Lois is the president of the Mercer County Historic Society. She grew up by the farm where this cemetary lies. Lois is a ball of fire that has given the MCHS new life. She epitomizes the spirit of the people whose ancestors came here. She can be pragmatic, diplomatic or unyielding depending on the situation. She has helped raise a great deal of money for preservation. She is open minded and is bringing the MCHS into the 21st century. A web site is being developed. And her unique cookbook should be back from the publishers soon. So if you want a recipe for possum stew...:)

I've posted this poem, which to me sums it up, written by WV poet, Muriel Marie Dressler of St. Albans who died in 2000. This was written in 1977. Dressler moved from WV but her heart stayed here. On this small hillside family cemetary, the wind blows constantly from the mountaintop to the holler below.

Appalachia
by Muriel Miller Dressler

I am Appalachia. In my veins
Runs fierce mountain pride; the hill-fed streams
Of passion; and, stranger, you don’t know me!
You’ve analyzed my every move—you still
Go away shaking your head. I remain
Enigmatic. How can you find rapport with me—
You, who never stood in the bowels of hell,
Never felt a mountain shake and open its jaws
To partake of human sacrifice?
You, who never stood on a high mountain
Watching the sun unwind its spiral rays;
Who never searched the glens for wild flowers,
Never picked mayapples or black walnuts; never ran
Wildly through the woods in pure delight,
Nor dangled your feet in a lazy creek?
You, who never danced to wild sweet notes,
Outpouring of nimble-fingered fiddlers;
Who never just “sat a spell,” on a porch,
Chewing and whittling; or hearing in pastime
The deep-throated bay of chasing hounds
And hunters shouting with joy, “He’s treed!”
You, who never once carried a coffin
To a family plot high up on a ridge
Because mountain folk know it’s best to live
Where breezes from the hills whisper, “You’re home”;
You, who never saw from the valley that graves on a hill
Bring easement of pain to those below?
I tell you, stranger, hill folk know
What life is about; they don’t need pills
To tranquilize the sorrow and joy of living.
I am Appalachia: and, stranger,
Though you’ve studied me, you still don’t know.