William Jasper Todd Homeplace

You know that I love visiting home sites.  And, I’ve confessed before that when I walk these lands, the stories echo in my mind. Such is the case with Uncle Bill Todd’s homeplace above Slate Creek.

William Jasper Todd was certainly a character to remember. He was born in Washington County, Virginia in 1853 and headed west to Tennessee with his parents and several of his 15 siblings in the years following the Civil War. These would have been the first of the Todd family to cross into Tennessee. 

Their new home must have seemed like The Wild West after generations of the family had lived on a western Virginia plantaion!  Remember that no rail access crossed the Cumberland Plateau until 1890. The vast stretches of timber were one of the mountain’s greatest resources but went relatively untouched the railroad was available to haul it to metropolitan markets. In 1870 the population of Anderson County, Tennessee was a whopping 8,704 people. But that was too many, so the family kept heading west into Fentress county where the 1880 census finds them numbered among the 5,941 residents of the county.

Uncle Bill, as he is universally remembered today, settled on the banks of Slate Creek and soon had a thriving homestead. He would need to prosper as he fathered and raised 22 children with 3 wives.

I don’t know in what order he built, but there was a mill on Slate Creek. Folks went to Uncle Bill for dental work – well at least pulling teeth as needed. He was a barber, it seems like a lot of barbers were also the local dentist and I don’t quite know how those two professions compliment each other.  And William Jasper Todd would be the local Justice of the Peace. 

So, it’s said you could have a turn of corn ground, get a hair cut and tooth pulled, and get married all in the same place. Doesn’t that sound like one happening spot in the late 1800’s?

The home was large – remember how many children it had to accommodate – and stood until the late 1940’s. Several families lived there before Odell Atkinson bought the farm and eventually built a new house for his family. Folks say that was the coldest house in Martha Washington. Perhaps its perch on the hillside above the flowing waters of Slate Creek cast a chill on it. Yet, it was home to Bill Todd until shortly before his death in 1929. The 1920 census shows him still living there, along with his last wife, Vandora (remember that on the mountain we pronounce that “Vandoree”) and 6 children ranging from 4 to 17 years of age.

Despite all of this history, there’s little hint today that the home ever existed. Except, for the yellow Easter flowers that blanket the hillside. These always whisper a reminder of a homeplace, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen as many in one place.

Good Friday Planting

Well, I planted my potatoes on Good Friday. That’s when you are supposed to plant them, right?

Old timers will give you all kinds of advice on when to plant what. There are the signs to follow – we really need to explore those, don’t we? Then, there are the hints from other plants – I understand that when the Service Berry trees bloom, some will tell you to plant your potatoes. And then there’s the Good Friday rule.

My mother’s grandmother always wanted to plant her potatoes on Good Friday. In fact, she also wanted to plant corn then. However, March 31st is just too early for me to chance a crop of corn. Great-Grandma Livesay was so serious about planting on this day, Mama reports she would wade the mud and scoop out holes with a tablespoon if that was what was required to honor the Good Friday planting day.

Slowly, I walked through my little patch of plowed ground, dropping and covering the layers of lime, fertilize and cut seed-potatoes. As I did, my mind was working through all that needed to happen over the Easter Weekend. We had started out the day with a reading of the Crucifixion from Matthew chapter 28. There would be a celebration on Saturday and food needed to be prepared. Special clothes must be ironed and laid out ready for Sunday morning. All of this was to celebrate the blessed resurrection of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ – the only hope we have of eternal life in fellowship with a Holy God!

How did it all meld with the urgency to get the potato crop in the ground on Good Friday?

The Farmer’s Almanac is aware of this advice and made a scientific analysis here back in November 2023. They weren’t quite willing to endorse the “tradition” but they did mention the idea that had come to my mind amidst my meditation on the Resurrection. Author Amber Kanuckel traces Good Friday planting back to Ireland (I’m not surprised by the origin, although I might have thought it started earlier) when potatoes were an essential crop.

Jesus was “planted” (I hope that isn’t irreverent) on Good Friday and gloriously rose in three days – just as he had prophesied in John 2:19. Perhaps, we could infer that anything similarly planted the same day would grow and prosper?

I’m no prophet, and based on last year’s potato crop, not a particularly good gardener either. But, the seed is in the ground and we’ll see if the Lord blesses it!

Missing the Post Office

A few months ago an accident at the Clarkrange Post Office rendered the building unusable until very recently. Now, I’ve talked here before about the post offices in Tennessee and especially Fentress County.  Our dear mail carriers and the local postal staff relocated to Grimsley and hardly missed a beat in serving their customers.  It was only a distance of 8 ½ miles, but we sure missed our post office!

As I prepared last week’s article about our disappearing local communities, I began to wonder what factors define a community, and the local post office seems like one of the biggest factors.

Historically, rural post offices were usually a part of other establishments. I would love to hear from all of you as you remember where the local post office was housed. (And wouldn’t it be fun if any of you have pictures of the stores where they were housed?)

For many years, the Clarkrange Post Office was part of the store on the corner of what are now named Highways 127 and 62. First that was Peters’ Store. Interesting fact, despite the store pre-existing state roads, the Peters’ store was too close to the road and the state made them tear it down. I remember it being in the rear of Freddy Stults’ store at the same location. 

Our local postmaster was recently telling me that the postal system opted to move the post offices out into independent buildings because the stores were such popular gathering place for the community and sometimes their discussions were becoming too heated.

I know that losing having the post office consolidated with another community is always hurtful – both to the people and to the identity of the community.  Those of us served by the Clarkrange Post Office certainly felt that and have a new appreciation for our local mail facility.

Forgotten Community

This week, I had the distinct pleasure to speak to the Fentress County Historical Society.  We talked about losing community identity and I thought I would share my thoughts with you good blog readers.

In researching and writing Tennessee Mountain Stories, I have realized how different the focus on local community was in years past.

I love getting book reviews and feedback on stories.  My favorite reviews indicate that the reader “felt like I was there”.  Some readers have spent time on the Plateau and I love it when you tell me you remember the places I’ve written about.  Sometimes I get letters thanking me for remembering your communities. You see, I find myself chronicling communities that are being erased.

Plans for Emma is set in Roslin – that’s one of our disappearing communities today and a reader appreciated that I got the location right.

Roslin was a thriving community with its own post office and schools.  Roslin post office closed in 1961, changing residents’ mailing address to Clarkrange, Tennessee.

Roslin School absorbed other schools including Howe and Long Branch schools.            The county school system rolled Banner Springs and Roslin schools together into Banner Roslin elementary in 1965.  Then, in the early 1990’s, Banner-Roslin Elementary was closed and the students bussed to Clarkrange Elementary.  Now, even Clarkrange Elementary School is gone and all the students attend South Fentress Elementary School.

Gracie’s Babies and Lottie’s Legacy highlight two communities. Sisters Gracie and Lottie both marry boys from Martha Washington and move there from Elmore.

Elmore is a forgotten community in north Cumberland County which had its own school and thriving neighborhood.   Now, it’s just a short side road.

As highway 127 is re-built, I keep thinking about the trip from Elmore, across Clear Creek and into Clarkrange.  I hear the bridge across Clear Creek will be the highest in the state when it is completed.  Can you imagine the early road that forded Clear Creek or at best had a low, wooden bridge?  You would have to drive all the way down below that high bridge!

I imagined that in Gracie’s Babies and I’d like to share the passage here.

In years past, folks were much more confined to a small geographical area. A lot of travel was done on foot, so you weren’t likely to venture out further than you could make it back before dark unless you were planning to stay for a while.

Over the past 70 or 80 years, our mobility has greatly increased There’s certainly a great blessing in that, however, I do think it has robbed us of our focus on the local community. Today, I can travel the 20 miles to town in half an hour – and I can drive it at any hour of the day and in most road conditions with the same ease.   Based on the amount of traffic I see, we are all taking full advantage of this convenient transportation. I wonder, do we still know our next door neighbors? Do you know the history of your local community? Do you even know the name of the place you are living (and I don’t mean the postal address!)?

I challenge you to learn your community. Please come back to the comments below and tell me about it. And if you already know all about the neighborhood – make a friend down the road an tell her all about it.

Wait for Amen

“No one eats until we say ‘Amen’ y’all”. I saw this cute sign in a local gift shop and it got me to thinking…

My 79 year old daddy often comments when he sits down to eat, ‘Mama would tell me to take my hat off at the table.’ This mountain, farm family didn’t stress a whole lot of etiquette. There was never more than one fork at a place setting and cornbread was passed on a round dinner plate for all hands to pull out a chunk. Still, everyone knew they must wait for “Grace” before they dug-in. And pull of your cap!

Today, it seems like we run 90-to-nothing with a million things on our mind. We eat from drive-through windows because we don’t have the time to go in and sit down. We eat cold cereal and sandwiches because we can’t manage to cook a meal. Okay, maybe this is just my life, but it could be that it sounds like somebody you know too.

Compared to my mountain ancestors, we are better educated, more widely traveled and aware of cultures around the world. Still, there are some traditions from home that we need to maintain and pausing to return thanks to God is at the top of the list.

I even had to chastise my little Wednesday night kids’ club recently that we are nowhere near hungry enough that we can’t pause for a moment to thank the Lord that provided our food.

The sign is cute, but the need for it is a little sad to me. We need to slow down enough to appreciate our blessings and taste our food.