RICH: The cabin

Published 2:10 pm Saturday, May 3, 2025

Dust to dust, ashes to ashes is the way we often say it. But the King James Bible says it more eloquently, “For dust thou art and unto dust, thou shall return.”

It is often used in funerals to remind the congregation that from the dust we rise up and to that dust – under six feet of it — we shall return.

Here, however, I’ll use it to give a different example. I’ve made no secret that both of my parents were raised poor in the Appalachian foothills. They were not “dirt poor.” That was a phrase used for the poorest of the poor — who had no wood flooring, just dirt to live on.

Still, they both came of age in “rottening” wood shacks with little porches that heaved with sadness and tin roofs. Back in those days, no one aspired to have tin roofs. They dreamed of shingled roofs and walls that didn’t need newspaper stuck in the crevices to keep out some of the chill. They had dirt yards where chickens pecked and old shabby barns that held skinny milk cows.

I am proud of Mama and Daddy. They escaped that poverty and anyone from the Appalachians will tell you, it’s a hard cycle of life to break. Here’s what intrigues me most: They left from separate parts of the mountains, not knowing each other. They chose towns close to each other but when they met, back up in the mountains, at Daddy’s river baptizing, my beautiful Mama, who had men galore infatuated with her, whispered to her father, “See that boy over there? I’m gonna marry him.”

When she did, it was a strong union and one in which both understood the hard upbringings they had endured in the mountains. They were always kind, loving and mindful to return regularly to their roots and to take me and show me the difference in their childhoods and mine. And, also, to be proud of our families who were strong in faith, integrity, and worketh hard.

 “Little’un, let me learn you somethin’. In this ol’ life, there’s no big I’s or little you’s. We’re all the same in the eyes of God.” 

Daddy’s tone was firm.

Both parents gave me much advice and wisdom but this one piece may be the most valuable that I have toted with me down through the journey of life. It has enabled me to step between worlds of poor, uneducated or rich and famous.

When I met Tink’s father, one of the most famous executives in television history, I sat down in a living room that cost more than the little brick house in which I grew of age. I looked over his shoulder at a swimming pool, tennis court, and the Bel Air Country Club across the way. In a split second, remembering Daddy’s command, I made up my mind. I’d put on no airs.            “

“Tell me about yourself,” said Grant Tinker, the man I always called by both names until it became a laugh between us.

I took a deep breath. 

“Well, I come from very poor Appalachian people. Some who struggled to read and others who signed their names with an X. But we’re good people. We believe in God, country, hard work and integrity.”

He tilted his head and smiled. Thus, was begun a beautiful, unbelievable friendship.

It is with irony that I have returned to the mountains to a tiny, tin-roofed cabin. I can stand in the center and look through the entire place.  

”Imagine 10 people living in this size house,” I said to Tink about the cabin he found and fell in love with as a place to escape a busy life. 

He shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t imagine any such.

“And, an outhouse instead of a bathroom,” I added.

Dust to dust, tin roof to tin roof. I’m right back where my parents started. And, I’m glad for it, too.

Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of the Stella Bankwell mystery series. Visit www.rondarich.com to sign up for her free newsletter.