Growing Up Wild: A Childhood on an Appalachian Farm
In the vast embrace of the Appalachian Mountains of western North Carolina, my childhood unfolded like an uncharted adventure. Our family farm, sprawling and untamed, was more than just a home—it was a universe teeming with life, memories, and a kind of magic that only such a setting could bestow. Growing up in the 1990s and early 2000s on this land, we were not merely children; we were explorers, dreamers, and, above all, we were feral.
The Land and Its Creatures
The farm was a living tapestry of rolling pastures and dense woods, dotted with cows and a couple of horses that seemed as much a part of the landscape as the ancient trees. Each morning, the mist would rise from the fields, revealing a day ripe with possibility. We set out with a few dogs and the cat to catch the horses and we were off, trotting through fields and along trails that wound through the woods.
Wildlife was our constant companion. Deer, foxes, and even the occasional black bear were not strangers but neighbors, their presence a reminder of the untamed world beyond our doorstep. The air was always filled with the sounds of nature—the call of a hawk, the rustle of leaves, the gentle lowing of cattle.
A Life Without Curfews
There were no curfews on the farm. Time was measured not by clocks but by the position of the sun in the sky. Mornings were for chores—feeding animals and tending to the endless tasks that farm life demanded. But once the work was done, the day was ours. We roamed freely, our boundaries marked only by the natural edges of the farm: the river, the dense forest, and the distant mountains.
ATVs were our chariots, carrying us over rough terrain, through streams, and up to the secret places where we built forts and imagined worlds. The river was a lifeline, a place to cool off in the summer heat. The waterfalls, with their eternal rush and misty spray, were our playgrounds. We would leap from rocks into the deep pools below, fearless and free.
The Magic of the Mountains
There was a magic to our existence, an enchantment woven into the very fabric of our days. Every corner of the farm held a story, every rustling leaf a secret. We believed in fairies and forest spirits, convinced that the land itself was alive with mystical energy. Nights were for bonfires, where we would sit under a canopy of stars, sharing tales both real and imagined, the crackling flames illuminating our faces and the vast night sky above us.
Feral and Free
We were feral children in the best possible way—wild and untamed, yet deeply connected to the rhythms of nature and the responsibilities of farm life. We knew how to mend a fence, birth a calf, and find our way home through the densest fog. We learned resilience and self-reliance, skills that have stayed with us long after we left the farm.
Our childhood was not one of modern conveniences but of simple, profound joys. It was a time when life was direct and immediate, when the most important lessons were learned not in classrooms but in the wide-open spaces of our farm. We were shaped by the land, by the animals we cared for, and by the freedom we were given to explore and grow.
Memories to Last a Lifetime
Now, looking back, I realize how unique and precious those years were. The farm, with its endless horizons and boundless freedom, was the perfect cradle for a wild and wonderful childhood. We carry those memories with us, like a hidden treasure, a reminder of a time when the world was vast and full of wonder, and we were its unrestrained explorers.
Growing up on that farm in the Appalachians was more than just a way of life—it was an adventure that shaped who we are. It was a childhood of magic and memories, of wildness and wonder.
I wrote this blog in June of this year and something told me it wasn’t time to post. Hurricane Helene hit us in September. The devastation has been heart wrenching. Seeing my people hurting deeply as they mourn so many unfathomable losses. With that said… The people of Appalachia have shown a resilience and strength that’s nothing short of humbling. Facing down challenges, our communities came together in ways that reveal the true heart of this region. Neighbors turned into heroes, lending hands, sharing food, and offering shelter to those in need. Out of hardship, a new kind of beauty emerged—one grounded in unity, compassion, and the shared spirit of rebuilding. Together, we’ve shown that even in the toughest times, the heart of Appalachia beats strong, and our roots run deep. This experience has proven that our community is not just a place; it’s a family, built on kindness, grit, and unwavering support. I love each one of you so much and I am so proud to be Appalachian.
