Back of the old fiddle tune, “The Belled Buzzard”, is a tradition which had its origins in the mountains. The story concerns a settlement along a river bottom. One bank of the river was bordered for miles by high un-scalable bluffs crowned with scrub timber, the home and breeding place of thousands of buzzards.
Hog raising was a source of income of the area. Mast from the acorn bearing trees furnished food for the droves of hogs earmarked and turned into the woods each year, to be rounded up n the fall ready for market.
One summer hog cholera broke out among the porkers. The buzzards, feasting on the dead carcasses, carried disease from one section of the county to another. There was an unwritten law that these birds should not be killed, but the farmers were aware that, unless some action was taken to check the spread of the disease, their hogs, together with their income would be wiped out entirely.
A meeting was called. It was decided to capture one of the birds and fasten a small sheep bell to it, in the hope that it would cause them to leave. One of the birds was accordingly trapped and belled. His arrival among the others created a great commotion and in a few days the flock of buzzards disappeared, only the belled buzzard remaining. Finally he, too, took flight.
At the end of the summer there was an epidemic of typhoid fever in the area, many dying. About this time the belled buzzard reappeared, the tinkle of his bell being plainly heard as he soared about the farms. He came and went time after time and always following his reappearance some sort of calamity happened. The return of the belled bird aroused apprehension in the minds of the more superstitious and his presence became associated with their misfortunes. They believed the repulsive fowl was possessed of an evil spirit. Many believe he still roams the skies, as belled buzzard casts a spell of gloom over them.
The tune “The Belled Buzzard” has been handed down through the years with this tradition, the plucking of the fiddle string in certain places in the music representing the tinkle of his bell!
The notion of the South as a “family affair” is the key to Southern loyalties. Both the Southernism and the Southerness of the South reflect the “clan-virtues” (and their defects) of the old frontier and rural folkways – folkways that were first of all American and then Southern. But in so far as these folkways have had a longer and stronger hold on them, Southerners are prone to look upon themselves as Southerners and then as citizens of the United States, this is most definitely the case in Western North Carolina.
“You can get a Southerner out of the South, but you can’t get the South out of a Southerner”- Old Saying
In a society which measured wealth in terms of land, primary emphasis was placed on personal qualities and personal relationships. These together with family connections, continue to dominate Southern business and politics. Hence, too, personal religion and the ethical code of honor.
Of all personal ties family ties are the strongest. The Southerner looking back on his childhood sees it as all “entangles with the past,” with the loves, the loyalties, the heartaches and the simple good time of a big family. As the children of the Old South scattered over the region, the home place and home folks still served as a symbol if not a bond of unity. Someone is always keeping the home place, someone is always there, and no matter how seldom or unexpectedly we may come in, we know someone will rise to give our welcome. This feeling of homewardness and at-home-ness gives a comforting sense of security and stability in time as well as place, a living sense of the long continuity of human life, an awareness of the past as living in the present and almost as real as the present. And the identification of the individual with a long line of kinfolks and their achievements gives a sense of personal participation in the history and tradition.
Along with the satisfaction of personal participation goes the responsibility of noblesse oblige, the obligation of carrying on a tradition of techniques and attitudes handed down from the fathers to the sons.
In the folkways of Southern gastronomy, eating and drinking have played a part not only in general hospitality and sociability but also in community gatherings where the needs of work, religion and politics as well as gregariousness are satisfied. Such was the case in harvest suppers, corn shucking, butchering day dinners, and all day singing and dinner on the grounds, church picnics, barbeques and fish muddles. And when the eating was light, as at frolics and dances, the drinking was apt to be heavy.
The jug and the bottle were already firmly established in the backwoods pattern where poor roads made the jug (without benefit of government excise tax) the easiest way to get corn out of corn-patches (especially in the mountains). Where money was scarce, whisky also was used for barter.
Many, many generations ago, long before the white man was seen in the land, a large happy tribe of Cherokee lived around the base of the mountain in North Carolina now known as Bald Mountain. It was then covered from base to summit with gigantic trees, beneath which flourished a dense undergrowth of vines, bushes and shrubbery. One day, to the terror of the tribe, and immense bird soared above them, overshadowing them with his outstretched wings. Finally with terrific cries, he settled upon the very top of the top of the mountain, shaking the surrounding country as he alighted. That a bird so vast should make his eyry so near them was dreadful enough, even to the warriors of the tribe, who plainly foresaw how ineffectual their weapons must prove against a flying foe of such huge dimensions. But the bird kept quiet, to the great relief of all; and, as day followed day, without his reappearance, his residence over them gradually lost its terrors, except that the boldest hunter among them dared not pursue his game when it fled toward the summit of the mountain.
One night the tribe were wrapped in sleep, when they were suddenly awakened by the shrieking of the bird and the quaking of the earth at his movements. With one fell swoop, he rush down upon the valley like a storm, crying and roaring with ferocity, and causing the trees and rocks to shake at his coming. Men, women and children fled in tumult, dispersing in all directions, like leaves before a tornado. At length the monster withdrew to his eyry, and the slowly regathered tribe discovered that he had borne off in his cruel talons the beloved child of one of the chiefs. Every year thereafter the feathered horror repeated his descent bearing off a young child as his prey. The afflicted Cherokee knew not what to do. They shrank in dread from the unequal combat with a bird whose size, strength and ferocity were so prodigious. They invoked the Great Spirit for relief, but He seemed deaf to their invocations. They felt that some great, unexpiated sins this distressing annual sacrifice was exacted of them and they submitted as to the inevitable.
At length a chief arose who could not and would not endure the tyranny and rapacity of the bird of the mountain. Just before the period at which the horrid annual visitation was expected, when the fathers and mothers looked upon their little ones with the fearful certainty that one would be torn from them to be tortured, killed and devoured, this chief called the tribe together and eloquently exhorted them to make an effort to destroy the bird, even though they should themselves perish in the attempt. Aroused by his example and his appeal, and driven, indeed, to desperation by the repeated sacrifices they had undergone, the warriors unanimously agreed to follow the chief in his perilous, if not forlorn, enterprise against the mountain horror. The women and children were placed at a distance in secure retreats and the warriors, armed with all their offensive and defensive weapons, encircled the base of the mountain and resolutely began the ascent. Their progress was slow and difficult up the steep acclivity, their way impeded at every step by the rank growth that clothed the mountain from foot to top. Yet they pressed forward and upward, resolved to do or die, until, at length, they were suddenly and simultaneously arrested all around the mountain by an unexpected spectacle that froze the very blood in their veins with fear. They beheld before them, not merely one monstrous bird, but an innumerable congregation of the same mammoth and savage species, clustering close in rank on rank to the very summit of the mountain, glaring with fierce eyes, and with beaks and wings extended, ready to rush down upon and exterminate the invaders of their heights. Yielding all hope before this appalling apparition, the warriors cast away their weapons and fell upon their faces,, to await the destruction so surely impending over them.
At this supreme moment the heart of the chief did not fail him. He saw as clearly as his followers did how unavailing would be their strength and weapons against this multitudinous brood of monsters: but he was at the same time inspired with a faith that the Great Spirit would not permit the whole tribe to perish before these evil birds, if He were now called on devoutly for succor. Elevating his tall form, therefore, erect above his prostrate people, and raising high his hands and eyes to heaven, he, with a loud voice, earnestly besought the Great Spirit to interpose now in behalf of his helpless and afflicted tribe. The Great Spirit heard.
Before the infuriated birds could rush upon their victims, there flashed forth from every quarter of the cloudless sky vivid and noiseless lightning concentrating upon the mountain, slaying every bird of the foul brood, riving the trees and wrapping all the heights in a devouring conflagration. The amazed and awe stricken Cherokee arose and gazed in solemn silence as the flames swept furiously up the mountain, destroying everything in their course; but as the last tongue of fire leaped up from the highest peak and expired (its mission of salvation completed), the tribe raised loud and long their song of thanksgiving for their miraculous deliverance.
From that day to this, it is said, no vegetation has grown upon the mountain within the area blasted by the avenging fires of heaven. The anniversary of their great deliverance was duly celebrated by the tribe from year to year, and thus the tradition was handed down from generation to generation, till it was narrated by a lingering member of the tribe to the new arrivals. Of late, Bald Mountain has given forth mysterious rumblings, shocking the adjacent country, and scientists now see in this wondrous legend a veiled account of a pre-historic volcanic eruption, of which Bald Mountain was the center.
Justice is sometimes slanted in a peculiar manner in the backhills. Things move from the sublime to the ridiculous in a singular way. Take the “bull trial” of the 1880’s. Old timers continue to talk and shake their heads over this famous trial. It is a tall tale from the windy hilltops and cannot be verified by persons still living!
A mountain farmer owned a bull that was no respecter of fences or persons. He was monarch of his domain and the best stake and rider fence in the country was no barrier to his invasions. Even the most modern fence on the more up to date farms was only a slight inconvenience to his migrations. He was the terror of the community and even his own despaired of controlling him. Finally, the bull invaded one too many cornfields. The enraged farmer, whose crop had been destroyed, swore out a warrant and had the animal arrested. The law brought his bellowing majesty to the shade of a large oak tree where the trial was held. The case against the bull was plain enough but the proceedings lasted almost all day. Lawyers threw aside their coats and pleaded for or against the aggressor. Witnesses swore, natives cursed, and the bull bellowed his displeasure. After careful deliberation, the jury found the animal guilty in a degree deserving punishment. The verdict rendered, the justice of the peace assessed fine and costs. Then came the puzzling question of payment. After considering the problem from all angles, the judge decided to butcher the animal and use the meat as payment. A barbecue followed with judge, jury, lawyers, witnesses and the general public taking part. It was a festive occasion but the old timers still shake their heads and say it was not a fair trial. They point out that the judge neglected to appoint an interpreter for the bull.
Back of the old fiddle tune, “The Belled Buzzard”, is a tradition which had its origins in the mountains. The story concerns a settlement along a river bottom. One bank of the river was bordered for miles by high un-scalable bluffs crowned with scrub timber, the home and breeding place of thousands of buzzards.
