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Appalachian Winter

Appalachian Winter Pam Shingler Appalachian Heritage, Volume 25, Number 1, Winter 1997, pp. 12-14 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1997.0029 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/435752/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 20:08 GMT from JHU Libraries Appalachian Winter Pam Shingler Ask most any Appalachian what season sets the heart's sap to running, what time of year in these tight-knit hills brings a lilt to the twang, and he'll probably shuffle his feet a little, fold his arms in a self-hug, and wax mushy over one of three. If he chooses spring, he'll talk about the myriad of greens that vie for attention on the hills, the new leaves and all of the possibilities between yellow and blue, dappled with purple redbud and white sarvis. If another mountaineer opts for fall, she might rave over the violence of the red spectrum, flush against a blinding blue sky. From lemon to gold, from cerise to orange, the palette is passionate and portentous. Those who prefer summer cite the season's sensual bombardment: the scent of honeysuckle and wild rose, the sound of doves and blue- birds, the taste of tomatoes and blackberries, the sight of daylilies and http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

Appalachian Winter

Appalachian Review , Volume 25 (1) – Jan 8, 2014

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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
2692-9244
eISSN
2692-9287

Abstract

Pam Shingler Appalachian Heritage, Volume 25, Number 1, Winter 1997, pp. 12-14 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1997.0029 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/435752/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 20:08 GMT from JHU Libraries Appalachian Winter Pam Shingler Ask most any Appalachian what season sets the heart's sap to running, what time of year in these tight-knit hills brings a lilt to the twang, and he'll probably shuffle his feet a little, fold his arms in a self-hug, and wax mushy over one of three. If he chooses spring, he'll talk about the myriad of greens that vie for attention on the hills, the new leaves and all of the possibilities between yellow and blue, dappled with purple redbud and white sarvis. If another mountaineer opts for fall, she might rave over the violence of the red spectrum, flush against a blinding blue sky. From lemon to gold, from cerise to orange, the palette is passionate and portentous. Those who prefer summer cite the season's sensual bombardment: the scent of honeysuckle and wild rose, the sound of doves and blue- birds, the taste of tomatoes and blackberries, the sight of daylilies and

Journal

Appalachian ReviewUniversity of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2014

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