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A trip from Hayesville to Bryson City nowadays is one that
can be made in less than an hour and a half – whether you go up Shooting Creek,
across Chunky Gal Mountain, down through Cartoogechaye and on through Franklin,
or take the alternate route through Peachtree, Marble, Andrews, and the
Nantahala Gorge. Other than dealing with
the throngs of tourists floating the Nantahala in summer, either way makes for
an enjoyable ride and view from the climate-controlled comfort of a vehicle.
It was not always so, and that’s why Wendy asked me to write
this little story of what was – in my five-year old father’s eyes – an epic
journey. She knew that it occurred one
hundred years ago this winter and told me it was a story that needed telling. She was right.
But before we begin, I hope that Wendy and her readers will
indulge me with some background circumstances which led to the journey. The old adage “you can’t know where you’re
going if you don’t know where you’ve been” is just as true here as in our own
personal lives.
In the beginning
My great-grandparents, Sarah Ann Ball and William Ambrose
Casada, were each born in Madison County prior to the onset of the Civil
War. While both the Ball and Casada families
had members involved in the war (on the side of their native southland), both families
were far, far below financial circumstances that would have led them to have
any sort of stake in the slavery aspect of the war. The same was true for the majority of
families in these hills that we call home, of course.
At some point in the years after they were married (1871),
Will undertook work as a tenant farmer for a couple of considerable means, Kope
Elias and his wife, Timoxena Siler, granddaughter of Jesse Richardson Siler for
whom Silers Bald in the Great Smoky Mountains is named. The law office of Elias was located in
Franklin – the home place of his wife and parents-in-law, but he owned property
and practiced law throughout the WNC area (Wendy’s readers may recall that Elias took on a civil case on behalf of Ruffin DeHart, former slave, and forced the suit to be dropped). Ironically,
Ruffin and his wife Susan had once been the “property” of folks in my maternal
line – the DeHarts from whom they took their names.
By 1891 – the year in which she turned forty – Sarah had
given birth to nine of her ten children, all the while living in the Sandymush/Turkey
Creek area of south Madison and north Buncombe Counties which she and Will had
always called home. According to family
tradition, it was at about that time that Kope Elias asked Will and Sarah to
move to Swain County to help validate the worth of property in which he was
interested and then continue their tenant farming labors on that land. One of the larger (500 acre) tracts he
acquired was in the Governors Island (Kituwah) area – some of the finest
bottomland which is so scarce in Swain County.
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| Southward View from Turkey Creek Cemetery, Sandy Mush area (Don Casada) |
I should note here that great-grandpa Will was a Baptist
minister – or more to the point, what my father called “hard shell” Baptist. Now it could well be that Will’s conversion
and decision to go into the ministry took place after the affray, but it’s also
quite possible that it was one of his sermons which initiated the
aforementioned affray. The story I’m
about to relate was passed on by my father.
Based on the combination of my father’s reliability and some
all-too-common traits of Will’s descendants (not including yours truly, of
course), it is unfortunately altogether believable.
Will was once asked to preach the funeral service for a
fellow whose life had taken him well astray from the straight and narrow way. Will agreed to take on the job, aware that
the departed as well as those left behind would generally have nothing to do
with church or matters of a spiritual nature.
And so it was that after reading some scripture, Will laid down his
Bible, pointed his rawboned finger toward the casket and said “Now there lies
one that’s gone to Hell.” Turning his finger’s
aim to sweep across the family of the deceased, he continued “…and that’s exactly
where the rest of you-un’s are headed if you don’t straighten up.”
One could easily understand how a serious row might ensue.
Will did become well enough accepted in the Swain County area
to be asked to conduct several weddings (though likely not by the offended
family). At that time, weddings in
churches were quite rare; most often they were held in private homes, as well
as in such intriguing locations as “on the Galbreath Creek road” and (later, in
Clay County, where he conducted several dozen) “on the Tusquittee bridge.” One marriage ceremony which Will handled in
Swain County took place in the home of John Elander Davis. Davis built his home high above Indian Creek,
along the Thomas Divide, a location which was taken for inclusion in the Great
Smoky Mountains National Park some three decades later. Park Service employees responsible for cultural
preservation matters considered the Davis cabin to be particularly well built
and representative of the time. It was
taken down log-by-log and stone-by-stone, then reassembled at the Visitors
Center along the Oconaluftee River, just above Cherokee.
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| The John Elander Davis home at the Oconaluftee Visitors Center, GSMNP (Don Casada) |
After the Will and Sarah Casada family had lived in Swain
County for about a decade, Kope Elias called on them to move again, this time
to an area near the Hiwassee River in Clay County. It could well be that they wanted to move,
but my suspicion is that now in their fifties, both Will and Sarah would have
preferred to stay put. Whatever their
preferences, they picked up and traveled on.
Most of the children who had come with them from the Sandymush area,
including their third-born son and my grandfather, Joseph Hillberry Casada
(born in 1878), as well as the only child which Sarah had birthed in Swain
County, a youngster they called Laddie, went along.
Just around the bend from the Elias property in Clay County
– on Jarrett Road - there lived a pretty young woman by the name of Minnie
Price. Minnie’s mother had died when she
was three years old, and she was taken in by a childless couple, Samantha
Shearer and Andy Coleman. That Coleman
couple lived right beside another Coleman boy/Shearer girl couple –James and
Laura, who were also childless. James
and Laura took in Minnie’s older brother, Will, so the orphaned siblings grew
up alongside one another. The homes,
which are identical in design, stand on a lovely piece of land adjoining the
Hiwassee.
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| The James and Laura Coleman home and lands off Jarrett Road near Hayesville (Don Casada) |
We don’t know the details of the raising of siblings Will and Minnie Price, but it was likely a complex combination of hard work accompanied by at least a token of affection. The former is indicated by the fact that in 1900, both Will and Minnie are listed not as children of the couples, but as “Bound” residents of their homes, suggesting a circumstance of indentured servitude. On the other hand, the fact that Minnie named her first daughter, Jura Samantha, and her first son, Andrew Commodore (my father), for the Coleman-Shearer couple who had taken her in implies at the very least a sense of indebtedness, if not affection. Similarly, two of Will’s children would be given names of James and Laura.
It wasn’t long after the arrival of the Casada clan that Joseph
Hillberry, known as Joe, took to seriously courting young Minnie Price. The two were married in November of 1903 by a
minister in the Methodist-Episcopal Church, J.S. Brooks, and set out on a new
course together. Minnie had just turned
18 and Joe was 25 when they said their vows.
The wedding took place in the home of the minister, J.S. Brooks, and
there is no evidence that there were members of either family present.
By the standards of today, both the location and lack of
fanfare might seem shocking, but it was the standard of the time. Of the thirty six weddings which Joe’s
father, Will Casada conducted in Clay County, we know the specific location of
thirty one. Of those thirty one, twenty
seven were in private homes, including fourteen in the Will Casada home. It appears that the witnesses were frequently
whoever happened to be handy – such as the wife of the preacher or a
neighbor. Perhaps the fact that I have a
bit of a phobia about being around large crowds has a lot to do with it, but in
my view, the old way of getting hitched was far superior to modern ways.
Before we change directions to follow the paths of Joe and
Minnie, let’s return to close out the story of Joe’s parents, Will and Sarah.
After a few more years of working for Elias, Will, Sarah,
and their oldest son Leroy – a bachelor – had accumulated sufficient funds to
buy a place to call their own. On
January 2, 1907, they purchased 100 acres along Licklog Branch and Peckerwood
Road for $450. Will and Sarah turned 60-
and 56-years old later that year, and both of them called that place home – the
only one they ever owned – for the next twenty years. No longer in use, the home they built with
their own hands on land acquired after decades of toil, still stands, though it
is unoccupied. Ironically, it was sold after
their deaths to a couple who had lived on Indian Creek in Swain County, having
been forced out when the National Park was created. Baxter and Docia Parris Laney lived out the
balance of their own lives there. Interestingly,
the groom in one of the weddings which Will had conducted in Swain County was
George Laney, the younger brother of Baxter, so the Laneys and Casadas would
have already known each other. The former
Laney and Casada home place is now in the good hands of the Laney’s grandson,
Wade Patterson, a Clay County native with a deep and abiding affection for his
people and the place that he calls home.
A different side of Will |
| The Casada/Laney home place on Licklog Branch in Clay County (Don Casada) |
There is a family story about their youngest son, Laddie,
which is as touching as Will’s funeral sermon was harsh. Laddie was, to use an old term which rightly
reflects specialness, “touched.” Grandma Minnie said that Laddie, though
weak-minded, was possessed of limitless patience and kindness. Aunt Emma told the story – no doubt passed on
from her forebears – that animals sensed the special nature in Laddie, and that
birds would even come light on his shoulder.
Laddie died at the age of thirteen (cause unknown) exactly two weeks
after Will and Sarah acquired the home on Licklog, and was buried in nearby
Union Hill Cemetery. According to
Laddie’s older brother, Tom, the family dog so loved Laddie that each day he
would go from the house to the cemetery and lie on Laddie’s grave until someone
came to retrieve him in the evening. A
half year later, that faithful companion crossed over to join Laddie.
The simple words on Laddie’s tombstone, which no doubt came
from his father, reveal a softer and considerably more insightful side to that
hard-shell Baptist preacher:
Of such is the kingdom
of heaven
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| Gravestone of young William L. "Laddie" Casada, a boy who was truly touched (Don Casada) |
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