Coal Camp

We live in old coal camp house. For those of you who aren't from Appalachia or familiar with the region's history, coal camps consist of mostly of small, identical homes constructed to house the miners employed by the coal companies. Basically, the coal companies built their own towns, complete with "company stores" which accepted payment, sometimes exclusively, in the form of scrip, the Monopoly money some companies paid.

The companies owned the houses, the stores, and often the local government. This particular form of oppression was largely left by the wayside by the 1950's (though don't get me started on the long arm of Big Coal in the state of West Virginia) and the camp houses sold, mostly to miners. Our particular house was purchased by Fuzzy's paternal grandpa, Matt, who had been a miner all his life, and Edie, his wife. They raised three sons and a nephew in its 5 small rooms. When I get frustrated with this house, with its utter lack of insulation, with the crumbling plaster ceilings or the overabundance of faux wood paneling, I think of Matt and Edie. I think of how proud they must of been to own this house and how much care they took with it.


These peonies are pushing through the soil now. They were planted by Edie at least thirty years ago, and are still going strong. In a few weeks, the flowers will bloom.

Few of the residents of our little coal camp work in the mines today. Most work in town, at the university or the drug companies. The train tracks that once ran past are now a barely discernible path through the woods, and no coal dust smears our windows. Still, this little touch of beauty in what was once a hardscrabble place makes me a little more appreciative of our easy lives.

I still can't stand that fucking paneling, though.