Part of my lineage comes from the rugged terrain of Arkansas. My ancestors were relative newcomers to this old landscape. The Osage lived in the Ozarks before them, and lived in the high woodlands when they were not hunting in the Great Plains. The displacement of the Osage by settler aggression and treaty opened the way for my family and others to inhabit the territory. 

The mountains, valleys, hills, and hummocks are the result of the karst topography of the place. Karst landscapes--referring to the limestone geology--dissolve easily in water, giving rise to both the damp caverns and the bony bluffs for which the region is known. Moreover, many of the place names indicate the sense of mystery and even malevolent magic imbued in the region--Devil’s Den, Devil’s backbone, and Devil’s Tollgate are but a few of the names associating the landscape with antagonistic forces. Because of the nature of the terrain, most of the Ozark range has remained fairly secluded even today. This has created a culture fairly preserved from the hubbub of history, and the people there live an existence as marginal as the thin, rocky soils they inhabit. 

In Keith Basso’s landmark study of Western Apache relationship to land, Wisdom Sits in Places, he shows how the people use stories of their landscape to instruct each other. By attaching stories to particular places, Apache culture imbues those sites with deeper meaning and integrates them into their social identities. Consider, for instance, the witness of Nick Thompson, elder in the Cibecue region, on the importance of story: 

So someone stalks you and tells a story about what happened long ago...All of a sudden it hits you! It’s like an arrow, they say. Sometimes it just bounces off—it's too soft and you don’t think about anything. But when it’s strong it goes in deep and starts working on your mind right away...That story is changing you now, making you want to live right. That story is making you want to replace yourself. 

The term “pagan” comes from the latin word paganus, meaning literally, ‘of the countryside.’ For the Romans the term became a diminutive, equivalent to the modern hillbilly or redneck. Ozarkans often get called by these terms, on account of their culture, infused as it is with catfish, sparse living, and regional dialect. A few years ago, in an attempt to replace myself, I followed Nick Thompson’s advice, and searched out stories from that place. These are not grand myths filled with heroes and gods, but small tales of quotidian life. The stories seem, like water, to dissolve into the karst landscape and carry its limestone particles and conifer-crusted soil with them. A drink of these tales carries the subtle salty taste of the Ozarks with it, evoked in the yokel concerns and regional words. Upon reading a particular tale one evening, I was surprised to see my own kin referenced--albeit ignominiously--as “them spindle-assed Pritchett boys.” My bloodline is thus pagan in the truest sense, my lineage bumpkin, and the corresponding genetic disposition of my backside--apparently spindly.