Telling ICE to Whistle in the Woods: Appalachian Chaos at Its Finest

 

If trolling ICE with misdirections were an Olympic sport, Appalachia would sweep the podium in every category. But the latest trend? Whew. It’s pure, undiluted mountain-grade mischief.

Folks have started telling ICE agents things like:

• “You’ll find him if you go whistle in the woods.”

• “Look straight up in them trees.”

• “Just follow them crying baby sounds.”

And listen — anyone actually from the mountains understands this is the equivalent of telling someone, “Go pet that bobcat, it likes strangers.”

“Go whistle in the woods” — translation: absolutely not

On paper, it sounds harmless.
To outsiders, maybe even whimsical.

But in Appalachian dialect?

That’s basically:

“Get out of here before you embarrass yourself further, and enjoy being lost.”

It’s a polite middle finger wrapped in folklore.
The kind we deploy when we’re done answering questions we don’t want to answer — which, surprise, is most of the time when the federal government shows up uninvited.

“Look directly in the trees” — oh honey, no

Mountain folks absolutely love watching outsiders try to interpret our landscape.
Tell them to look in the trees?
Baby, we barely look in the trees, and we live here.

But watching ICE agents crane their necks like confused giraffes while nothing but squirrels, a feral tomcat, and probably a pissed-off crow stare back?

That’s entertainment.
And every granny on every porch is enjoying it like it’s Saturday night bingo.

And then there’s the crying baby sounds…

This is where the trolling hits folklore levels.

Because in Appalachia, the rule is simple:

If you hear a baby crying in the woods — you absolutely do not go toward it.

Ask any local why. Go on.
You’ll get a story.
And every story ends with:

“…and that’s why we stay out of them hollers after dark.”

But ICE?
They hear “crying baby” and think it’s a field lead.

So when locals say:

“Oh yeah, follow them crying baby noises down yonder…”

They’re sending these agents tromping directly into:

• Coyote dens

• Sasquatch’s irritated personal space

• Nightshade patches

• Hollers with inclines built by Satan himself

• And whatever-the-hell else lurks out there that only comes out when the outsiders leave

There’s generations of lore baked into that warning.
And watching it whiz right over the heads of the federal government like a drunk firefly is…
Well.
Delightful.

Folklore as resistance

Here’s the thing — Appalachia doesn’t always push back with legislation, protests, or press conferences.

Nope.

We weaponize:

• Folklore

• Misdirection

• Superstition

• And a deep, ancestral refusal to let outsiders dictate how we live

So if ICE wants directions?
We’ll give them directions straight into a cryptid convention.

You want cooperation?
You’re gonna get a fairy tale.

You want compliance?
Here, take this folklore booby trap and go wander into the woods like a city slicker looking for Bigfoot with a gas station flashlight.

Because in Appalachia, the woods don’t lie — but we sure as hell do to protect our own

We protect people the same way our ancestors protected moonshiners, runaways, unwed mothers, and anyone else needing shelter:

With silence, stories, and just enough mischief to send the wrong people in the wrong direction.

If ICE wants to chase phantom babies and whistle in haunted hollers, that’s between them and whatever’s waiting out there.

And trust me…
it ain’t a crying baby.