I think I finally understand why I like it when it’s gray and cloudy out. It reminds me of home.

I currently live in north Florida and today we are having a bit of ‘winter’ with cold, blustery, cloudy, damp weather outside. Anyone who has ever lived in Florida and lived some where other than Florida will tell you… our colder weather is made worse by the dampness in the air; it will cut right through you. I can go home to West Virginia and brave temperatures in the 20’s easier than I can handle a dark, windy, damp 45 degree day in Florida. Today is one of those days. While it’s hard on the body, it somehow puts my soul at ease and brings me a little comfort. It makes me think of those dusty gray skies back home.

I never really saw it until I moved away. John Denver’s “dark and dusty, painted on the skies” isn’t just a clever descriptive lyric. It’s the way the sky looks a lot of the time in West Virginia. I’m sure there are scientific reasons for this that I am not ‘in the know’ about. I feel that it speaks to the people of the mountain state. West Virginians many times have been overlooked, tired, taken for granted, scuffed up… a little dirty in the face from the slaps to our pride. The history of West Virginia tells this story again and again. Voters used by the politicians they supported, miners used by the companies that employ them, and people who are misunderstood and belittled to the rest of the nation. The television shows, the jokes, obvious oversight by government. The sky is gray; it’s muddled with the dirt of people who have been pushed down and yet stand back up again and again. But that dirt isn’t shame; it’s pride and resolve. It’s the scar we bear for our defiance. The gray skies tell the story of people who keep going on the cloudiest of days. I am proud of that. I am proud of our dusty skies, and our dusty people, and I find comfort in knowing I’ll have my people through the hard times. I have appreciation for a hillbilly tune that tells of sorrow because I know there is a lighter song to follow. I’ve always heard that God never gives you more than you can handle and if so, West Virginians are living proof of that and our skies echo our pride.

I see it from the plane. I see bright blue when leaving Florida, and I begin to see the gray and the clouds when my flight gets closer to home. But it doesn’t make me depressed or sad. It makes my heart sing an Appalachian song of home. It makes me feel comforted and happy, as if I am in the right place. My body and soul know it. My mind begins to feel at ease, and my heart is home. In the words of Dwight Yoakam, “bury me along the Big Sandy, under those blue-gray mountains, rest my soul in those hills of coal, until this old earth doesn’t tremble”. Those dark and dusty skies tell me I am home once again.