I have a great sense of thankfulness for being born in the Appalachian Mountains, born in an area known as the Smoky Mountains and Blue Ridges. Actually the Parkway’s name is the Blue Ridge Parkway and it stretches all the way across NC. The folks who make up our History fascinate me. Now I do not believe in reincarnation in any sense of the word. If I did, I might like to come back in the early part of the century with a razor sharp double bitted ax in my hand that I could hit a line on a tree every lick. You might say that’s not feasible. Oh yes, it is. Our folks who came into these hills used tools like an extension of their arms. They had to. When wood had to be cut two or three times a week, you don’t waste energy chopping at a limb, you cut it cleanly and quickly. Think we could measure up? Milking twice a day, churning, firewood, gardens, crops and kids everywhere? I wish I could. Wildlife and fish were plentiful. It was how they survived until the land was cleared and crops were made. They say those old timers shot game in the head so as not to mess up any meat. They made jerky and smoked meat and fish. Winter was tough in the hills. If a man was lazy and didn’t cut enough wood, he paid the price of trying to get wood in the freezing, snowy, cold weather. Those folks didn’t have time for dreaming. All they wanted was a shelter for themselves and their critters. A school and Church for learning and worship. They distrusted strangers and would hardly communicate with them. I went to Laurel with a pistol I needed fixing. I stopped at a store and three men were sitting outside on the porch. I had heard a fellow over there was a gunsmith and I needed the barrel tightened. I said, “Do any of you all know so and so and where he lives?” Not one looked at me. Two were whittling and one was watching them. They never acknowledged I was even there. I knew they heard me and I knew the way of mountain folk. So I said, “My grandfather was Lonnie Chandley who lived on Hickey’s Fork for a spell.” And that I heard this fellow I was hunting was a good gunsmith. One of them said, exact words and forgive me, “Well hell son, why didn’t you say so.” Then they pried information out of me and before long they knew all they was needing to know. As I turned to leave one of them said, “Now who was it you were kin to?” That’s the way of it. There are few country stores with porches left, not many old men who whittle either. Our Appalachian forerunners were independent, proud folks. They would help each other and sit up with folks dead. They would help raise a barn, plow land and loan their mules or horses to neighbors. They would face anything else that come up, together.
I’m sure most have read or heard about the 13 that got massacred during the Civil War. The Confederate Army platoon at Marshall accused those responsible for stealing some salt to be some men from Shelton Laurel. Some salt was supposed to be theirs anyway. Some of the Laurel boys refused to join the army because as they put it, they had ‘no dog in the fight.’ They had no slaves. They were just Appalachian homesteaders trying to make a home for themselves and wished to be left alone. Well, long story short they went into the valley and captured 14 men and boys. They kept them in Granny Judy’s house overnight and took them the next morning, except for a boy who hid under the bed. The story told was they said they were taking them to Knoxville for trial. Instead, they lined them up in a meadow and killed them. Then they buried them in a shallow grave. Granny Judy heard and sent some boys to get the bodies. They said the hogs and crows had been at them. She had them dig a mass grave on top of the ridge above her house and buried them properly. Later on, her house burned but the chimney still stands as a sentinel to the ridge top where they were buried. She was my Great, Great, Great Grandmother. Two of those killed were in my close ancestry line and some others went farther back. It was the murder that was never brought to justice even though Governor Vance got involved. The Lieutenant in charge of the platoon moved to another state and that was the end of it. Some justice was served by individuals in the mountain way. There are books and documentaries about this in detail if you care to look. “And The Crows Took Their Eyes” is a good read about it.
Appalachian folks are a stubborn, fair, independent people. Most would give you the “shirt off their back” if they thought you needed it. They would and will fight fiercely for what they believe in. But in the Civil War they had no side, ‘no dog in the fight.’ Some were conscripted into the Confederacy and some went and joined the Union Army.
Events like this are part of our rich and bloody History. Included is the fact that these mountains were full of Native Americans, mostly of the Cherokee and Lumbee tribes. But it’s still History. Destroying statues and reminders of those tough times don’t destroy History. I believe it creates more racism and division. No one is better off in my opinion. This is my home. My land. My History. I am beyond proud to have been raised in the mountains. I am a Patriot, I will stand and salute the flag and the Anthem. And I am a Christian, more importantly. Forgive me when I get angry and upset with folks who abuse our country. I still believe in most of our youth. I still believe the truth will win. I have read the back of the Book. I am adding a letter from a Confederate soldier to his wife just as he wrote it. It affects me every time I read it. This is not the most uplifting story, but it is true. I’ll try to do better.
Deare Wife, I wish that this civil ware wod stope soe that we all cud com home to live. with our famles a gin. As we did be for this ware tuck place. I am in hopes that we wil be home come spring. Hit is thot that nc wil go back to the union and I hope she wil. And that be for spring. For I cant help but think that we are on the rong side. Your luving husband.
A lot of folks in our country are in a war also that we don’t believe in. A war with each other. Politics. That no one will win. But back then it must have been awful to fight in a war when you didn’t believe you were on the right side. I have often wondered if he made it home to his deare wife. I hope he did. I hope America survives.