Doing Our Part to Bring Thanksgiving to Many: or a Venture into Raising Turkeys on Our Farm

How my father learned about the availability of baby turkeys that he could order-off for and have delivered by rural mail carrier to our farm at Choestoe, I don’t remember. However, I do recall our venture into turkey raising when I was a child—or how we tried to do our part to make the traditional Thanksgiving bird available to many people.

Maybe Daddy read about turkey poults in the dependable “Market Bulletin.” That was a farm paper that came regularly to our farm mailbox and which he read avidly to keep up on the latest bargains in seeds and other farm needs. That was probably where he learned about where to purchase the baby turkeys and have them delivered to our farm.

But before that adventure saw itself through to the end, his third child was glad our latest enterprise lasted only a few years. I never did make friends with those noisy turkeys, and the mean turkey tom, in particular, must have known I didn’t like him, because every time I was anywhere near him on the farm, he seemed to chase me and scare me half to death.

We built a special poultry house for the anticipated turkeys, and since they were coming in early spring and the weather was still cold and unpredictable in the mountains, my father knew he would have to devise a way to keep the turkey house heated for the darling little poults. He put a small wood heater in the house, and built a fence around the house, with chicken wire strung from pole to pole so the fowl would not wander.

I remember well the day the baby turkeys arrived. The mail man (as we called the postman) blew his horn at our mailbox, and since Daddy was avidly looking for his turkey poults, he hurried out to get the crates. We had a hundred of the little critters. They looked so cold, and even ailing when they arrived. What would we ever do to raise them? They seemed so small and furry. Surely it would take them years to grow into eating-sized turkeys worthy for a Thanksgiving feast.

I’m sure Daddy spent sleepless nights looking after those little critters at first, making sure they were warm and fed properly. I recall how rapidly they grew, and maybe we lost a few, but as they developed from cuddly baby turks to lanky fryers, they had a mind of their own. Their sounds grated on my ears—and soon they were outgrowing their fenced-in area and Dad was allowing them to range a bit farther out. By then that aggressive gobbler had taken to my red sweater, or anything red, and chased me like I was easy prey and something he wanted to sample for his own dinner. I was mortally afraid of that barnyard king-of-the-roost.

Since we had secured the 100 turkeys very early in the spring, my Dad’s aim was to grow them off for pre-Thanksgiving sale. He had to fence them in again and give them special feedings of grains and nutrients to make them ready for market. They didn’t like being confined, since they had been range turkeys for several months. They protested loudly, with a gooble- gobble here and a gobble-gobble there. I, for one, despised turkey language.

But then, who was I to complain? My Daddy was always telling us that when he took the turkeys to market, we would have more money for the things we needed, for the Great Depression had certainly not been kind to North Georgia farmers. Turkeys were a “trial-run” crop to help restore the economy.

Then came time to catch those turkeys, put them in coops and take them to Gainesville to market. We kept about eight or ten from the whole flock so that we and our neighbors could have a Thanksgiving feast from some of our own home-grown turkeys.

I don’t know how much money per pound my father earned from those pestersome turkeys, but it must have been enough for him to try it again for about three more years. For it seems that we repeated that process of having baby turkeys delivered by mail and going through the same process for several years to grow them out for market. And without fail, there was always one or more turkey toms in the flock that played havoc with my own peace and quiet.

Then my father told us how lucky we were that we didn’t have to “drive” the turkeys by foot to market like our grandfather used to have to do. It would take two or three days to herd the turkeys along the wagon roads by foot to market, with the turkeys roosting in trees as they camped by night. I never did understand just how they managed to keep those turkeys under control enough to drive them to market, especially when one in those we raised always gave me so much trouble.

As we gather around our Thanksgiving tables this year, 2011, we feast on a roast turkey we purchased at the supermarket. But in the 1930’s, in the midst of the Great Depression, there was a time when turkeys were grown on a mountain farm and fattened up and marketed wholesale prior to Thanksgiving. That helped people to have that favorite of holiday meals—roast turkey. I, for one, was glad our turkey venture didn’t last many years. But the business did aid farm families to have a little more money for some of the barest necessities of life.

c2011 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published November 24, 2011 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Honoring Early Settlers in the Duncan Family and Sheriff Harlan Duncan, a Descendant

One Duncan family was present in the new Union County when the first census was taken of residents in 1834, two years after the county was formed. When Alexander Duncan and his family settled here is not certain. In 1834, his household had three males and three females listed as residents.

By 1840, four households of Duncans were registered in the U. S. census in Union County. These included Alexander Duncan, still residing in Union from 1834, whose household had a son between five and ten, one between ten and fifteen, Alexander himself, between 40 and 50 and three females under fifteen and his wife, between 40 and 50. The second Duncan household was headed by David, with two males under five, and David himself between twenty and 30, and his wife in his same age category. In another household was Charles Duncan, between fifty and sixty, two sons, one 15 to 20 and one 20-30, and evidently his wife, between 40 and fifty, and an elderly lady, aged between 70-80. The fourth and final Duncan household was headed by Elisha who was between 30 and 40, two sons between 10-15, and evidently three daughters, one under 5, one 5-10, and one 10-15 (no wife, or no female who would have been the approximate age of a wife and mother).

In the interim period between the 1840-1850 census tabulations, more Duncan households had been set up, so that by 1850, the first census with names of all residents in a family listed, we note eight with Duncan as the household head. These, listed as found in the census (even with spelling as given then) were:

Household # 9: Charles Duncan and his wife Mary, both age 75, both having been born in Virginia.

Household # 75: Joseph Duncan, age 29, and Mary, age 27, both born in North Carolina. Union marriage records show a Joseph Duncan married Mary Thomas on September 28, 1840.

Household # 111: David Duncan, age 44 and his wife Nancy, age 38, both born in North Carolina. Their children listed were Elisha, 14, William, 11, John 8, Moses 3. I found a listing of marked graves in the Duncan Family Cemetery with David Duncan’s birth date as March 14, 1806 and his death date February 11, 1877. Nancy Duncan, according to her tombstone, was born July 17, 1811 and died November 4, 1890.

Household # 129: James Duncan, 39 and his wife Elizabeth, 36, both born in North Carolina, and their children William, 15, Frances 13, Elizabeth 11, Henry 9 and James, 5. Living in their household was Mary Lunsford, age 72, also born in North Carolina. She perhaps was Elizabeth’s mother.

Household # 169: William Duncan, age 32 and Sarah Ann, 27, both born in North Carolina, and their children Mary 3, and Aryadey (sp.) 1. In the Union County marriage records, I noted that a William Duncan married Ann S. Neal on September 14, 1856, with the Rev. Thomas M. Hughes performing their ceremony. And much later, Areadna (so spelled), their daughter, married Elam A. Scruggs on August 15, 1883 with Rev. C. A. Sullivan performing the ceremony.

Household # 415: Mary Duncan, age 52, was head of household, born in North Carolina, and in her household were John, 21, Mary, 18, Jesse, 15, and Caroline, 11.

Household # 679: Havey (sp) Duncan (should this have been Harvey?), 26, and Nancy, 23, both born in North Carolina, and Louesa, age 1.

Household # 682: Jonathan Duncan, age 63, born in Virginia, Sarah, age 55, born in North Carolina, and their two children, both born in North Carolina, Elizabeth, age 10 and Andrew, age 15.

By 1850, those with the Duncan surname in Union County numbered 33. And by 1850, the first settler, Alexander, had passed away already and was buried in the Duncan family cemetery with his birth and death dates noted: February 28, 1797 – August 17, 1849. Probably several other in the unmarked Duncan graves there had passed before 1850 as well.

Duncan is a very old family name, having derived from Scots and Gaelic “Donnchadh,” the Donn meaning brown and the “chadh” meaning warrior. The first syllable was shortened to “Dun” by the Scots and meant a fortress, and the “chadh” became “chean” and later “can” which meant “the head or a chief.” We are all familiar with the story of King Duncan whom Macbeth killed in William Shakespeare’s play entitled “Macbeth.” Traces of the name go back in history to the Turpillian Stone carving of the 4th century AD in Crickwell, Wales. Dunchad was one of the earliest forenames in Scotland, originating with the Dalraidan Celtic Scots from Ireland that settled in the southwest of Scotland as early as the 4th century. On the Duncan family crest is the motto, “disce pate” which means “learn to suffer.”

One of the lofty and notable Duncan citizens of Union County was Harlan Thomas Duncan (September 14, 1818-May 5, 1985), son of Tom and Gertrude White Duncan. Harlan Duncan served as sheriff of the county for 21 years, from 1964 until his death. Add to those 21 years as respected and efficient sheriff, a time as a member of the City Police force of Blairsville, 18 years as a Georgia State Patrolman, and his term as deputy sheriff and then sheriff and he clocked over 40 years in law enforcement.

Handsome of demeanor, tall and rangy, and always impeccable in character and conduct, he was the “John Wayne” figure of Union County. It has been recounted that he was so intent on maintaining law and order that sometimes just a finger pointed by Sheriff Duncan and directed toward anyone infringing on the law, like speeding teenagers, was sufficient to slow them down and remind them what awaited if their behavior did not improve. Although a tough law man, he is remembered, too, for his congenial personality, his fairness, and his devotion to family and citizens of the county. He was married to Ruth Jackson, daughter of Marion and Emma Davis Jackson. Ruth was a teacher for many years in Union County Schools. They had two sons, Thomas Harlan Duncan, Jr. and Jack Sidney Duncan. His stately funeral procession, with Sheriff Duncan’s beloved horse with an empty saddle except for his sheriff’s hat on the saddle, saw over 500 law enforcement officers and others citizens paying tribute to this man who had stood tall for right in Union County. He served our country in the U. S. Army during World War II. Sheriff Duncan was laid to rest in Union Memory Gardens, Blairsville.

c2011 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Nov. 17, 2011 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Lard Pail Lunches and Shared Knowledge (or Life in a Country School ~ Part 3)

Through the past two columns, I have shared memories of attending and teaching my first year in the same country school. I hope this journey back in time brought to mind some good memories of your “grade school” years, wherever you attended. It is good to remember foundations in life that helped to mold and make us into life-long learners. I was fortunate to gain a good education even under what may seem now a rather outdated system. To conclude this series on life in a country school, I will pinpoint some memorable incidents that made a lasting impression on me.

We had in the corner of each of the two classrooms at Choestoe School a wooden cabinet with doors. This book cabinet was the “library” for that particular classroom. When we finished our assignments, we had freedom to go to that cabinet, select a book from the shelf, take it to our desk and read it quietly. It was a great achievement in first grade to have learned phonics and “sounding out” words well enough to become competent to select a book to read from our “library” resources. The teachers, to encourage good reading habits, kept a chart with students’ names on the wall beside the book cabinet. A colored star was placed beside the name of each student who successfully read and reported to the teacher on books from this cabinet. These “star” awards seemed to work well as motivational devices to encourage reading. I often wondered how the library was furnished with books. That old classroom library was there in 1936, and it seemed to grow more books year by year—even before the days when Dr. M. D. Collins led state schools to have library resources and before the bookmobile from the regional public library began to make its regular monthly stop at Choestoe School. The bookmobile was an innovation by the time I taught there in the 1948-1949 school year. My life-time love for reading and books was encouraged by that library cabinet in a reading corner of Choestoe classroom long ago.

I recall a memorable field trip. When I was a seventh grader in 1943 at Choestoe School, and just prior to going to high school by riding the bus the next school year, we had our first-ever field trip. Mrs. Florence Hunter was my teacher, and she was known for getting things done. Her husband, Mr. Joe Hunter, was a county school bus driver. So Mrs. Florence and he made arrangements and got permission to take the fourth-through-seventh graders to Atlanta on a Saturday. All who could go loaded on that old bus early, early on a Saturday morning while it was still dark. We had a most memorable trip to visit the State Capitol building, the Atlanta Zoo, and the Cyclorama. I had never been to Atlanta before that notable trip, and that was probably true of the other children on that bus trip. Mrs. Florence managed to take snacks and drinks, and we had been instructed to bring our own lunch as we would have a picnic at Grant Park. What a notable building was our capitol where state government was conducted. How interesting to see all the strange animals at the zoo, some we had only read about and seen pictures of in books at Choestoe School. Then the panorama and story of the Civil War in Atlanta in the Cyclorama display was a first-hand, up close lesson in history.

We were a group of exhausted young children, sleeping on the long trip from Atlanta back to Choestoe after a full and exciting day. I’ve thought many times about how meaningful that trip was for us children, and of the sacrifice in time, money and influence expended by Mr. and Mrs. Hunter. They were able to give us a first-hand view of life beyond the confines of our mountain community. And to look back now and realize that in 1943 when we made that field trip during World War II, there was gasoline and tire rationing. For Mr. Hunter to be able to use some of his allotment of scarce items to take country school children to Atlanta was indeed a notable happening.

Graduation from that country school was a memorable occasion. We had a graduation program, not only with the two top graduates speaking with valedictory and salutatory addresses, but we had a program in which other grades participated with music and recitations. In fact, some of the programs we had for parents at that school during my seven years of learning there were so poignant that I can remember even now lines of poems I memorized to recite. Even though our teachers had few resources, they managed to make learning challenging and interesting. They gave us opportunities such as “Parents’ Night” or “Parents’ Day” when we could “show and tell” some of the things we had learned.

When I graduated from seventh grade country school, my future career as a teacher was already in my mind. I knew I wanted to be a teacher. In that way I could somehow repay Mrs. Mert Shuler, my own sister, Louise Dyer, Miss Opal Sullivan, Mrs. Bonnie Snow, and Mrs. Florence Hunter who had been my able teachers in my seven years as a student at Choestoe School. And so it was that in 1948 I returned to that same school, armed with two years of college and a provisional Georgia teacher’s certificate, ready to teach. As I greeted the twenty-five students in seven grades—for the school, by the time I returned to teach there—had a drop in student population and only one teacher could be hired for the seven grades. Talk about a challenge—a first-year teacher and twenty-five eager students scattered in every grade from first through seventh! I conducted classes much as my own teachers had done in the seven years when I was a student in that school. I had an excellent helper in a very brilliant seventh grade student named Shirley. Without neglecting her own instruction, I allowed her to help me mentor some of the younger students with their math, spelling and reading.

Looking back, I count that year as a teacher in country school as one of my happiest and best, although it was hard, with all the responsibilities falling to me. In that first year of my thirty-year teaching career, I learned to be teacher and administrator, how to cultivate parental support, how to instruct with enthusiasm and how to motivate students to achieve. I had learned to teach by having been taught myself by exemplary role models.

Education has gone through many changes since those days from 1936-1943 when I was a student in country school and took my lunch in a lard pail and had the privilege of shared knowledge because students learned from each other as well as from the teacher. And my year of teaching there, 1948-1949, was foundational to who I became as a teacher. Have we lost some significant aspects of education in these modern days? Then we had the privilege of learning from and being challenged by upper classmen whose recitations we heard. We had concepts drilled into us until the learning became second nature. There is much to laud and praise for our heritage of “lard pail lunches and shared knowledge.” Then eager students gathered at a country school under the auspices of ones called and dedicated to the important role of teacher.

c2011 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published November 10, 2011 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Lard Pail Lunches and Shared Knowledge (or Life in a Country School ~ Part 2)

Attending a country school for the first seven grades of my education and then returning to the same school to teach my first year as an educator were rich experiences indeed. Last week’s column began this series. I continue with Part 2.

Persons have asked me, “What was a typical day like with everyone in several grades studying in the same room? Wasn’t there a lot of noise and confusion? Did you really learn what you should have learned under those primitive circumstances, and wasn’t teaching very hard?

Back from 1936 through 1943 at Choestoe School, a typical day began with us lining up in orderly fashion to march into the building. Then in each room, our teacher began the day with a Bible reading, a few verses from the Psalms or some other selected short passage. Next we quoted the Lord’s Prayer in unison, followed by the pledge to the American Flag. There were no complaints then about this morning devotional time, even though it was a public school. When I returned to teach there in 1949-1950, I practiced the morning opening as I had learned it when I was a student.

Then classes began. The teacher had a schedule, usually with reading, arithmetic, and spelling all done in the morning. The class “reciting” or being taught at a particular time, went to a bench at the front near the teacher’s desk. First grade was mainly learning to make the numbers, count (for those who could not already when they entered school), learning the letters and how to form them, and learning to read in Primer and then first grade readers. Older pupils might work arithmetic problems on the board. Turns were taken reading aloud from the reading text, with comprehension questions and discussion led by the teacher. The classes proceeded in an orderly fashion, first, second, third grades. In the upper room the classes for fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh graders proceeded orderly. The teacher seemed quite adept at being able to assign meaningful seat work for those who were at their desks awaiting “recitation” time. Discipline was good—we were expected by our parents to behave, and if we received a paddling for an infraction at school, we certainly received the same punishment from our parents, as well as a stiff lecture on acceptable behavior. In this manner, good behavior was enforced. School was a privilege and we went to school to learn. That was an expected norm for our community.

Two breaks came during the school day. One was for lunch. My title is meaningful in this regard. Each student took lunch to school usually in a tin bucket, a bucket that had contained lard or maybe a tin syrup pail. In that lunch might be ham and/or sausage and biscuit, a boiled egg, a baked sweet potato, an ear of boiled corn, an apple (in season), or maybe even a jar of homemade soup. We seldom had “light” (loaf) bread in those days. Sometimes we would have “store-bought” bread, a real treat. When peanut butter became available for purchase in country stores, a biscuit with peanut butter and jelly was always a welcome item in the lunch pail. Special sweet treats were gingerbread or cookies sweetened with sorghum syrup.

We gathered outside in good weather to eat our noon meal, or in inclement or cold weather, we took our repast at our desks inside. For liquid, we drank water carried in a tin bucket from the spring, with each student bringing a personal cup from home to receive the water. Trusted older students were assigned “water duty,” and had the privilege of going the distance to the spring near the school to “fetch” the water. Sometimes we would “swap” lunches, with students trading something in their lunch pail for an item a friend had that seemed enticing.

Following lunch, we had a long recess time. Some of the games played were “Red Rover”, “London Bridge,” Hop Scotch,” “Town Ball” or “Antni-Over.” No playground equipment graced the schoolyard. Only the expanse of yard and woods surrounded the building, forming ideal places for creative play at recess time. Games included the afore-mentioned and also “playing house” for the younger children, who might bring a favorite doll to school. In the playhouse, we outlined the house with sticks or moss, giving a name to each room just like at home. “Playing school” was another favorite recess game. We were supervised during recess times by both teachers, and any minor accidents were quickly attended. I might add that disagreements among students at recess time were also summarily handled with the proper punishment, or “time out” from play.

Following lunch and the noontime recess, we were ready for another session of “books” as we called in-class time. Afternoons, especially in the upper grades section, were usually given to science, geography and history. In the lower grades, simplified science and more reading, and extra practice in arithmetic were the drills.

Then came the mid-afternoon recess—a time for toilet and water break, and a very short time for some exercise or short games. Not more than twenty minutes was allowed for afternoon recess.

Following the afternoon recess, any classes not covered either in the morning or after lunch were conducted. This was often the time for intensive spelling drills. We were quite competitive in spelling matches, enjoying the “spelling bees,” both in-school and competitively about once a month on Friday afternoons when parents were invited to come and observe, or even participate to try to “spell down” the most adept spelling students. This period was also sometimes used for recitations when we quoted poems we had memorized, or the teacher read to us from a continuing story book. All too soon, 3:30 came and time to go home. And so days proceeded at the country school in much this fashion.

Part of my title for this series is “Shared Knowledge.” My opinion is that the students learned from each other as they heard recitations of the upper classmen in their room. That way, it could be possible to advance on one’s own level. I can never remember being bored because I learned something in the next grade simply by listening. Teachers then seemed to be quite aware of this occurrence and allowed students to proceed on their own to advanced levels.

Our teachers comprised the whole staff. First and foremost, they were instructors, academically gifted and with skills to teach. They also had the job of keeping the building clean and in good order. They bound up wounds sustained in playground accidents. They felt fevered heads and applied compresses. Discipline-wise, they were strict and a few licks with a sapling switch were not beyond their parameters of dealing with misbehavior. They were likewise community leaders. If a program or drama were to be help on special occasions such as Christmas, Easter, or graduation, they came up with the proper program that made the parents glad their children were going to Choestoe School. When the churches near by (Choestoe Baptist and Salem Methodist) had revival meetings, students were lined up in orderly rows and marched to the church to hear the visiting minister. No questions were raised as to the propriety of this practice.

c2011 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published Nov. 3, 2011 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Lard Pail Lunches and Shared Knowledge (or Life in a Country School ~ Part 1)

Choestoe School in Union County, Georgia, 1936 through 1943 has a special place in my memory, in things I love, and in who I became in life. It also figures in my first year of a thirty-year teaching career, for it was there, where I started school, that I returned to teach my very first year as a young, inexperienced, fresh-out-of-junior-college state provisionally certified teacher.

Choestoe schoolhouse has been moved from its former location and now stands on land that was once my Daddy’s, then my brother’s, my own, my son’s, and now the county’s. The old Choestoe school house is being restored and will eventually be used as a voting precinct building and perhaps a community clubhouse.

But what took place there in the building’s heyday as a schoolhouse? Come with me to learn about “Lard Pail Lunches and Shared Knowledge.”

I received my early education in a two-teacher country school from 1936 through 1943. I never felt deprived educationally from this inauspicious start. In high school, college and graduate school, I regarded my elementary school education as excellent and special indeed.

Not only did I begin my education in a two-teacher country school, but my first year of teaching was in that same school in 1949-1950. “You can’t go home again,” as proposed by author Thomas Wolfe in his novel, Look Homeward, Angel, did not apply to me. I returned home to teach with anticipation and joy, and gratitude that the Union County School Board would consider a product of that school to be worthy to teach there.

By 1949, due to declining pupil population, Choestoe had become a one-teacher school. Having attended that school myself the very first year the “new” two-room building opened, and then returning thirteen years later to teach my first year there at the same school, were both rich and rewarding experiences for me.

Let us look at life in Choestoe School from 1936 through 1943, the years I was a student in its hallowed halls. From Primer through Seventh Grade I was educated at that school. Choestoe had been an early school, although the building in which I attended was brand new in 1936. Previous schools had preceded the one I knew so well. Early settlers began the school, some of my ancestors with surnames like Dyer, Souther, Collins, Hunter, Nix, Self and England, to name a few. Many of these forebears were in the county when it was founded in 1832. And straightaway they began a school at various locations, not necessarily on the same spot as the new building of 1936. Earlier, a log building used for both school and church had been replaced by a two-room, two-story frame school building. On the upper floor of the old building, the Choestoe Masonic Lodge met. I can vaguely remember attending events in that building when my older brother Eugene and my sister Louise went to school there. Even as a young child, the steps to the second floor fascinated me and I wondered what lay beyond the confines of what I could see.

The brand new building in which I began my educational adventures in 1936 had two rooms, both on the ground level. A covered open vestibule-type entrance was at the front. Two front doors led in from the vestibule to the classrooms. The “lower grades” (primer through third) classroom was on the left and the “upper grades” (fourth through seventh) was on the right. Each classroom had a cloak/storage room across the front where we had pegs to hang our coats and shelves to set our “lard bucket” lunch pails. If we wore galoshes over our shoes in rainy or snowy weather, we removed them and left them in the cloak room while we were in class. Also in that room were bookcase shelves in one end of the room on which the extra textbooks were aligned, grade-wise.

The classrooms were separated by a removable partition, ceiled with wood on both sides. I can remember my father and other men in the community taking down those partitions to provide a large space. A raised stage was put in place and the classrooms could then accommodate our school programs.

Each classroom was heated by a wood heater, an iron stove (not the usual “pot” bellied) a low, oblong heater with a door on the front into which to feed the wood. Parents (or patrons of the school) were required to haul their fair share of the wood consumed throughout the months heat was needed. Long tin stovepipes connected the heater to the common chimney that was outside the building about where the middle partition was located that separated the classrooms.

That first nervous day—in July, 1936—we students waited outside, anticipating what school might be like until “the principal,”—the upper-grades teacher, rang the school bell—our signal that “books” (or classes) were to begin. Miss Opal Sullivan was the upper grades teacher, a trim, beautiful young lady who seemed to me then all-too-young to be a teacher. She stood in the school entrance on the right side, awaiting her fourth through seventh grade pupils to line up in an orderly row. Mrs. Mert Shuler Collins was the primary grades teacher. She stood at the school entrance on the left side. She patiently showed the new pupils like me how to line up. When everyone was quiet and in order, we were given the signal to proceed.

Once we were inside that primary side of the magnificent new school building, it was not hard for us to tell which desks were for the primer and first grade students. The very smallest individual wooden desks were in a row nearest the line of tall, glowing windows. I quickly found one in a location I liked, and soon it seemed to me that I had found a new home. And, indeed, I had, because from that first day of school in 1936 until the present, I have found my home-away-from home in classrooms, wherever they have opened welcoming doors to me.

[To be continued: Part 2 of “Lard Pail Lunches and Shared Knowledge”. Note: This story, in modified form, written by Ethelene Dyer Jones, appeared first in Moonshine and Blind Mules edited by Bob Lasley and Sallie Holt. Hickory, NC: Hometown Memories Publishing Co., 2006, pp. 88-91. Used by permission.]

c2011 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published October 27, 2011 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Unicoi Turnpike as a “Trail through Time” (Part 2)

Last week’s column presented the Georgia Historical Marker wording on the Unicoi Turnpike and gave a brief account of some of the importance of this road to the history of the area. It looked forward to November 12, 2011 when the Unicoi Turnpike Day will be held by the Towns County Historical Society, with an opportunity to hike along a portion of the old trail from the Unicoi Gap parking lot north of Helen and South of Hiawassee.

This important “Trail Through Time” has figured prominently in the history of the mountainous regions of North Georgia, western North Carolina, and eastern Tennessee. Let’s pursue some more highlights of this significant history.

In 1999, the section of the Unicoi Turnpike that stretches between Vonore, Tennessee and Murphy, North Carolina was designated as one of sixteen National Millennium Flagship Trails by the United States government. Reading the speech made by Mr. Brett Riggs, archaeologist, for the September 9, 2000 dedication service at the Sequoyah Museum Pow Wow, I found a rich store of information about the Unicoi Turnpike and its significance to history. I merely highlight here some of the dates and events of this Trail through Time.

Mr. Riggs told that the first Europeans to travel the Indian trail from Charleston, South Carolina to the Cherokee Overhill towns of Tellico, Chota and Tenasi in Tennessee—going through mountainous regions of what later became portions of four states, South Carolina, Georgia, North Carolina and Tennessee—were English traders with the names of Alexander Long, Cornelius Dogherty, Robert Bunning, and James Douglas. This history dates to 1690 when these men used pack animals to traverse the “Great Warpath” Trail and trade with the Indians.

Ten years later, by 1700, French traders had joined to ply their trade, coming from the New Orleans area, getting on this northern mountainous route, and finding the profitable business in furs and other items of trade from the Overhill Indians.

By 1730, Alexander Cumming, an English Trader was dealing with the Indians. In a well-researched book by William Steele, he tells of Cumming having designated the Cherokee Chieftain, Moytoy of the Tellico, TN area as “Emperor of the Cherokee.” Cumming took seven warriors back to England with him , among whom was the famous warrior Attaculla, or “Little Carpenter.” This “Empire” designated by the trader Cumming lasted until another trader in 1736, named Christian Gottlieb Priber, still designating Chief Moytoy as leader, made himself Secretary-of-State. Priber’s empire, however, was only five years in duration. He was arrested as a “French spy” and died in prison on the coast of Georgia at Ft. Frederica.

The French and Indian War (1755-1781) was the next large historic event that affected action on the Unicoi Trail. The British built Fort Loudon during this period. An amazing transport of twelve cannon were hauled over the Unicoi Trail, with the loss of only one of the horses that pulled the 300-pound cannon. After the British surrendered Ft. Loudon, the cannon were taken back over the trail to South Carolina.

The next major highlight in Unicoi Trail history was the American Revolution. We will recall from history that the Cherokee sided with the British against the American settlers. Along the Trail, John Sevier invaded Overhill Cherokee villages, coming as far east as Murphy and Andrews in North Carolina. Sevier’s army was surrounded at one time by about 500 Cherokee warriors at Tellico, but amazingly the U. S. troops escaped massacre. A fuller story of this encounter is given in J. G. M. Ramsey’s book, Annals of Tennessee.

Benjamin Hawkins, a US Indian Agent to the Cherokee and Creek tribes, made a journey in 1799 the whole length of the Unicoi Turnpike. His writings and journal have been preserved in what is entitled Letters of Benjamin Hawkins. This valuable account is in collections of the Georgia Historical Society (Volume IX, pages 110-113). His naming important landmarks along the trail and giving the time it took him to walk from point to point which he indicated has proved valuable in understanding the geography and lay-of-land of this ancient route.

We learned from last week’s account that a group of Whites and Cherokees joined to form the Unicoi (or Unaka) Turnpike Road (1813 and following). Improvements on the old trail enabled better travel conditions. The turnpike became a boon to agricultural production and marketing, trading, and even transport of settlers as they moved into mountainous regions to claim land and begin a new and brave way of life.

Then came the Gold Rush. Gold was discovered on Coker Creek in Tennessee in 1827 and at Duke’s Creek in upper Georgia in 1828. When the Cherokee were forced to give up all claims to their traditional homeland by the Treaty of New Echota in 1836, the plans for evacuation of the Indians began in earnest. We all know too well the Trail of Tears and the loss of many Indians along this route of exposure, illness and death. Unfortunately, many of the Cherokee were forcefully moved over portions of the Unicoi Trail from temporary stockades where they had been gathered. We have stories of how they mournfully waved farewell to their mountain homes.

The Civil War, too, 1862-1865, provided all-too-bloody tales along this “Trail in Time.” The hollows and mountainous hiding areas provided cover for guerilla bands and outlaws who marauded, stole and killed. Following the war, the Trail was still the scene of intrigue and high adventure. Many stories abound of how history has occurred along the trail.

Now an effort is under way to continue marking more portions of the trail as a “National Millennium Flagship Trail” along the whole mileage from the Tugalo River in Georgia to Bristol, Tn. This “Great Warpath Trail” has many miles and many stories still to be told.

c2011 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published October 20, 2011 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Unicoi Turnpike

The Unicoi Turnpike was an old road that played prominently in the early days of settlement of Union and Towns Counties, and, indeed, as a trade route in parts of Tennessee, North Carolina and Georgia prior to the settling of the mountain region by whites. The historical marker that designates the road is at GPS reading N 34° 41.209` W 083° 42.616` in White County, Georgia. The message on the marker states:

The Unicoi Turnpike

This road is the Old Unicoi Turnpike, first vehicular route to link East Tennessee, Western North Carolina and North Georgia with the head of navigation on the Savannah River system. Beginning on the Tugalo River, to the east of Toccoa, the road led this way, thence through Unicoi Gap and via Murphy, N. C. to Nine Mile Creek near Maryville, Tenn.

Permission to open the way as a toll road was given by the Cherokees in 1813 to a Company of Indians and white men. Tennessee and Georgia granted charters to the concern. Georgia Historical Marker

Marker @ GHM 154-1R Date: 2003

In recent correspondence with Mr. Carey Waldrip, a history buff (as am I) and member of the Towns County Historical Society, he announced that Saturday, November 12, 2011 has been designated as Unicoi Turnpike Day in Towns County. Plans are to meet at any time between 9:00 and 12:00 noon on that date at the Unicoi Gap Parking Lot (GA Hwy 17/75). Hiking directions will be given for those who wish to walk the remnant of the old Unicoi Turnpike, a rough, sunken road from the Gap that leads for two miles northward into Towns County. Mr. Waldrip warns that people should come prepared for a rugged hike, with good walking shoes, and bright hat and jacket, “because it is hunting season.” Another feature of the Unicoi Turnpike Day will be a lecture beginning at 9:00 a. m. by Dr. Paul Arnold of Young Harris College who will speak on the subject of “Geocaching.” Those who have a hand-held GPS instrument should bring it for the lecture session.

Now to more history on the Unicoi Turnpike: In the September-October, 2008 issue of the Sautee-Nacoochee Community Association Newsletter, some of the history of the Unicoi Turnpike was given. Dr. Tom Lumsden, a resident of the Nacoochee Valley and one who strongly works to preserve history, stated that the Unicoi Turnpike Trail was originated by “engineers with four feet.” Even prior to the Indians’ use of the trail as a footpath, large mammals went from eastern Tennessee to the piedmont and coastal plains of North and South Carolina as they migrated for the winter months and returned along the same route in the spring. Since the trail was already there, cut through the forest by migrating animals, the Indians began to use it as a trade and migratory route as well. The route was seen as useful for trade, and from 1813 through 1817 a company headed by a Mr. Russell Wiley began at Mullin’s Ford on the Tugalo River and began to improve the trail across the top of North Georgia, into western North Carolina proceeding to Murphy, and then northwestward to Vonore, Tennessee on the Little Tennessee River.

With improvements on the turnpike, it was turned into a toll road for freight wagons. From Augusta in Georgia to Knoxville in Tennessee the toll road continued to operate until after the Civil War. Drovers went over the road with hogs, cattle, turkeys and other livestock along the trail. I have heard my grandfather, Francis Jasper Collins, tell of taking a “drove of turkeys” along the Turnpike from Choestoe near Blairsville all the way to Augusta. I could not envision how the drovers managed to keep the turkeys on trail and on task, and often wish I had been old enough when I heard him tell his stories of the turkey drives (and sometimes live cattle and sheep) to ask about particulars. I do remember his saying that the turkeys roosted in trees at night as the horses and men camped beneath them. Then early in the morning the turkeys would be fed from corn in the wagons and started on the next trek of the long journey. Also, at places along the Unicoi Turnpike were inns and rest stops, places where the men could get cooked meals and spend the night. These were sometimes at about fifteen-mile intervals. But not all the trail from Tennessee through North Carolina and Georgia had the convenience of inns for rest stops.

The Unicoi Turnpike Trail was more than just a path. It became the thoroughfare over which our ancestors moved from South or North Carolina into North Georgia, many arriving before the Cherokee were ousted from the mountain lands. People, events, and places along the ancient trail are a part of our history.

If you should plan to attend the Unicoi Turnpike Day on November 12, 2011, and walk a portion of the still discernible trail, you will be treading on ground almost sacred to the memory of a hardy people seeking a better way of life. Next week we will examine some more history of the Unicoi Turnpike—a “trail through time.”

c2011 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published October 13, 2011 in The Union Sentinel, Blairsville, GA. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.