I came across the below post on Facebook and felt it with my whole being. I didn't use her photo of her holler because it was hers. I searched Google for one that might work and found a beautiful holler.
My heart lives here 
There are tears in my eyes. You can probably see the hurt in my face as I took this picture just a week ago. I said goodbye to the home place for good.
I grew up here. This place called Tan Yard holler. I’m a holler girl like my Mommy was. The house I was raised in sat in the very spot of the old house she was born in! Mom was literally born and raised right here.
Mom and Dad had to rebuild from the ground up.
This little cabin was built behind their house by my Dad for Mommy. One of her projects she wanted done. She used it for storage but she had her own “she shed” before anyone knew what they were!
My Mommy shared her memories often with me and my sisters.
My own childhood memories hover to this day between two hills in the place of my raising.
I remember the echo of hoot owls at night calling to each other from one side of the holler to the other while we sat on the porch. The creeking of the porch swing, the smell of the night air as I listened to the katydids sing in the background. No traffic, no car horns just silence and the noise of nature all around me.
Oh the days I recall the frogs hollering in the spring time, the clanging of horseshoes at reunion time, the sound of chainsaws cutting brash in the fall, the sound of cousins sled riding in the winter, the sound of roosters crowing in the early mornings of mist. You haven’t experienced life until you have to gather eggs before school and get flogged by a mad hen! Or have to slop the hogs that stunk to “high heaven” before walking out the holler often before daylight to catch the bus! My daughter will never experience that but she’s heard me talk of it.
Some have villages, mountain people have hollers. It’s own culture. It’s own government. It’s own eithics. It’s own rules. Whole families complete with Mamaws, Papaws, sissys, bubbies, cousins, aunts, uncles and yes even an uncle Bobby. I often say, every child needs to grow up with an “uncle Bobby” 
Many leave, grow up and “move off” as the old timers would say but the holler life never leaves your heart. It’s embedded deep as the holler itself.
I took the good I was taught and I’ve passed it along to my daughter and to many, many others who watch me cook and hear me share my memories of growing up an Appalachian girl from Tan Yard Holler.
A coal miners daughter in a loving, working poor family who didn’t have many luxuries but we had love and we had Jesus.
I took the bad and I’ve learned from it and became determined not to pass it down to my daughter. No families are perfect. We all have some kind of trauma to deal with but we don’t have to pass it down to our own children.
The mountains are beautiful but they harbor many hurts within those deep hollers. Life can be hard, it can leave scars but we can heal, become stronger and learn to stop the cycles.
In the mountains there are two kinds of people. Those who leave and those who stay. I left. But my heart didn’t.
I’ll always share my stories, my culture, my way of cooking with the world. I’ll tell the world about Tan Yard Holler because my heart lives here
-Missy Jones
Source (Mountain Cookin’ with Missy) https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=921008766737191&set=a.467222085449197
Photo https://www.reddit.com/r/Kentucky/comments/hdtr6a/taking_a_stroll_down_the_holler/#lightbox
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