Wisdom and Ways with Jim Casada

“Stop and smell the roses.”

Mountain Wisdom and Ways: Wisdom from Old-time Sayings

By Jim Casada

This year celebrates the twenty-fifth anniversary of Carolina Mountain Life, and for this columnist that landmark immediately brings to mind an oft-quoted bit of wisdom from historians: “You can’t know where you are going if you don’t know where you’ve been.” This magazine, like the High Country way of life it proudly covers, has traveled an interesting path over the course of a quarter of a century, one rightly deserving of celebrating and chronicling. In connection with that celebratory look back, it seems appropriate to delve into the kind of folk wisdom and approach to life characteristic of the region through sharing some of the traditional sayings folks have long used to offer what is, in essence, the philosophy underlying a way of life.

The origins of such aphorisms vary widely, but as is true with far more of our daily speech and common expressions than most of us realize, there are a few common sources. Among them are the Bible, William Shakespeare, Ben Franklin (mainly in the guise of “Poor Richard” in Poor Richard’s Almanac, the publication that gave him his first step towards lasting fame), and Mark Twain. Add to that rather short list the native wit and pronounced inclination to produce easily remembered tidbits commonplace to countless hillbilly poets, and you have a pretty solid grasp of these sayings. Of course we seldom pause to ponder how they began; we just accumulate and utter these morsels of common sense as guides to life.

At the heart of much that is of greatest significance in this accumulation of wisdom created through the generations are little snippets, often rhythmic in nature, that capture the virtues of staunch devotion to work. In a region where Scots-Irish were predominant among early settlers and where Christian goodness was often directly linked to hard, honest labor, that’s pretty much predictable. From boyhood onward, verbal guides to behavior and life were peppered off my hide, and occasionally even penetrated my thick skull, like hard rain drops from a sudden summer storm. In keeping with what academics often describe as the “Protestant ethic,” there were daily reminders linked to chores, the primacy of earning one’s keep, frugality, and the like. Common among them were “Begun is half done” and a related couplet, “Once it’s done, it will seem like fun.” Then there were offerings such as “The first is the worst and the rest is a simple test”; “Idle hands are the tools of the devil”; “If it’s worth doing it’s worth doing well”; “Make do with what you’ve got”; Waste not, want not”; and more. My favorite of all in this line of thinking, perhaps because of a combination of rhyme and utilization solely of two-letter words is: “If it is to be, it is up to me.”

One dictum I recall with particular angst came from my father after my decidedly indifferent first year’s academic performance in college: “When a job is once begun, never leave it until it’s done; Be it great or be it small, do it well or not at all.” In truth, I well indeed had excelled in that freshman year. Unfortunately, my stellar performances lay in extracurricular activities such as dating, endless rounds of golf on the course the college owned, and all sorts of innocuous undergraduate high jinks. At least I had sufficient contact with reality to recognize Daddy would be singularly uninterested in achievements in such arenas. I kept my pie hole firmly shut other than to mutter the occasional “Yes sir.” His structure was a variant, perhaps more memorable not only because of the circumstances but the rhythm, to the shorter and more common “Do it right or not at all.”

Then there are the various pearls of wisdom linked to the all too human tendency to procrastinate—“Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today”; a delightful play on homonyms, “Weight (wait) is what broke the wagon down”; and “Delay is the thief of time.” Getting to the task at hand in prompt fashion—“There’s nothing to it but to do it” —certainly stood well in the forefront of the mindset of hard-working folks, and there’s something mirthfully appealing about the suggestion that “The best way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time.” Although we are talking about the perspectives of mountain folks, there’s more than a moderate degree of universality to “getting on with the job” whatever it might be. George Masa, the famed area photographer of Japanese origins whose efforts figured prominently in the creation of the southern portion of the Appalachian Trail and the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, actually brought a workmanlike attitude to hiking and lugging his equipment to remote and rugged settings. In his broken but decidedly to the point English, he once told some young companions on an outing who seemed more interested in chatting and frequent rest stops than getting up the next ridge or to the top of the mountain: “Off your seats and on your feets,” then added for good measure, “More walk, less talk.” Masa was in effect bringing a workmanlike attitude to what most would have considered play, and even the most strident of sayings and the most

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Photo courtesy of the Library of Congress

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