My earliest memories are of diggin’. Diggin’ holes with sticks in the dirt. Diggin’ for
treasure in the garden. Diggin’ crawdads and salamanders out of the creek. Daddy helped dig holes in the mountain, he said, and that was why he came home all covered in coal dust. One day he stopped comin’ home, and Ma, shakin’ at the kitchen table and holdin’ our dirty hands, told us they’d dug too far, too deep, and Daddy didn’t make it out. There was a memorial, but we didn’t dig a hole for him. The mountain took care of that.
We dug through the pantry, but without Daddy to fill it, it was always empty. When we dug through Ma’s coin purse, it was the same. So she taught us to dig elsewhere. We dug for roots and greens in the woods. Maisie, the coonhound, dug rabbits out of their burrows and possums out of their nests. Boone and I dug through hand-me-downs lookin’ for britches, and we dug through old schoolbooks lookin’ for literacy. When the spring rains rolled in, we dug in the earth for nightcrawlers. We put the nightcrawlers on fishhooks and dug our bare toes into the sand on the bank of the creek; we dug for patience as we waited with our cane poles. When the ground thawed, we dug holes for seeds. We dug up the weeds, and then, when it was harvest time, we dug up taters, harvested beans and corn and okra. Come winter, we dug through the wood pile for kindlin’ and dug through the coals for a flame. We’d dig ourselves under the big quilt in front of the hearth with Ma and Maisie when the nights had our teeth chatterin’.
When I was 16, I begged Ma to let me work in the mines, diggin’ like Daddy had.
“I could dig us up a livin’ that way,” I said.
“You can dig us a livin’ right here,” she said. “You and Boone are the only family I have left. I’m not about to let either of you dig yourselves into the same grave Daddy did.”
So we stayed in the holler, but we kept diggin’. I dug for gratitude when times were hard. I dug desperately for the few comforts I could find, clingin’ to promises of provision. All I could think to do was dig our way through the hard.
But Boone, he wanted to dig us a way out. He dug into his resourcefulness, and when that wasn’t enough, he dug up some dishonesty. What Boone did was dig himself into a load of trouble, and I had to dig him out.
It didn’t take much diggin’ at all to know that Mr. Abersol was unsavory. Everybody in the holler knew he was a drunk with a still who sold moonshine in town. But while everybody else minded their business and looked away, Boone saw an opportunity, so at 17, he dug himself into the business with Mr. Abersol. We didn’t tell Ma, and I always had a bad feelin’. But Boone dug up money that way, and for a year, we didn’t have to dig so hard just to live. But diggin’ your way into a hole is always easier than climbin’ out.
When Abersol’s cousin joined the little business, he started diggin’ into Boone’s share of the profit, So Boone dug up an argument with Abersol.
“I want my fair share, or I’ll dig up the evidence and have you in the county jail by tomorrow,” Boone threatened.
“And I’ll dig a grave and have you in it just as fast, boy,” said the drunk.
That night, Boone stumbled in the door with a black eye.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“You’re no better than those old coal miners, Boone,” I told him. “Diggin’ too deep into places you should have stayed out of.”
“I know it.” He couldn’t keep his voice from tremblin’. “I’m scared, David.”
“You and me both.”
That night, I dug up a new fear: diggin’ my brother’s grave. That night, I dug up Daddy’s old shotgun.
I will always dig my brother out of trouble. When we were boys, I dug his leg out of a possum trap. I dug his boot out of the creek. I dug him out of a brawl with a neighbor. I dug the ticks out of his back. Now, I’m diggin’ for him again. I’m diggin’ a hole, and I’m plantin’ an old man’s body like a seed.
Anna Meegan is a Sophomore at University of the Cumberlands. She is pursuing a Bachelor’s in Integrated Communication with a minor in Creative Writing. She has been writing stories, poems, and songs for as long as she can remember. When she’s not at college, Anna lives with her family in the middle of nowhere outside of Corbin, Kentucky. In her free time she can be found making art, laughing at her own jokes, or frolicking in the woods somewhere.
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