'Hell Yeah'

“Redneck Woman” is the song that won Gretchen Wilson a Grammy on Sunday evening. You would think “redneck” is the last adjective she would wear like a badge of honor. Most of the time that word, uttered by someone who feels culturally superior, is a fighting word.

Wilson’s tone and lyrics aren’t angry, though. They are defiant. She’s red and proud of it when she sings, “In my neck of the woods, I’m just the girl next door.” She’s not a cultural freak; there are a lot more at home just like her.

Jeff Foxworthy certifies her as a redneck when he says, “You know you are a redneck if your Christmas tree is still up in February.” Wilson high-fives this trait when she admits she left her Christmas tree on the front porch and it’s still up. She celebrates the redneck status symbol by singing, “I keep my Christmas lights on, on my front porch all year long.”

Rednecks don’t live just anywhere. Most are indigenous to the South and Central Appalachian region, a rural plain, valley, and mountain area. A few come from outside, like Wilson, who’s from a small town in Illinois, a place that’s more country than city. She was raised in a trailer park. Foxworthy says you achieve instant redneck status “if your richest relative buys a new home and you help take the tires off of it.”

Wilson doesn’t mind the epithet “redneck,” but her reaction is not common. Most people don’t see themselves as rednecks, but they know one when they see one, and they know where rednecks live -- in the boondocks.

“Boondocks” and “redneck” started out positive words before morphing into derogatory slang. One origin of “redneck” goes back to Scotland in the 1600s. A religious sect from there went to Ireland to escape having to accept the British Crown’s state church as their official one. These Scots, who called themselves Presbyterians, went so far as to sign a covenant in defiance of the crown. Some signed in blood; some wore red pieces of cloth around their necks to show their rebelliousness. A lot of these people immigrated to America where they settled in the South. “Redneck” then was assimilated into the language as a word meaning an uncouth, uncultured rustic.

Those who live in the coalfields of Appalachia say it is a term that came out of the violent union organization movement of the early 20th century. Union sympathizers marked their support by wearing red bandanas around their necks. A third explanation refers to farmers' sunburned necks. No matter the word’s origin, those who acquire that name are people whose sophistication and style have been stunted by where they live -- the boondocks.

“Boondocks” is a word that’s been corrupted from the original bundok. It’s of Philippine origin and means mountain. United States soldiers changed it to “boondocks” to describe difficult terrain, and brought it home with them after World War II. Today, the boondocks is a remote place, difficult to get to and to get around in -- life is thought to be stagnant there, bypassed by the world.

Finding the boondocks is harder than it might seem; like the horizon, it always lies just beyond reach. That’s because people don’t recognize it as the place where they live.

A few years ago, Virginia’s Southwest District Basketball Tournament was held at Tazewell High School in the town of Tazewell, a small place by the world’s standards, but it’s not remote. U.S. 460, a major east-to-west highway, passes the town on its northern edge. Several exits make the town accessible.

Carroll County High School was one of the teams playing that evening. A CCHS fan, arriving late, exclaimed to her friends, “I thought I would never find this place. It’s back in the boondocks.” Now Carroll County is not exactly a metropolis. But this woman’s comment is normal. No one sees themselves as a redneck or a “boonie.” That’s always someone else. People who live in rural towns think that those who live along rivers are “boonies.” Those who live along rivers call those who live up hollows “rednecks.” It goes on and on.

Recently my Roanoke County sister told me that I live in the boonies, because my town doesn’t have a local number for AOL service.  I had never thought of Bluefield as the boondocks or of myself as a redneck. But maybe she’s right. After listening to Wilson’s song of allegiance to them and after reading Foxworthy’s evidence of them, I believe I do have some redneck traits.

I have owned lots of naugahyde. I won several bowls at the carnival when I pitched nickels in them. I lived in a van when we took the seats out and used it as an RV. Hefty trash bags make great suitcases. I know what it’s like to burn the front yard in the spring instead of mow it. Water stains, left by a flood, mark the baseboard in the downstairs of my house. I know people who are in prison. I once owned a car that used more oil than gas. There are pictures of me, my hair in curlers, standing in the front yard, a baby on each hip. I know all the words to “My Cheating Heart.” I know the flagship symbols of rednecks: Hank Williams Jr. and primer-color Trans-Ams. There are places near my home where I get mud on the tires when I go there. Fishing poles are in the trunk of my car.

Come to think of it, I will join Wilson in a big “Hell Yeah.”