Many years ago I went to Glenville State College to meet with John O'Brien, whose award winning book "At Home in Appalachia," which details the real life nuances and his attachment to the mountains and people of West Virginia.

I remember saying to him that I have trouble writing about the people of place and the wilderness in which they lived, giving its proper due. They certainly were survivalists.

He kindly said, after reading the Hur Herald, he thought I'd done a pretty good job, then recalling a quote by Edgar Allen Poe when discussing the first settlers of Western Virginia - "Tenanted by fierce and uncouth races of men."

I quickly thought of Calhoun's Moccasin Rangers, whose illustrious citizens banded together to maraud, pillage and kill during the Civil War while pretending to represent a higher calling.

In more recent years, as a aging man, I've said that I am the blessed man for having met a few thousand Appalachians and have found that most were good people, while at the same time have come up short giving them their due.

I complained that my view appears somewhat distorted and myopic, mostly toward a gentler side.

O'Brien suggested I go to a high mountain in the backwoods and incant their spirits to guide me. Now 86, I've been doing that.

I've come up with about the same nuances, with a few exceptions.

The early comers to this region had a pioneer spirit to lodge themselves in a wilderness, wanting to be left undisturbed by changing times, even opposed to the building of roads, and by most standards they remained poor.

Some of them were persecuted of Melungeon descent,, mixed race people who were persecuted and fled the establishments.

Walking to the bus stop in the Village of Hur during the 1940s, sometimes more than a dozen students showing up, I was not aware of their economic status, some barely having a change of clothes. My dad always said they were poor and didn't know it, maybe a blessing.

Years ago I wrote about poorness using my Grandfather John Ira McCoy and his life as an example, on the farm raising eight children.

Despite hard labor, perhaps the greatest blessing was when he put his head on the pillow every night and took inventory, he knew his status.

How many smoked hams he had in the cellar house, how many cows and pigs he had on foot, how much hay he had in the barn, and how many quart jars of food he had in storage. He knew where he stood, an earned independence.

Here in the 21st Century our dependence on corporate America and government to ensure our survival, leads to much uncertainty every new day, aware if the grids go down we're in a hurt, quickly.

Maybe the greatest blessing of living in the woods, if we can raise a turnip and kill a deer, we'll be ok.

Still, somehow I lack the insight portraying the life and times of our mountain dwelling families.

Maybe I'll get better.