Fishbowl Reflections on Appalachia & Fort Wayne

I had the honor of participating in MKM Architecture’s Fishbowl conversations series earlier. We talked about interpersonal risk and psychological safety, including my experiences leaving Appalachia for the Midwest. As I reflected on this conversation I found that I left an important part of my experience out and I feel compelled to share it here.

The first time I left Appalachia was for college, my parents moved me to Charlottesville, VA in 1997. Our goodbye took place in the Kroger parking lot on Barracks Road. My mom and I cried (which seemed to confuse my dad), and told me, "Just remember, the people here are not like at home." I wasn't completely sure what she meant at the time. But I quickly learned.

Being deeply Appalachian in Charlottesville was hard for me. Even though I grew up in Virginia, there is a wide cultural gap between Southwest Virginia and Piedmont. The first and most obvious difference was my accent. I was often told I couldn't be from Virginia and must be from Texas or Georgia (these people clearly had never talked to anyone from Texas or Georgia). I was presumed to be ignorant and jokingly asked about snake handling churches. Once, feeling isolated and embarrassed, I lied that I had gone to cotillion and come out like a proper Southern girl, just to try and fit in.

After graduating, I spent a year in Richmond, VA, where that feeling of isolation and exclusion continued. The old ladies on River Road who asked, "Who are your people?" were always disappointed with my answer. My experiences in Charlottesville and Richmond made the decision to move to Indiana many years later even harder. I wondered: would this place be like the others?

This passage from the excellent Appalachian memoir All That's Unseen by Emilee Hackney captures the struggle I felt then and still worry about now:

In my Appalachia, loyalty is synonymous with respect. You are raised to revere the mountains and their people. Your people. The sense of community is so strong because the world beyond, you hear, is strange and cold and unforgiving, and you know this must be true because that's where the politicians are, the coal barons, the rich and powerful who look down on Appalachia and care about it only as far as they can take advantage of it.

There are many reasons people don't leave Appalachia, but this narrative of trepidation is a major one. When you belong to such a rooted and close-knit community, leaving it for something far away and unknown almost makes you a traitor. Like saying you're not good enough for me to the people and places that raised you.

But, with hope and the relentlessness of the Appalachian women before me, I decided I could do anything for 3-5 years on my way to my next professional goal. I took the job in Fort Wayne, IN, with trepidation, as I knew there was a good chance I would never return home.

I worried then, and still do, that my people back home feel I've betrayed, forgotten, or disappointed them.

What I found, eventually, in Indiana was not what I found in Charlottesville and Richmond.

My transition into the Fort Wayne community wasn't fast or easy, but it was marked by kindness and genuine interest. Instead of condescension, doubt, and judgment, I was met with curiosity and acceptance. I hung around long enough to be invited to serve and contribute, just like a local. This is the safety that allows others to come to a place and stay.

In my Fishbowl interview Zach asked if there is anything here that “makes me feel like I do about Appalachia?” I said certain people, but it is also my ability to be myself.

I can be my full self in Fort Wayne with the accent, weird sayings, experience cleaning a turkey, always missing the mountains, and all, a displaced Appalachian who found a bonus home in the Midwest. Fort Wayne is home to my husband, daughter, and me. But Appalachia will always be my home.

What a blessing to get what you need and still love what you've always had, even if only at a distance.