r/Appalachia

There is an attempt to organize a general strike on May 1st across various left wing parties and organization. Please spread the word.

I know that various Marxist organizations and I believe General Strike US are among them.

There ain’t no such thing as too many taters, honey.

You’re Irish. That’s how we honor the ones before us.

Our people crossed an ocean, six weeks on a groaning sailboat.

Stepped onto strange docks thin as fence posts, blistered palms still raw from the ropes.

While men in clean coats told them they were worthless as the stones they'd haul.

Calloused Irish hands built half the East Coast.

Finally said to hell with this, walked west until land rose into rolling hills so green they ached for home.

In the hollows, they sat at Cherokee fires and passed the same bowl.

Shared seed when frost came, learned every ridge's name while lowlanders signed papers to push the tribes out of their homes.

Our ancestors looked their neighbors in the eye and chose different.

When freedom moved north in whispers, they knew every notch in the Cumberland Gap, every river,

where a human being could vanish and step out somewhere safe.

Confederates knew better than to come past the tree line.

Mountain men never stood out in the open. They waited where you wouldn't see it coming.

So no.

There ain’t no such thing as too many taters. That’s not just supper. It’s history —

boiled soft, served from cast‑iron carried across the ocean.

(Holler Herb For One To Deceptively Cash)

By Bocephus Jackson, The Hemlock Bard, ©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved

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“Every man’s life is a fairy tale written by God’s fingers.” — Hans Christian Andersen

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The garden tells stories worth sharing,

In life, as nature inevitably shows up,

Patience always pays through caring,

As plants listen while people disrupt.

In the Kentucky hills came a new strain,

It was kindly called ‘Appalachian Ash,’

Hitting as a coal-carrying freight train,

Holler herb for one to deceptively cash.

Farmer Dale stopped growing weed,

Wanting to change his life directly,

Fixated on personal growth, not need,

Otherwise, he would grow a pot-belly.

High in the clouds, he was planted,

His motto: “Don't worry, be hempy,”

High as a Georgia pine, he lamented,

How the highs aplenty left him empty.

So he invested in a new familial sow,

Affectionately naming it ‘Dank Crawl,’

As a consumption companion now,

Facing life’s immediate rises and falls.

Making joint decisions in life and love,

As an odd pair of toking troubadours,

They are high-maintenance best buds,

Weaving a new kind of yarn as folklore.

With the crosses that one must endure,

Smoking a fresh doobie to begin again,

Extending a Canterbury Tale allure,

The cost of living high as immoral sin.

To deal with inquiries of their tummies,

Together within the ash-cloudy fog,

It was good until hit with the munchies,

Then Dale was eating high off the hog.

As starkly dark as gut-ache poetry,

Hitting the road, please never forget,

A bird in hand is worth two in the belly,

D.C. turned a carcass in the couplet.

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“Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.” — Mark Twain

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Author’s Reflection

“Stories are the communal currency of humanity.” — Tahir Shah

Given my love of the syncretic nature of Appalachian folklore, this Bardic Inverse of Geoffrey Chaucer’s 14th-century Canterbury Tales feels inevitable, doesn't it? Yes, I hear you saying, “It's about time, Mother Trucker!” Because of this, reinterpreting Appalachian aphorisms will become a new series — ‘Canterbury Told Appalachian Aphorisms.’

Making the medieval modern, this should be a hoot, celebrating the folks back home as a wayfarer’s weed wisdom with Chaucer’s social and/or moral observations. Therein lies a full harvest of potent potential. But alas, D.C., we didn't know you well enough…

The opening stanza acts as a synopsis of the entire Canterbury tale: Even in change, avarice determines fate, whether through pot-related munchies or other means, what is assumed as care is a calculated deception that eventually feeds on others when the need arises — a subtle modern critique of D.C./current administration through an Appalachian aphorismic Canterbury cautionary tale.

With that said, as always, I thank you for your time and kind consideration. Puff, puff, give, but mind the pig. Back to work! Right then—

I’m not a one-hitter quitter…

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“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.” — J.K. Rowling

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©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved