Sunday, November 22, 2015

Old Needmore in Fall

Before I get to today's blog entry, I wanted to share an update on a previous entry. Shortly after posting last month's blog, I was able to get in touch with Larry Stallcup, who is a genealogist extraordinaire for the Stallcup family.  Larry informed me that the picture of Almarine Stallcup that I had located was actually only one half of a picture, and that the individual in the other half was in fact Pansy.  Furthermore, the picture had been taken on Pansy's wedding day.  I was thrilled that Larry generously shared it with me and allowed me to post it on the blog.  You may see the updated picture here.
And now onto this week's posting.
As Thanksgiving is right around the corner and thoughts of autumn seem to disappear the day afterward in favor of Christmas, I wanted to give fall one last salvo.  In October, my middle daughter and I took one of my favorite walks in the county - along the Little Tennessee River in the Needmore area.  In addition to its extraordinary physical beauty, this walk is extremely rich in human history that I have not yet explored in as great a depth as I would like to (but plan to).  This is essentially a photo essay but I will fit tidbits into captions as I am able.  I am indebted to Ed Ammons and David Dehart for sharing their historical knowledge of this beautiful place with me, so that I may pass it along to you.

The Little Tennessee River, viewed from the swinging bridge.

The swinging bridge, taken from the east side of the river.  Swain County resident Bill Burnett
grew up in a home that once stood adjacent to the bridge.

The road (beyond the gate) heading to the Burch McHan (1823-1895)/ (Doyle Hampton (1904 - 1977) place.

Sunlight shines through the fiery leaves of a sourwood tree.

One of several beautiful old fields along the road. 
The Doyle Hampton place sits slightly up the hill in the middle of this picture.

A hand-dovetailed log from a fallen outbuilding.

A bumblebee on one of the ubiquitous gentian plants blooming along the road. 

The chimney at the Doyle Hampton place, which remained standing until not many years ago.

The remains of an old barn at the Doyle Hampton place.

A grand old walnut marks a home site.

The tombstone of little Sarah Davis (01 June 1873 - 05 January 1874) in the original
Brush Creek Baptist Church cemetery.

Thistles in one of the old (still tended) fields along the road.

A rusted plow point harkens back to days when farmers plowed these fields with horses and mules and not tractors.

A maple leaf floats in the river.

A yucca marks an old home place near the confluence of Brush Creek and the river.

The Little Tennessee River, looking upstream. Ed Ammons shared with me a childhood recollection of crossing the river in an old flat-bottomed boat with a kerosene lantern on the way to a prayer meeting at Lon Dehart's.  His dog, Pooch, swam alongside.

For those who are interested, directions are as follows.  Turn left onto Needmore Road just before the junction of US19 (toward the Nantahala Gorge) and NC28 (toward Almond Boat Dock), and drive several miles.  After cresting the hill at the Maple Springs church, the road begins to head downhill toward the river and the parallels it for a way.  It then leaves the river for a brief distance then returns to parallel it.  Just before the road once again begins to head away from the river, you will see an old swinging bridge going across the river on the left.  Park in the small lot here, cross the bridge, and turn right to begin your walk.

I wish each of you a blessed Thanksgiving!

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Departed this Life (October 1915)

Between working full-time and raising 3 children, it's often difficult for me to find the time to write lengthy blog entries. As such, and in order to keep putting out information on Swain County, I've thought long and hard about what types of articles would be of interest to my readers, but take me a little less time (don't worry - the longer articles will still come!).  Today's blog is an example of one thought I had, that of profiling individuals who died in Swain County during the current month, any number of years ago.  For this particular entry, I chose 100 years.  I'd love some reader feedback at the bottom; is this article type one you'd like to see continue?

I hope you'll enjoy learning about some of the interesting Swain County individuals who departed this life in October 1915.

October 4th
William Franklin Garrett (born 1851), a 64 year-old lumber inspector at the time of his death, took his life by a shot to the head somewhere in the Oconlufty township.  He was born in the Jonathan Valley area of Haywood County, son of William Green Berry Garrett and Martha Jane Rodgers.  In 1877, he married Mollie Ophelia Thompson, and they had one known child: a daughter, Susan. He served as the postmaster of the Jonathan's Creek post office from1871 to 1877. He is buried in the Garrett Cemetery in Haywood County.  Click here for his memorial.

Champion Lumber Mill at Smokemont, date unknown (This may or may not have been the logging operation with which William Garrett was associated).  (Source: WCU Digital Collections.)

October 13th
Nancy (nee' Angel) Cunningham (born 1830), an 84 year-old widow, died of old age in the Almond area. She was born in Macon County and was the daughter of William Angel and Martha 'Pattie' Shepherd.  In 1856, she married James Mont Cunningham, with whom she had 4 known children:  William Avery, Robert Jefferson, Susannah, and Charles Thaddeus. Old deeds appear to indicate that the Cunninghams lived on the Little Tennessee River.  According to her death certificate, Nancy is buried in an unknown cemetery in the greater Ela area of Swain County.

Little Tennessee River in Swain County, 1937 - location unknown
(Source: WCU Digital Collections)
October 19th
Timmie Ross (both 17 Feb of the same year), a 7 month-old infant, died of 'pneumonia fever' at Stonery (near the location of the new Cherokee School on Big Cove Road).  He was born in Swain County and was the son of Adam 'Tewatley' Ross and Desdemonia Crowe.  At the time of his death, he had a sister, Katie.  Timmie is buried in an unmarked grave, in an unknown cemetery in the greater Big Cove area of Swain County.

Of tangential interest, Timmie's father was one of the Cherokee schooled for a time at the Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Carlisle Pennsylvania.  He ran away back to home in 1900, something he later came to regret as shown in the letter below.  Adam's file from the school may be viewed online here

Letter from Adam Ross to the Carlisle School (Source: Carlisle Indian School Digital Resource Center)

October 25th
Birch/Burch Messer (born 1893), a 22 year-old logger, died of bronchial pneumonia at Bushnell, attended by Dr. J.E.T. Welch, a prominent citizen of the area.  Birch was presumably born in the greater Dillsboro area of Jackson County and was the son of William Robert Messer and Nancy Avaline Parton.  He was single at the time of his death.  He is buried in the Locust Field Cemetery in Jackson County.  Click here for his memorial.
Coming into Bushnell, 1938 (Source: NARA)

October 25th
William 'Bill' Wildcat/Wild Cat (born in the early 1840s), a 75 year-old farmer, died of unknown causes somewhere in the Oconalufty township. As I am not a Cherokee historian, I cannot be certain of his lineage.  However, by matching US Census Records with Indian Census Rolls, he appears to have been the individual shown in the screen capture below from the 1899 Census for the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians. If my supposition is correct, he was married to a woman named Rebecca, and had 3 children living with him at the time: daughters Arline and Stetsey, and son Palneola (as best I can make out).  He is buried at a cemetery in the Birdtown area, presumably the Wildcat-Ben Cemetery, in an unmarked grave.

Source: 1899 Census - Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians on

 October 28th
Pansy E. (nee' Case) Crisp (born 1895), a 20 year-old housewife, died of tuberculosis at Bryson City. Pansy was born in Swain County and was the daughter of Fidelia Gaston 'Jack' Case and Kansas Mary Jane Stallcup.  She was orphaned in 1905 upon the death of her mother (her father died in 1896), and was taken in to live with her maternal grandparents, Lucius Harvey and Maude Almarine Elizabeth Stallcup.  In 1913, she married Frederick Ira Crisp.  They had no known children together during their brief marriage. Pansy is buried at the Bryson City Cemetery.  Click here for her memorial.

Maude Almarine (Hall) Stallcup (left), grandmother of Pansy (Case) Crisp (right) on Pansy's wedding day.
Source: Larry Stallcup
These are the only individuals whose deaths were recorded via death certificates for October 1915 in Swain County.  However, as death certificates had been in use for a short time only, more often than not, deaths often went unrecorded.  There can be no doubt that there were many other Swain Countians who died in October 1915, some whom we can discover through their headstones, and others who lie in unmarked graves, their identity lost to history.

As always, I welcome and appreciate reader input.  Knowing of your interest in what I write enables me to remain enthusiastic about writing it!  Today, I'd love some reader feedback in the comments - is this article type one you'd like to see continue?

Carlisle Indian School Digital Resource Center
National Archives and Records Administration, TVA Files
Western Carolina University Digital Collections

Sunday, September 20, 2015

The Old Juney Whank Home Place

Following is the much-belated epilogue to the past two blog entries written by my research partner, Don Casada.  As a disclaimer, this hike is best-taken by those in good physical condition and who are comfortable navigating in the backcountry.  It is also best-taken during the late fall and winter months, when the deciduous foliage in the area is down and visibility much better.  Should you undertake this trek - enjoy!  It is a very special place.
Several folks have gone up Juney Whank Branch looking for home places and have asked me about location and directions to the Casada place, so I thought I’d provide them here.

From the parking lot area near the mouth of the branch, it is – in the words of my father – a country mile to the home.  According to my GPS unit, his country mile is about 1.25 customary miles.  Along the way, you pass three other former home sites, as indicated on the Figure 11 map. 

Those undertaking off-trail wandering are well-advised to study maps before heading out, especially if you’re seeking a particular location.  Juney Whank Branch has some of the standard vegetation that you have to deal with in the area – rhododendron and greenbriers – but relative to many other locations in the Smokies, it is a relatively easy bushwhack.  One important point to remember is that if you get turned around or confused, simply follow the stream downhill as it winds its way toward Deep Creek. 
Here are some general directions to what was once the Casada home place: 
Figure 1: Juney Whank Branch map, with former home places marked

 Starting at the parking lot, located near the mouth of Juney Whank Branch and the trailhead for the Deep Creek trail.  From the parking lot, turn left to follow the trail toward the Juney Whank Falls.  The climb, by trail, to above the falls will get both your heart and lungs pumping; the trail portion is actually the hardest part of the trip.  Continue on up the trail to above the falls (which you’ll see to your right as you ascend).  Cross the branch, turn left and start on an unmaintained wagon road, immediately passing a springbox with a pipe water spout.  If you want to follow the old wagon road from this point, that’s fine, but I usually veer off the road to the left just as it starts to climb a bit and walk through the quite open woods.  In late winter and early spring, you’ll spot a patch of jonquils just after getting off the road.  Continue to wander up the drainage, staying on the right (east) side of the branch. 

About 0.2 miles after leaving the road, be on the lookout for an old washtub, lying alongside a patch of jonquils.  This is all that marks a former home place which was owned by A.T. (Tom) Lollis.  I don’t think that Tom’s family ever lived in it, however; they once lived near the mouth of Hammer Branch (to the north) and later near the mouth of Durham Branch, near the pavilion in the Deep Creek campground area. 

As you continue on up the branch, the walls will pinch in on either side, and you’ll run back into the old road as it closes in on the branch.  I normally go ahead and wade into the rhododendron at this point and follow the road.  There are a couple of trees that have fallen across the road which you’ll have to crawl under or navigate around, but overall, it’s not a bad go. 

Shortly after crossing a small feeder branch coming in from the right (coming out of Hall’s Holler – a story for another time), you’ll pop out of the pinched-in section to where things open up substantially.  Leave the old road and cross a small branch which runs right beside the road and traveling through a two-or three-foot deep gouge.  Look for a patch of yellowbells, washtubs, and in the midst of a thicket, a fallen chimney.  This was the Lee Wiggins home.

Beyond that home, bear a little off to the west, away from the road.  Cross Juney Whank Branch and look for the home of Ben Lollis.  Although the marker in Figure 1 shows it on the east side of the branch, it is actually on the west side of the branch (the topo map is off). Just below where the home stood is a sizable collection of automobile parts, including the driveshaft and rear end, brakes, engine mount and other pieces.  The home spot is marked by a fallen chimney pile just above the vehicle parts.  Also nearby is other detritus, including terra cotta pipe and bits of galvanized metal roofing.  Not far above the chimney pile is a flattened out spot where a barn once stood.
Cross back to the east side of Juney Whank Branch and continue up the drainage.  If you watch closely, about 0.15 miles above the Lollis home, you’ll run into the wagon road, with some sizable rocks on either side of it.  I don’t usually follow that road – although it will take you to the home place.  Instead, I cross it and continue until I reach the noticeably larger trees toward what was the lower end of the garden area.  On the left is a good-sized maple; on the right is a two+ foot diameter red oak.  On up above are other fine tree specimens – all second-growth.  The largest yellow poplar in the area, which my wife, Susan stands next to in Figure 2, is a good reference point.

Figure 2:Casada home place area. Vegetation - japonica, daylilies, and mock orange - mark the home site location. About 20 yards beyond the home is a rocked-in spring, below which, in a broad flat section, there once stood a spring house.

 Above the home site, a rock wall runs an east-west course across the hollow.  The area above this was fields.  On above that was pasture.  About a quarter mile above the home site is a two-hundred yard long rock wall which winds along a section of wet weather branch.  That rock wall served a dual function – a place to relocate rocks from the pasture and field areas and to provide erosion control from the considerable flow that courses that wet weather stream following heavy rains.
Figure 3: Part of the long rock wall along the wet weather branch
Light and set
Let me close by saying that in my view, were the folks who once called these places home still alive to ask, I think that they’d be absolutely delighted if someone came by to visit – either before or after they left the place behind.  So, by all means, go by and “set a spell.”
When I visit a home place – particularly this one – I like to sit on a log in the sun in winter or a rock by the branch in warm weather and let my mind carry me on a journey back to when there were sounds of children’s laughter as they hemmed in spring lizards and the satisfying crack of white oak splitting from a solid whack; the smells of wood smoke and freshly-turned soil; the sights of a barefoot boy carrying a bucket of spring water to the house in the gloaming and strings of leather britches hung across the porch in late summer to dry.  Those were hard days, inhabited by folks tough beyond modern measure.  I’m confident that many would not trade the lives that they had later on for those earlier, harder ways (my grandparents and parents certainly included).  Still, there was –and is, among the dwindling few who once called these remote places home – a deep sense of affection for the time and the place where they were raised. 
Figure 4:  The old spring.
Random Thoughts and the Musings of a Mountaineer, written by Judge Felix Alley and published in 1941, is a book long out of print and hard to come by.  Alley was a man whose love of these mountains was surpassed by his love of his kindred mountain people.  He noted that the poem below by “Mr. J.W. Clay, citizen and poet of Winston-Salem” expressed his sentiments fully.  It does mine as well, particularly when I pay a visit to the Casada place, a country mile up Juney Whank Branch.
A Little Log Cabin in the Mountains
J.W. Clay
A little log cabin in the mountains
A spring, and a creek running by,
The deep solemn silence of the wild-wood,
Broken by the screech owl's cry.
A meadow that harbors a hay-stack,
A field where the golden-rod blooms,
A hill where hides the arbutus,
Where tall the great oak tree looms.
A garden of old-fashioned flowers,
The hollyhock, marigold, and rose;
A plot with vegetables growing,
With onions and cabbage in rows.
The whinny of the horse in the pasture,
A cow in the shed, and a calf,
A pig in the pen making a noise,
That is neither a cry nor a laugh.
A cock with a dictator strut,
Some pullets and hens running 'round,
A fretting old 'cluck' with her brood,
Scratching for worms in the ground.
A blazing wood fire in the winter,
When snow is covering the ground,
A cat on the hearth-stone purring,
And a lazy but faithful old hound.
I have traveled the far-away places,
I have crossed over mountain and sea,
I have seen the great cities in splendor,
But their splendor holds nothing for me.
For I love my log cabin in the mountains,
It is humble, but still it's my home,
And never again shall I leave it,
Across the wide earth to roam.
Of course I live in the city,
Like you, and other poor devils I know,
But my heart and my soul are in the mountains,
Where memories, like warm embers glow.

Monday, March 30, 2015

An Epic Journey, part 2: Rolling and Sliding from Clay to Swain County

From Don Casada:  This is a continuation of family journeys.  Part 1 mostly concerned itself with my great-grandparents, Will and Sarah Casada, but did touch on the marriage of their third son, Joseph Hillberry to Minnie Price (my grandparents).  This article picks up with the lives of Joe and Minnie in their early years together and sees them through a move to Swain County.

In their beginnings

Minnie Price and Joe Casada exchanged vows at the home of Reverend J.S. Brooks in November, 1903.  Where did Joe and Minnie Casada first live afterwards?  I don’t know, and like seventy-eleven other things that I wonder about, it’s too late to ask someone who might could’ve helped answer that question.  My suspicion is that they made arrangements to rent a place, but they may have also lived for a while with Joe’s parents, Will and Sarah Casada. 
It was about four years later in August, 1907, shortly after the birth of their third daughter Annie Jo, that Joe and Minnie bought their first property in the Downing(s) Creek area.  Given the fact that they paid but $200 for 100 acres, there was probably no house on the place. They turned around and sold it two years later – just after their fourth child and first son, Commodore (name, not title) was born.  The sales price was $350, so they’d apparently put up a rough-cobbed home to live in or made other improvements.  The home location appears to have been in the area toward the eastern end of Jarrett Road (approximately in the area denoted by the orange rectangle on the Figure 1 map).  They purchased the property from J.O. Smith, the father of Lawrence Smith, for whom the road noted on the map was named.

Figure 1:  Map of the area from Hayesville east to lower Downings Creek Road (Google Maps)

In 1910, Minnie’s brother Will and his wife Lillie Carter, along with their first four children and Lillie’s sister were living near the Coleman-Shearer couples who had raised Will and Minnie.  The Coleman home areas along Jarrett Road are marked by the green rectangle in Figure 1.  Will, unlike his brother-in-law Joe, stayed put.  Today, in fact, Price descendants still live along this section of Jarrett Road. 
The first photo we have of Joe and Minnie, along with their first three children, Lelia Kate, Jura Samantha, and Annie Jo (L-R in the photo) is shown in Figure 2.  Will and Lillie Price, with daughter Laura Ellen are shown in Figure 3.
Figure 2:  Joe and Minnie Casada family in 1908

Figure 3:  Will and Lillie Price Family in 1903
After selling their first home place, Joe and Minnie moved to the north a few miles, and rented a home in the beautiful Tusquitee Valley, where they were found when the 1910 census was taken.  Curiously, the census taker failed to record the presence of their first son, Andrew Commodore, who had been born in August, 1909, but did note that Joe’s younger brother, Tom, was living with the family.
After a couple of years of tenant life, Joe and Minnie purchased another piece of land in 1911, closer to where Minnie had grown up – not far from the Coleman and Price homes.  They paid $300 for a 40 acre tract, or $7.50/acre.  They stayed here for about three years before selling the place for $550. 
During this era, a country man’s intelligence was judged by his trading ability.  Clearly, Joe traded well and/or worked hard to have earned such good returns on property investments in Clay County.  The annualized rates of return for the first and second properties were 26.8% and 20.5%, respectively. 
Such financial success would prove to be elusive for the balance of Joe’s life.  My father (Commodore) recalled that after moving to Swain County, Grandpa made one bad trade after another.  The family attributed this to a case of scarlet fever, and an accompanying elevated temperature which had a lasting impact on his thinking. 

Perspectives on moving

The sale of the property in the Jarrett Road area, just east of Hayesville, preceded the journey from Clay County to Swain County one hundred years ago this winter.
Grandpa clearly had a case of itchy feet.  Having moved at least twice with his parents, he then moved at least thrice between the time of his marriage to Minnie and when the family left Clay County. 
Picking up and moving on was an integral part of his life experience, and would remain the case until he was over a half-century old.  Based on my studies of the folks who made their homes in the Great Smoky Mountains during the same time period, this was actually a quite common pattern.  Families who built a home and stayed put for the balance of their lives were the exception, not the rule; there was considerable local and regional movement of families.
Of course this completely contradicts the stereotyped lives of stationary isolation painted by Horace Kephart in Our Southern Highlanders.  Whether the examination is by personal anecdote, as presented herein, or by more comprehensive primary source-based (e.g., deed, court, and census record) study, the conclusion of an unbiased observer will be the same: the majority of the folks who lived in the mountains of Western North Carolina from the mid-19th century through the early 20th century moved from place to place with alacrity.  The portrait of lives lived in remote isolation might, in the words of Judge Felix Alley, “sell books in the north,” but it is terribly flawed with respect to reality.

An aborted repeat of the journey

It was early in 1915 when Joe and Minnie set out on what would be an epic journey through the eyes of my then five-year old father.  Daddy’s earliest, and most vivid, memories were connected to that trip from the lovely Hiwassee River valley to an isolated tract on upper Juneywhank Branch of Deep Creek.  Everything seems bigger through a youngster’s eyes, and it’s common for adults to go back to a place they’d not seen since childhood and find it to be much smaller than their memory’s etching.  So I had always assumed that stories my father told were those seen through the exaggerated lens of a child’s eyes.
Having driven or walked as much of the route as it’s practical to do, and having given consideration to the overall circumstances, I find that trip beyond epic – it is intimidating just to consider..  Even though I’ve spent considerable time wandering deep in the backcountry of the area, I’ll freely admit that I find myself wanting in both gumption and know-how to make such a trip by myself – let alone with a wife and six children, the oldest being ten years old, in tow.
Several years ago, while my father was alive, I made some rough guesstimates of the route that Joe would have taken.  So one day the two of us took off on a drive to Hayesville and then followed the first portion of what I then thought to be the route they’d taken.  After going up the road from Tusquitee through Tuni Gap, our appetites for food overcame our appetite for further travel, so we made a detour to Elsie’s in Andrews where Daddy demolished a dinner of beef liver and onions, mashed potatoes and green beans, then had – as I recall – a piece of chocolate pie for dessert.  Even at the age of 100, he had a keen appetite, and could put away as much food as I could after I’d been on a twenty-plus all day hike through the mountains.  As was his wont to do after lunch, he settled into a nap in the front seat of the car, so I just drove on back to the house.  We never finished the other segments of the journey which were drivable.

After a more careful reconsideration

Two fairly specific details of the trip, etched in his memory were: a) coming down through the Burningtown area of Macon County and b) spending a night near the Little Tennessee River after a heavy rain.
I recently undertook a more careful study of the roads available at the time to hone in on the route details.  Fortunately, a pair of 1906-1907 USGS topographic quadrangle maps for Nantahala and Cowee districts provides substantial insight. A study of those maps, informed by my father’s recollections, has led me to the conclusion that the route they took closely followed the one I’ll discuss below – which was a bit different than what I’d earlier guessed.  A set of map snippets accompany this article to help clarify the route.  An overall journey route overlaid onto a Google Earth view is available.
They set out on this trip in late January or early February – certainly not an optimal time to be moving in the mountains, particularly when the route chosen would cross what is now the Appalachian Trail.  While it is understandable that there would be a need to reach the new home in time for planting of crops, one would think that waiting until March might have been a better choice (although March weather can also be dicey).
Whatever the thought process, it was during this most difficult time of the year that Joe and Minnie set out for a new home in a small covered wagon which held all their earthly possessions.  By now, they had six children: Jura, Kate, Annie, Commodore, Hall, and baby Hattie.  The four older children (Jura, Kate, Annie and Commodore), ranging in ages from five to ten, walked the entire way.  Hall, then three and a half, had enough energy to tag along by foot part of the time, but would have also ridden in the wagon with his parents and baby Hattie as well. 
It was a trip of about 60 miles, which I suspect took about a week.  I’m going to make a stab at the days involved by map and notation below.  Of course I really don’t know the daily itinerary; this is simply my best judgment, based on a study of the topography accompanied by consideration of the ages of the children and their endurance as well as that of the stock.
The beginning: Day One
From their home along Jarrett Road, they went to Downings Creek Road, followed it across the ridge to where it connected with Peckerwood Road and then continued on down into Tusquitee.  Along the way, they’d have passed what was then the Chigger Hill School – now the location of the Oak View Baptist Church.  An enrollment sheet from 1911 had Jura Samantha Casada listed, along with thirteen Moore, seven Moss, four Garrison, and a smattering of other children whose numbers totaled thirty.  Ironically, my mother, Anna Lou Moore, who was less than two years old and living a thousand miles away in the Midwest at the time, was related to almost half of that class.  The Clay County connection had nothing to do with my parent’s meeting, by the way; they met at a square dance in Haywood County, a hundred miles away from Clay County.

Figure 4:  Oak view Baptist Church, former Chigger Hill School location

I’ve often wondered if Joe and Minnie and their litter might not have been bid farewell at the Peckerwood junction, not far above the Chigger Hill School, by some of the other Casadas who came over from the Licklog Branch area – knowing that this might well be the last time they saw the family.  I don’t know for certain, but suspect that Joe never saw his parents again, even though it was more than a dozen years later that they died.
After crossing the bridge at Tusquitee – where Joe’s father Will Casada would conduct the wedding of Roy Galloway and Lona McClure two years later, they likely passed by the tenant home where they’d lived in 1910.  It is certain that they passed immediately in front of the lovely home of William Patton Moore.  My mother, Anna Lou Moore, lived in this home for a short period after her mother died.  She was but a tyke of three or four, but her grand-uncle apparently made quite an impression on her; she affectionately referred to him as “Captain Billy.”  The attractively restored home overlooks an equally beautiful section of the Tusquitee Valley (Figures 5 and 6).

Figure 5:  Home place of "Captain Billy", William Patton Moore

Figure 6:  Beautiful - and level - upper Tusquitee Valley, viewed from the W.P. Moore home place

Beyond the Moore home, they followed the Tusquitee Turnpike northeast across Tusquitee Gap and down into Aquone.  In later years, the more commonly used route going toward Aquone was up Tuni Creek, but at the time, the Tusquitee Gap Road was more developed.  It’s my guess that they’d have spent the first night in the upper end of the Tusquitee Valley (marker 1 on Figure 7).  This would’ve made their first day’s travel about ten miles, with most of it over relatively level terrain.

Figure 7:  First part of the journey.  Travel route is marked in green, first and second night's estimated stops marked with red dots.  The gray dot marks the William Patton Moore home place.  Map snippet is from 1906 USGS Nantahala Quad.
Days Two and Three
Starting out from upper Tusquitee on the second day, they began some more serious climbing.  Although gaining more than a fourteen hundred feet in elevation before passing through Tusquitee Gap, the grade is moderate along the entire length – about 500 of elevation gain per mile.  Much of their climb to Tusquitee Gap would have passed through old-growth, primeval forest.  The area was later logged by Andrews Lumber, which ran a rail line up Tuni Creek, a few miles to the west, according to Logging Railroads of the Blue Ridge and Smoky Mountains, Volume 2, by Thomas Fetters.  As can be seen in the map in Figure 7, in 1906 the road up Tuni Creek was a double-dashed line for a ways before dropping to a single-dashed line – essentially a footpath – meaning that at the time, wagon travel across Tuni Gap would not have been practical.  Although I’ve covered up the road across Tusquitee Gap with the green line to mark the route, the entire road was marked as a solid double line, indicating a higher quality road. 
While Joe and Minnie’s wagon and the children’s footsteps followed the same route that the road traverses today, a major difference between then and now is that today the road has a fine leveled bed of gravel.  A two-wheel drive vehicle can readily handle it under normal conditions.  A century ago, especially in the areas that saw little sun during the winter, it would have been a muddy and/or snow-covered mess much of the time.  
Based on my own observations when wandering the western NC area, some of the finest stands of timber in these mountains can be found in the elevation range corresponding to that on either side of the Tusquitee Gap (3000 to 3500 ft), so they surely would have passed some fine old-growth yellow poplar as well as the dominant tree of much of the area at the time, the American Chestnut.  Today, the view looking back down from a short ways below the gap is through timber of a size which suggests that at least some of the area has been logged well after the 1920s (see Figure 8).

Figure 8:  A view back down the Tusquitee Creek drainage from a short ways below Tusquitee Gap.
After crossing Tusquitee gap, they began the descent toward the Macon County community of Aquone, now under the waters of Nantahala Lake.  While the ascent to the gap on the morning of the second day would have quickly removed them from areas of human habitation, the descent would bring them back close to homes in fairly short order.
Even today, a careful observer heading in the direction of the lake (which can’t be reached by vehicle from this direction) will note evidence of former human habitation, such as decades old apple trees still hanging on or a spring surrounded by a bed of periwinkle.

Figure 9:  Old apple trees in an area which has - for unknown reasons, been kept cleared.

Figure 10:  Periwinkle around a spring; a latter-day PVC pipe makes clear and cold water handy for a thirsty traveler.
The combination of the climb and descent would’ve taken a toll on the horses and children, so I suspect that the second night was spent in the Aquone area (marker 2 on Figure 7).  At this time, there were quite a number of families living in the area, as indicated by a web site dedicated to families of Old Aquone. 

Figure 11:  John L. Moore family of Aquone.  Captain Billy Moore is standing in the left foreground.  Source:  Old Aquone Website.
One such family was that of John L. Moore, shown in the Figure 11 photo.  John L., seated on the porch, had taken the side of the Union during the Civil War.  At the time of the photo, his family was being visited by William Patton (Mama’s “Captain Billy”, also known as Irish Bill) Moore, who is standing just off the porch in the foreground.  Captain Billy had led a Confederate cavalry company during the war, spending considerable time in Tennessee –the home state of J.L. Moore.  Former differences between these Moore men, who were unrelated as far as we know, had apparently been set aside.
Incidentally, during the period when the Joe Casada family lived on Tusquitee, the home which they rented was near that of W.P. Moore, and in fact possibly owned by him, so they would have been well acquainted with him and his family. A number of the Moore children in the class with Jura at Chigger Hill were grandchildren of Captain Billy.

Figure 12:  A view towards Tusquitee Gap from the road east of the former Aquone community.
Old Aquone now mostly lies under the waters of Nantahala Lake.  The photo shown in Figure 12 is taken from near the Wayah Road which today winds around the east side of the Nantahala Lake.  The yellow line marks the approximate route that would’ve been followed by the Joe and Minnie contingent a hundred years ago.
From Aquone, their journey continued along a relatively well-developed road toward Kyle (Figure 13).  Like Aquone, Kyle was a thriving community, as illustrated by photos on the Nantahala website.
My conjecture is that they spent another night in the Kyle area, even though it was a relatively short trip from Aquone to there.  The horses would have been still recovering from the climb over and descent from Tusquitee Gap, and there was a significantly more challenging climb, and particularly difficult descent facing them.  Whether my grandfather knew what he was getting into before beginning the trip is not known, but surely the folks around Kyle would have let him know that he had a tough road ahead.
Day Four
Leaving Kyle, they turned east to make the ascent to Burningtown Gap.  By mountain standards, this is quite a gently-sloped grade.  Maintained Macon County roads still follow the same route as far as the Burningtown Gap.  Each year, hundreds or thousands of hikers cross the gap on a perpendicular orientation to that of the road.  The Appalachian Trail passes through the gap, which is a bit over 4200 feet in elevation.  Even though Burningtown Gap is more than 500 feet higher than Tusquitee Gap, the ascent is even gentler, at well under the 500 feet per mile climb they had experienced coming up out of the Tusquitee Valley.

Figure 13:  Map snippet 2, showing the route from Aquone across Burningtown Gap
The gentle ascent is exceptionally misleading, however.  A look at the topo map (Figure 13) makes it clear that the descent down to Burningtown would be considerably steeper than the ascent from Kyle.  As it turns out, the map doesn’t begin to tell the story.
An often-told tale
It was a very short portion of the journey which had the strongest hold on my father’s memory.  He recalled that the family came to a steep downhill section where the road was completely covered in a thick sheet of ice.  Grandpa stopped the wagon, took an ax, and chopped a pair of ruts in the ice, spaced the width of the wagon wheels apart.  He then unhitched the team and managed to get both horses (or mules – I don’t recall) and all the children to well on below the frozen stretch.  Leaving Minnie on the wagon to depress the brake (for what good it would do on ice), he got both sets of wheels into the ruts, and then taking the wagon tongue in hand, pulled it over to the bank so that the front wheels would run sigogglin in the ruts.  Somehow, they managed to maneuver through safely. 
When concluding a retelling of that story, Daddy would first shake his head a few times, purse his lips, then incline his head a bit to one side, make a slight nod forward, and observe “They say that the Lord looks after fools and cripples, and there wasn’t a cripple in our outfit.”
Getting a fuller appreciation
To be honest, I’d always thought that my father was just spicing up the tale a bit when he talked about the road being steep.  As it turns out, I was wrong; he was grossly understating the circumstance. 
As noted previously, the trip occurred in mid-winter, a time when ice is likely to accumulate on roads or paths, especially those without good ditching.  Add to that a further complication – the vast majority of the descent from the Burningtown Gap takes place on the north side of a ridge.  Then compound that with the obvious steepness suggested by the density of the topographic map lines, and you can – at least conceptually – begin to appreciate the situation. 
It’s often been my experience that simple map topography can be misleading.  By far the best way to understand the nature of an area is to put your feet on the ground and walk it.  So on a balmy afternoon – February 7 of this year – my wife Susan and I decided to do just that.  I figured ahead of time that there were likely several switchbacks which didn’t show up on the map, and which would mitigate the steepness of the traversed slope.
That figuring proved wrong.  What we found is that the old road is not just steep – it is exceptionally steep, and there are but two switchbacks on the entire road.  I picked the location of the photo, taken by my wife, Susan, in Figure 14 because there was such good sunlight on that section of the road.  That was not the norm when we struggled, huffed, and puffed our way up the old road on February 7, 2015.  Well over half of the first mile of descent from Burningtown Gap sees little or no sunlight throughout the winter.  Even on the day we hiked, when the air temperature reached a balmy 60 degrees (I’m in short sleeves in the photo), and there had been no precipitation for several days, there were sections of residual ice and snow.

Figure 14:  Section of the Burningtown Gap Road.  I'm standing (dark blue shirt at top of the photo) about 50 or 60 yards away, and close to half that much higher in elevation.
To give a sense on how steep the road going down into Burningtown is, let me offer a hiker’s perspective.  I’ve hiked all of the maintained trails on both sides of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, and have followed innumerable old unmaintained wagon roads, sled roads, and foot paths in the Smokies.  None of them are this steep over the distance involved.  The steepest maintained Smokies’ trails have a long-term slope of around 700 feet per mile, although there are shorter sections that are a bit steeper.  Keep in mind that these are not intended for rolling traffic – just hiking. The Burningtown Gap road drops 700 feet in 0.7 miles, more than 40% greater than that of a steep Great Smoky Mountains hiking trail.  Keep in mind that this is also over the longer haul; there are short sections of the road which are significantly steeper.  It is difficult to convey how steep some of these sections are without walking them, but perhaps the photo in Figure 14 will give a bit of a sense.  With the exception of an ATV  geared down into double-ought low, you couldn’t get me on a rolling vehicle under any conditions, let alone a wagon with nothing but the dubious combination of a hand-levered shoe brake and equine “whoa” back power.  But throw in ice on the road, and things get carried to beyond absurd.
There’s prima facie evidence that someone had attempted to take a truck either up or down the road several decades ago.  Regardless of the direction it was heading, it didn’t get to where it was going (Figure 15).

Figure 15:  A truck that didn't make it.

That my father’s telling in later years actually understated the slope is consistent with my own experience. Steepness generally has little meaning to a boy who spends his days wandering around these hills of home.  I recall climbing across Massie Gap on the way from Canebrake to Noland Creek as a ten-year old youngster.  The climb left no impression on me whatsoever – not a bit more than walking across town on the level sidewalks of Bryson City.  Five plus decades later, the same climb leaves me huffing and puffing and sucking wind during numerous stops along the way. 

Down in the Valley
I suspect that by the time they reached the relatively flat bottom of upper Burningtown valley, Grandpa Joe’s ears had been thoroughly blistered by Minnie, a woman small in stature but with a tongue which more than made up for whatever she lacked in size, particularly when it came to dealing with Grandpa (from my recollections, her demeanor around others was generally calm and restrained, but when it came to Grandpa, there was no holding back).  I also suspect that the physical stress of the descent would have left the horses worn out, so it’s my guess that they spent the fourth night near the uppermost homes on Burningtown Creek of the time (circle 4 in Figure 13).
Upper Burningtown Valley is a truly lovely place.  In the 1819 cession treaty between the U.S. Government and the Cherokee nation, the new boundary line followed the Little Tennessee River up the river from the Tallassee area in Tennessee (below the mouth of Abrams Creek) all the way to the mouth of the Nantahala River. But at that point, the boundary line switched from a river course to a mountain course – adhering to the ridgeline which divides the Nantahala drainage from that of the upper Little Tennessee.  The Appalachian Trail now follows that ridgeline, seen in the distance in Figure 16, and passes through Burningtown Gap.  By running the dividing line along that ridge instead of continuing to follow the river, all of Burningtown Valley fell out of Cherokee territory and into the hands of the state of NC (along with all of modern Franklin and the Iotla and Cartoogechaye valley areas). 

Figure 16:  Upper Burningtown Valley - scores of fine bottomland acres coursed by a pretty stream.
It is a virtual certainty that Minnie had never seen the Burningtown Valley, and one can imagine that riding through such a lovely spot might have at least somewhat tempered her temper. With by far the worst of the climbing and descending behind them, Joe might have tried to calm her, saying the worst was over.  And so it was, but they still had troubles facing them in the way of the Little Tennessee River. 
Day 5
It is about 12 miles from the uppermost homes on Burningtown to the mouth of Burningtown Creek.  While the road winds a bit, overall it’s a relatively easy stretch – especially compared to the crossing of Burningtown Gap.  So my estimating has them completing the trip to somewhere in the vicinity of the mouth of Tellico Creek, about a half mile below the mouth of Burningtown Creek, on the fifth day.
At that time, and for some years afterward, there was no bridge across the Little Tennessee.  Today, the Lost Bridge crosses the river a short ways above the mouth of Burningtown Creek, following the road and section marked in magenta on Figure 17, which is a snippet from the 1907 Cowee topo, reprinted in 1921.  

Figure 17:  Section of the 1907 Cowee map, reprinted in 1921, with the continuing journey marked in green.  Note that the map snippet has been rotated so that north is to the right.
As luck would have it, the night that they reached the Little Tennessee, it – to use an old expression – fell a February flood.  All of the children were brought up into the wagon for the night.  Six children and two adults huddled in a small wagon for the night is the sort of thing that would make a memory for anyone.  It certainly did for my five-year old father; one which was second only to the wagon being maneuvered through the ax-hacked ice ruts. 
Figure 18:  Shallow Ford of the Tennessee River
Although Daddy never stated this to be the case, it would not be surprising if they had to wait for the river to subside before crossing.  The photo in Figure 18 was taken in the area of the Shallow Ford of the Little Tennessee (location indicated on the upper right portion of the map snippet in Figure 17), with the water at normal winter level.  While there is a visible set of shoals across the river, in this writer’s eyes, the idea of crossing even that in mid-winter in something that floats would be scary.  The idea of relying on purchase provided by horse’s hooves and wagon wheels to transport two adults and six children is beyond terrifying for the fellow writing these words.
But the fact that I’m a-writing and you’re a-reading these lines are proof that Grandpa “got ‘er done.” 
The balance of the trip, following the route of the old Tennessee River Road, originally constructed in the 1830s, to around the mouth of Sawmill Creek, cutting north towards Lauada, then following the route that would later become NC 10 and yet later US 19 past Jackson Line, on to Bryson City, across the bridge in the middle of town, then up Deep Creek would’ve been a two-day journey of utter mundaneness in comparison to what they’d been through. 

Home again, home again, jiggety-jog
The only point which might’ve raised Grandma’s hackles during the balance of the trip to their new home was after they’d passed the home of another Captain Billy – in this case, the Captain Billy Morris place, which stood next to the modern-day parking area above the Deep Creek Campground area, near the mouth of Juney Whank Branch.  Grandpa would’ve “Hawed” the horses just before they reached Shytle’s Branch, where they turned sharply to begin the steep ascent of the old road up Juney Whank Branch.  That initial climb, which first approaches and then parallels the stream as it climbs to above Juneywhank Falls, might well have reminded Grandma Minnie of earlier parts of the journey; it is steep.  But it is also a short-lived climb, and soon they’d be on a gentle slope, passing by homes owned by the Lollis and Wiggins families before completing the “country mile” to that uppermost home on Juneywhank Branch which they’d purchased.  Along the way Minnie might have seen the tentatively-reaching blades and maybe a few swollen buds of jonquils as well as a patch or two of yellowbells, both hallmarks of the homes of simple, raw-boned mountain folks who scratched out a living from meagre acres but still found time for things of frivolous beauty – if beauty is ever frivolous.
Bringing no works of art to the log cabin, they joyed in the handiwork of the Master Artist manifest in whiter-than-snow blooms of bloodroot, dew drops on sarvis, and salamanders in their rocked-in spring.
Although lacking the acre upon acre of bottom land lying alongside the Hiwassee in Clay County, this former home place of a Cherokee fellow named June Whank would become a hardscrabble farm writ large in the memories of not only my father, but his siblings and their descendants, yours truly included.  I personally bushwhack up to the home several times each year.  The soil is exceptionally fertile; several second-growth poplars, including one which has grown to 3.7 feet in diameter in the 80-some years since the park was created are in the former garden area, as are a number of fine Spanish oaks (southern red oaks), red maples, ash, black walnuts, and handful of locusts with some of the largest trumpet creeper vines that you’ll see.  The trees around the home are markedly larger than those lower down in the Juneywhank drainage.  

Figure 19:  Family and Friends Gathered near the Casada home site on Juney Whank Branch
The land, home, and outbuildings were purchased from the heirs of Alfred Jefferson Parris, all of whom had decided the place wasn’t fit to live on after the family patriarch passed on to his eternal reward, his remains buried in the Deep Creek Cemetery.  That cemetery, which stands next to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park line today, would become the resting place of the remains of three members of the Casada family: baby Hattie, who died of diarrhea two months after arriving on Juneywhank, sweet sixteen-year old Kate, who died in 1922 of tuberculosis caught while helping a Deep Creek neighbor deal with the same ailment, and Percival, the baby of Joe and Minnie, who also died of tuberculosis in 1944.
As it turns out, Minnie made the trip expectantly, though perhaps without knowing it.  Seven months after their arrival at the cabin home, daughter Jessie was born.  Jessie, along with sister Emma, also born on Juneywhank Branch, would be the first in the family to attend college.  The two of them worked to help cover their costs at Maryville College in Tennessee, helped along with financial support from older siblings who recognized the value of education.  Both Jessie and Emma, daughters of parents with 6th and 7th grade educations, became school teachers.
Travelers in an unknown world
Joe’s feet continued to itch.  The family moved around several times in the Bryson City area before settling in a home along the river just above town, almost directly across from the mouth of Deep Creek.  Throughout my youth – in fact well beyond the time when they’d passed, I had it in mind that they’d always lived in that same old home.  It wasn’t until years later that I cared a whit about their personal life stories, paid attention to tales told by their children, and then even later began to study on the details.
I’ve personally worked in forty-two of the fifty states and in a number of foreign countries on several continents, and traveled in others.  The same is true of siblings and cousins out of the Joe and Minnie Casada line.  But I would aver that nary one of us – in fact, not the lot of us combined – has traveled as extensively as did Joe, Minnie, and their six offspring in that single week, sixty mile trip from Jarrett Road to Juneywhank Branch a century ago.
It was, indeed, an epic journey.
Thank you, Don, for this wonderful and exceptionally well-researched tale.  None of us in this day and age can truly conceptualize the extraordinary undertaking that this journey would have been for the Casada family, and for countless others who migrated into and out of our beautiful area. 
Readers, please stay tuned next week.  Don has written an epilogue to the story which includes information on how one can visit the Casada home place on Juney Whank Branch.