Appalachian Dreams

     There are several writers whose work has inspired me; several people who have influenced and encouraged my writing. However, there are only a select few who I can credit for creating me, creating this love of writing within me. I honored Ray Bradbury last week. This week, I honor Mr. Joseph, my sixth grade teacher. 

      In the summer of 1982, Mr. Joseph took myself and two other students on a cross country road trip. The trip included a hike that spanned the Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Virginia portions of the Appalachian Trail.

            Mr. Joseph is a rabid fan of Mark Twain’s stories of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. A writer himself, Mr. Joseph would read to his class chapters from his own book each day just before class let out. It was a story of adventure that rivaled that of Mr. Twain. The students loved it. I loved it.

     Shortly after our trip I kept a journal outlining, to the best of my memory, events and things we saw. That journal has become a short story titled Appalachian Dreams. By pressing the boundaries of creative non-fiction, I have attempted to capture in Appalachian Dreams that “Tom Finn” spirit and style that Mr. Joseph loved so much. I do so to emphasize his heart’s desire to be a character in a Twain novel, and his boyish aspirations to experience such adventure. I also use this Twain "voice" as a tribute to Mr. Joseph whose influence has made a monumental impact on my life. He’s one of the reasons I fell in love with writing and storytelling, giving me my very first taste of it. No, none of the real characters are from the south, none of us really talk this way, although, in the essence of the man that Mr. Joseph is, not to write about our adventures on the “Trail” in that spirit would seem against all that the trip stood for. I do not use the device as an insult to anyone’s education or intelligence; it’s simply flavor, in honor of the stories that Mr. Joseph loves. I have always seen Mr. Joseph as Huck Finn leading us on an amazing adventure to find a lost treasure buried somewhere in the Maryland/Virginia/Pennsylvania landscape.

This wasn’t just a cross country trip. It was a Mark Twain adventure, and for a brief slice of life, we were all characters in this incredible story. 

The following is a short excerpt from Appalachian Dreams: 

That Maryland mornin in ’82 was crisp and chilly. We’d arrived by vehicle the night before. It’d taken the better part of a week to get there. The lushness of the area was amazin. I’d never seen so many trees in my young life. Nostalgia was so thick you could smell the gunpowder of muskets and the smoke of cannon fire and Civil War history was alive in the design of the New England style buildins. Somewhere in your mind you could faintly hear the bugle call of “charge” of union forces echoing over the meadow. There was a sense of fall in the air giving me a feelin of giddiness I hadn’t felt since I kissed Jenny Lee Avery behind the old mill that last Summer.

After near two hours of preparin and packin, we were ready to move out. Lookin off inta the brush just beyond a sign signifyin the entrance to the trail, I felt a bit of a faithless pit in my stomach. The trail was a haunting thing. I reckon it had to do with ghosts of the Civil War and such. Still, there wouldn’t be much nostalgic treasure to find in all that as far as I could tell, though Mr. Joseph saw things different. He knew there was treasure on that trail and we set out to find it.

            Brian took out his rabbits foot an gave it a good rub then put it back in his pocket.

            “Wudd’ya do that for” I asked

             “It’s good luck, ya know?”

            “Can I try?”

            “Naw. Anyone touch it now an it’d rub off my luck.” He said.

            “That’s just a wives tale. It don’t really work.”

            “One time I was walking down the track over by Saw Creek Mill…” Brian explained, “…and my foot become stuck. The Loggin Express was ten minutes early that day. I couldn’t get loose and the express was barrin down on me. I thought fer sure I was done for, so I took out my rabbits foot and began ta rub it. The conductor must’a seen me cause all a sudden I could hear the breaks scrape’n an straight away sparks come a shootin out the wheels. By some miracle the conductor managed to stop the thing some five foot from me.”

            “If it wasn’t for that rabbits foot you’da been squished!” I shouted.

            “Ain’t that the truth.” He said.

Thinkin more clearly on it today, I can’t say I believe his story was the straight truth. Regardless, I spent a good portion of the rest of the trip thinkin of some way ta get that rabbits foot in ta my own pocket. One thing my life has always been short on is luck. I reckon that foot would’a fixed me up right.

Excerpt from

Appalachian Dreams

By M.L. Falconer

Mr. Joseph is still alive and kicking. He continues to embark on multi-mile hikes, cross country bike trips and other amazing adventures with his wife and kids. You can find his work, Family on the Mountain at Amazon.com.