Blue Ridge Mts, Great Smokies, and Catawba Reservation

Photos at:
http://web.mac.com/goodlenora/iWeb/Site/Library%2014.html
(Library 14)

So, here it is, Monday, the 27 of April, and we are in Elkin/Jonesboro, North Carolina on our way to Independence, Virginia.

We spent a really nice time at Jan’s and Lori’s in Travelers Rest. Jan was so excited to see us, and took us sight-seeing. On Friday, we went to the Subaru dealer in Henerson and got Suvie her 7500 mile check-up (although she only had 7200 miles on her at the time). Hendersonville by the way, is pronounced Hendersonville. Ashville and Greenville are pronounced Ashvull and Greenvull. Don’t ask – I don’t know why.

When we got home from Hendersonville, we went out to see an old bridge, an old covered bridge, and an old mill that has been turned into a nice privately owned park that is open to the public, and often used for weddings and family gatherings.

The Poinsett Bridge was named after the gentleman who was an ambassador to Mexico, and brought back the Poinsettia flowers, which were named after him. The bridge is a beautiful example of old stonework, and was never covered, though the sides are high. The road is rough and narrow, and used to be the main highway. Although it was hot, and the sun was fairly high, the shadows were quite dark.

Lori made homemade strawberry ice cream that night that was beyond wonderful! I’m not a huge fan of ice cream, and strawberry ice cream is, at best, ok. This was wonderful! I ate my share and then some for the next three nights!

One of the ghostly, or is that ghastly? sights we saw, were buildings, fields, trees, poles—covered in gray vines. They looked like something out of a horror movie—and are darn close it. Except the vines are real, and in a couple of weeks, will be a beautiful green. The vines are kudzu—a plant brought in from Japan to help with soil erosion, and now are taking over everything. It has no known enemy, and nothing kills it! Goats will eat it, but the roots just spread.

On Saturday, they took us to Gatlinburg, TN. We made a few stops before getting there, going through the mountains. We went through both the Blue Ridge and the Smokies, and I’m not positive which mountains are which as I look at the pictures. We did not stop in Gatlinburg – it was just like Sedona, Jackson’s Hole, or any other tourist trap you can think of. From there we went to Cade’s Cove which is a beautiful little valley, with a narrow, one-way 11 mile loop road through it. We saw three black bear-a mama and her two cubs-probably last year’s judging by their size. Alas, they weren’t in the mood to pose for photos. We also saw some wild turkeys, and several dear. Three dear posed in a meadow, and one dear in the forest would take a step or two, stop so we could take her picture then step again, and stop. Had she not moved, we probably would have missed her!

Cade’s Cove is an old settlement, that at one time held about 800 people. There are three churches still standing, and a few cabins, plus the main site where the mill is located. The house is the first frame house built in the area, the rest are log cabins, at least that are still standing.

At John Oliver’s cabin, the first stop, was a sign I hadn’t seen before: Bob was here! Of course, I had to take Ms. Flat Stanlietta’s photo with the sign. Bob, it turns out, was a law-breaker and carved his name where he shouldn’t have. Ms. FS wants you to know, she did NOT carve her name, and did not even leave icky behind when her tape was pulled off!

From there we drove through Pigeon Forge, but did not stop off at Dollywood. We saw the signs for Biltmore, and I considered going, until I heard the cost to get in is $65.00 per person. I’m sorry, the Vanderbilt’s can do without my contribution to their estate.

On the way home, we stopped at Fatz Cafe for dinner. It’s a local chain in Hendersonville area – great food, and friendly staff.

Last night we went to Silver Bay in Greenville for fish dinner. Before I could order my catfish, a bowl of ice was set on the table, and between Kay and I, and between Jan and Lori, two bowls of hot hush puppies* were set down. Oh, let me tell you, those were the best hush puppies I’ve had since I last ate my Grandma’s! I thought I’d be smart and put the last few in our bowl over in Jan and Lori’s bowl, and no sooner had I put our empty bowl back on the table, than another bowl of hot hush puppies was placed in it. I decided it was a Sign from the Goddess, and proceeded to indulge and over indulge in hush puppies. I barely had room for my cat fish, but I managed ;-)

*hush puppies are fried corn bread. The old story I’ve heard is that many years ago, an old Mammy was tired of hearing the hounds bark, so she fried up some corn bread batter and tossed it to the dogs telling them to ‘hush, puppies’ and they did! Some folks put onions in their hush puppies, but I like them better without, and these were without.

With some sadness at leaving dear friends, Kay and I again hit the road this morning. Being so close to the Catawba Indian Reservation, I just had to go. And I’m very glad I did! It wasn’t that there was so much to see – there really wasn’t, but I finally got a mystery solved, I think.

About my age twelve, Skipper (my grandfather) told me we were part Catawba, that he had read the papers when he was about 10, and his mother was so embarrassed, she burned them. By the time he got back to the reservation as a young man, it was after the administration building had had a fire, and the records were destroyed. Then, my Uncle Carl (Skipper’s son) told me we were not Catawba, but Cherokee, and that Skipper had taken him to meet some of them in Oklahoma. Today, at the Tribal Headquarters, Donna spent several minutes with me, going over stories, and files. They have no tribal rolls from before 1900, so that door is irrevocably shut to me, but she did tell me a bit about the tribe.

In the mid 1800s (I think she said 1843), LDS (Mormon) missionaries came to the reservation, and befriended, and in turn were befriended by, the Catawba’s. When the missionaries feared for their lives, the Catawba’s hid them until it was safe for them to leave, and when the missionaries went west, so did many of the Catawba’s. As they traveled on, many dropped off at different reservations, and because they could only be registered at one reservation, they dropped their Catawba affiliation and became Cherokee, or ‘whatever’. I vaguely remember reading somewhere several years ago that the whole tribe converted to LDS.

My great grandmother (Skipper’s mother), was Laura Frances Huckabay McBrayer. Her father, Littleberry Huckabay was either ½ or ¼ Catawba. The story Skipper told me was that when he (Littleberry) considered moving to Texas, he married an Indian, Mary Jane Carlisle, because Texas was too rough a country into which a genteel white woman could or should be brought. My cousin, Jim, has been doing a bit of genealogical work on the Huckabay’s and there is no record that Jane was Indian, however, considering the mores of the day, I seriously doubt a white woman would have married an Indian man, so I am probably a drop or two more Catawba than I thought I was. Actually, I’m a whole lot more than I thought I was, because there for a while, I thought I wasn’t!

Anyhow, it was pretty exciting to finally get to Rock Hill and the Reservation. Actually, it was pretty exciting getting to the Reservation – Google map’s directions weren’t quite right, but after stopping and asking people, we found it. Getting back from the Reservation to the highway was a different adventure all together! There were no signs to back track, and after a couple of wrong turns, we just kept wandering. Suddenly, a miracle happened, and we turned a corner and a big sign said: I-77 North, right lane!

Now, we are in North Carolina, and heading toward Kay’s roots. We’ll spend some time searching out her heritage, then head over toward the Atlantic and Martin’s Hundred (near Jamestown which we may or may not see), visit a good friend, Starr, then head up to Cape May, NJ to spend a couple days with my twin, Stephanie and from there to Princeton to spend a few days with another friend named Kay. My big goal there is to find and photograph John McPhee’s house!

We were considering going up to Canada, and across, but I think we’re both about ready to hang a left at Princeton, and head on home. There are still people to see betwixt Princeton and the West Coast, and our beds are calling louder and louder each night.

“When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life so that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice.” ~ Cherokee Expression