THE PARADOX OF PLENTY   (Updated stanzas and edited some adverbs)

"This continent teemed with manifold projects and magnificent purposes. Above them all...the most exciting flag of all the world ...was the triumphal purpose of freedom. In this spirit...all of us are called,...each in the widest horizon of his vision, to create the first great American Century."      
—Henry Luce, in Life Magazine: February 14, 1941      
     
     
Eliza Maude Francis Horn was born in 1901, born already      
knowing      
that crying got you nothing. While the women tended the      
birthing wounds      
of Matilda Ellen Barbe Horn, the men-folk sat around the table,      
ravenous      
and telling stories from the mines. There were no "pets" 'round      
this table,      
the table of hard men. No, the dogs were outside doing useful      
things      
like feeding themselves. On this day, Maude alone kept her  
silence.      
     
Life on the Cumberland Gap, in Pike County, Kentucky,      
hard by the Tug Fork River, dead across from Mingo County,      
West Virginia,      
was no place for tears, even a decade after The Feud died out. Living      
fell between creeks and crests. Corn, if there was any, was      
farmed      
straight up the hillside, stalks stubbornly clinging to indifferent      
soil.      
When she was little, Maude stayed on the porch where Devil      
John Wright      
     
slew her uncle, only 16. Better the grey ghost of a dead uncle      
than a grey Rat Snake in the clearing. Before she was grown,      
Maude      
would lose two young brothers. One to typhoid, another      
to flux.      
She'd lose several of her four young sisters to the older men of      
the holler,      
who were forever hovering like bees to the bud. Out of every      
five tons      
of Kentucky coal, one came from Pike County. Forged under pressure,      
       
Pike County oozed with soft, black, bituminous coal, prized in      
the North      
for its BTU's.  Countless canaries were sacrificed to the god of      
firedamp.      
Even so, rich coal veins still bleed poor miners. Albert Newtown      
Horn,      
Maude's father, was a Methodist Circuit Rider who mined for      
souls      
instead of coal, and who spat when he spoke of "Forty Gallon      
Baptists."      
It was hard to count a soul, any soul, as saved when, what      
sounded      
       
like an old tribal word, pneumoconiosisbit the lungs. Black Lung      
took the sinners and the saved with equal relish. Maude would      
become      
a school teacher and marry another. And that was her ticket out      
of the rich coalfields of eastern Kentucky. When she was getting      
on      
in years, cancer came for her legs. She did not cry. Her last      
breath      
balanced on the edge of night, then silently slid between her lips      
       
and disappeared.      
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
_______________________________________      
     
"This continent teemed with manifold projects and magnificent purposes. Above them all...the most exciting flag of all the world ...was the triumphal purpose of freedom.          
         
In this spirit...all of us are called,...each in the widest horizon of his vision, to create the first great American Century."          
         
– Henry Luce, son of a missionary, publisher of TIME, in a Life Magazine editorial, February 14, 1941.          
         
         
         
         
Eliza Maude Francis Horn was born in 1901,          
already knowing that crying got you nothing.            
While the women tended the birthing wounds of Matilda Ellen Barbe Horn,          
the men-folk sat around the table, ravenous and telling stories from the mines.          
         
There were no "pets" 'round this table of hard men.  No, the dogs were outside where they could do useful things, like feed themselves.          
         
On this day, Maude alone kept her silence.          
         
Life on the Cumberland Gap, in Pike County, Kentucky, hard by the Tug Fork River, dead across from Mingo County, West Virginia, was no place for tears,          
even a decade after The Feud died out.          
         
Living fell between the creeks and crests. Corn, if there was any, was farmed straight up the hillside, stalks stubbornly clinging to indifferent soil.            
         
When she was little, Maude liked to stay on the porch          
where Devil John Wright slew her uncle, only 16.          
Better the grey ghost of a dead uncle than a grey Rat Snake in the clearing.          
         
Before she was grown, Maude would would lose two young brothers, one to typhoid, another to flux.  She'd lose several of her four young sisters to the older men of the holler, who were forever hovering          
like bees to the bud.          
         
Out of every five tons of Kentucky coal, one came from Pike County.            
         
Forged under hellish pressure,  Pike County oozed with soft, black, bituminous coal.  Prized in the North for its BTU's, countless canaries were sacrificed to the god of firedamp.          
         
Even so, rich coal veins still bleed poor miners      
         
Albert Newtown Horn, Maude's father, was a Methodist Circuit Rider who mined for souls instead of coal, and who spat when he spoke of "Forty Gallon Baptists."            
         
Yet, it was hard to count a soul as saved when, what sounded like an old tribal word, pneumoconiosis,          
Black Lung, took the sinners and the saved with equal relish.            
         
Maude would become a school teacher and marry another.  And that was her ticket out the rich coalfields of Eastern Kentucky.          
         
When she was getting on in years, cancer came for her legs.  She did not cry.  Her last breath balanced on the edge of night, then silently slid between her lips, and disappeared.