed on the back of his head. Men that can’t stay awake on the steps outside, women that yell at their babies; groups of young anarchists that sleep at the mission with their puppy because they refuse to work.

You can’t find these people on a map.

I’ve always wanted to be jailed for justice like Alice Walker, Maxine Hong Kingston, or of course, Howard Zinn. In fact moving south along the east coast was somewhat of a pilgrimage for me, one step closer to Spelman College and the history of it. It’s heartbreaking and magical to watch Howard Zinn’s legend spread with Occupy Wall Street like butter on Paula Dean’s toast.

People aren’t occupying anything here in these rural woods besides their daily lives. All the physical hustle is in the cities. The silent philosophers and activists that dot the mountainsides away from busy intersections just have to hustle in their minds or with friends over hand ground chai or strawberry moonshine on warm nights after work.

I caught a glimpse of Occupy Chicago. I wish I could be there, but I would have to give up the grime and I won’t do that. Instead I’ll stay here with this summer’s cilantro hanging from the ceiling and my mister playing his banjo and look out over the caving tin roofs in Rustic Village. I'll live the other side of Occupy. And by “the other side” I don’t mean those that oppose, but those that aren’t physically there to partake. Maybe I’ll start a blog about it.