FROM FARMS TO FORESTS:

THE MATERIAL LIFE OF AN APPALACHIAN LANDSCAPE

By

Jodi A. Barnes

Submitted to the

Faculty of the College of Arts and Sciences

of American University

in Partial Fulfillment of

the Requirements for the Degree

of Doctor of Philosophy

In

Anthropology

Chair:

Dan Hicks

Date

2008

American University

Washington, D.C. 20016

Afv1.ERICAN UN!VcRSITY UBRJ\!~Y C\ 32 ~ UMI Number: 3340554

Copyright 2008 by Barnes, Jodi A.

All rights reserved.

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by

Jodi A. Barnes

2008

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED FROM FARMS TO FORESTS:

THE MATERIAL LIFE OF AN APPALACHIAN LANDSCAPE

BY

Jodi A. Barnes

ABSTRACT

The landscape provides a lens to examine how struggles over the natural environment both create and express racial and classed ideologies and stereotypes in

Appalachia over time. By tracing the material changes to a mountain landscape from farm to forest to a place ofrecreation as the Appalachian Trail (AT), I rewrite the history of Appalachia, particularly the stereotypes about white poverty and pristine nature. I take the present as a starting point and move back and forth in time (from 1800 to the present) to consider how power relations are materially constituted in the landscape. I 'tack' together documentary, oral historical, and archaeological data to examine the material lives of three individuals, Jesse Richeson, a white plantation owner, Moses Richeson, a mixed-race enslaved laborer and a landowner, and Eli Hughes, a tenant farmer, to understand how the history of struggles over land and labor shaped classed relations and the social construction of race. This research is about slavery, tenancy, displacement and the Appalachian Trail; it is also about social relations and the materiality and historicity of a place. Archaeology, with its focus on time and materiality, contributes to the study

11 11l of the landscape, specifically a section of the Appalachian Trail, because it is a place whose creation is remembered and whose form and character we continue to influence in our everyday lives. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The process of research and writing this dissertation was like a hike along the

Appalachian Trail (AT) with its ups and downs, rocky terrain, and beautiful scenic views.

When I started the Ph.D. program at American University, I, nor my adviser Dr. Joan

Gero, ever imagined that I would write my dissertation on a section of the Appalachian

Trail. This "hike" would not have been possible without the guidance and support of many people along the way.

Joan Gero's support and guidance throughout this research was invaluable. Dr.

Gero's work with the World Archaeological Congress and commitment to ethics in archaeology inspired me to conduct community-based research that engaged issues that mattered. She taught me that the past is political and that as an archaeologist I have a responsibility to the people with stakes in the past, to my students as well as the research.

Joan is a mentor and a friend and I am honored to have had the opportunity to work with her.

I'd also like to thank Dr. Brett Williams. Dt. Williams inspired me to think about race, class and environmental justice. I would not have completed this dissertation without the long walks through Rock Creek Park where she provided positive reinforcement as we talked through ideas about race and the environment.

I met Dr. Dan Hicks at the Contemporary and Historical Archaeology in Theory conference in Bristol in 2007. Dr. Hicks encouraged me to think about the recent past

IV v and the mutual histories of people in the past and people in the present. He helped me think about the connections between the Appalachian landscape's present and past. As a committee, Dr. Gero, Dr. Williams and Dr. Hicks brought varying perspectives that helped shape this dissertation, but of course any mistakes are my own.

This research was supported by the Harvey and Sarah Moore A ward, awarded by the Department of Anthropology, American University, Washington, DC, the Andrew W.

Mellon Research Fellowship, awarded by the Virginia Historical Society, Richmond, VA, the Bell Fellowship, awarded by the Forest History Society, Durham, NC Forest History

Society, a number of Mellon Research Grants, awarded by the College of Arts and

Sciences at American University, Washington, DC, and the Sigma Xi Grants-in-Aid, awarded by Sigma Xi, a scientific research society.

An internship with Appalachian Trail Conservancy changed the course of my doctoral studies. The internship led to an incredible opportunity to do archaeology while hiking the AT, to conduct research about race, class and the environment, and to involve local communities in an archaeological project. This project would not have happened without the support of Don Owen, Pam Underhill and the Appalachian Trail Park Office.

Don Owen showed me that the AT was about people and encouraged me to think about the connections between the Appalachian Trail and Appalachia as a region. Members of the Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club, particularly Dave Benavitch, were especially helpful. Dave Benavitch introduced me to the section of the Appalachian Trail along

Brown Mountain Creek with his oral history with Taft Hughes and his great tour of the sites. I learned so much about the history of the area and the history of the AT from Trail

Club members and hikers. Without them, this research would not have been possible. vi

I'd also like to thank the archaeologists from the George Washington and

Jefferson National Forest, particularly Mike Barber and George Tolley. George Tolley's research on Long Mountain was invaluable.

I was fortunate to have the opportunity to meet a number of descendants living in the area, Georgia Barksdale, Dora Hughes, Philip Davis, and Mr. Richeson. Thanks to

Bob Fener and Dave Benavitch for helping me make contacts in the community. I am grateful for the time they dedicated to this project and all of the stories they told me. Bob

Fener went above and beyond to help with this project. He posted fliers, stored equipment, provided first aid and transportation, acted as a forest tour guide and much more.

During this research, I did not own a car. Car-less-ness was a challenge for archaeological research; therefore, many people helped by arranging car pools, visiting the site with me or letting me use their cars. I'd like to thank Keith Kendrick and his family, Joe Dent, Lisa H. Robbins, Kelly Ernst, Madeline Konz, Anna Letona, and Bob

Fener for letting me continue to live car-less and environmentally conscious while conducting archaeological field work.

Numerous individuals provided encouragement and assistance while I was conducting research and writing. I'd like to thank Joe Dent, Lisa Holly Robbins, Sabihya

Prince, Rachel Watkins, Dolores Koenig and Bill Leap. Dissertation writing can be a lonely process. I was fortunate to be involved with the A.B.D. Writing Group. Kelly

Feltault, Michelle Carnes, Maria Amelia Viteri, Barbara Reese, Paula Massouh, and

Adelaide Lusambili were so helpful in reading drafts of chapters. In addition, the

Historical Archaeology Happy Hour (HAHH), particularly Dave Gadsby, Teresa Moyer, VII

Matt Pal us, and Jolene Smith, were invaluable -- beer and archaeology. I also want to thank Mer Fraser, Dave Gadsby, Kelly Ernst, Micah Trapp, Seraphima Rombe-Shulman, and Becca Frisckorn for the informal, but animated discussions about anthropology and ways of thinking about the past as well as the present while I was a graduate student at

American University.

Chris Judge and Carl Steen offered me my first archaeology volunteer experience as an undergrad. They showed me how to work with communities and how important volunteers are to archaeological research. I am thankful for the many people dedicated time and energy into make this project happen, from thru hikers such as Glen Summers stopping for an afternoon of excavations to Mary Miles, Madeline Konz and Eliot Balasz who dedicated several weekends helping me excavate. Ollie Karelis, Jordan Knight,

Justin Golash and Judith Smith, students during the 2005 field school, were indispensable. Special thanks to Lisa Holly Robbins for her role in the original planning and preliminary research in this project. Lisa's eye for detail and planning was vital to this project and her research on outbuildings -- particularly smokehouses and root cellars was invaluable.

Finally, I'd like to thank my mom and dad for believing in me and supporting me through my "hike" through graduate school. This dissertation is dedicated to them. TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABSTRACT ...... ii

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ...... iv

LIST OF TABLES ...... xii

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS ...... xiii

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS ...... xv

Chapter

I. THE MATERIAL LIFE OF AN APPALACHIAN LANDSCAPE: AN INTRODUCTION ...... l

The Culture of Nature: Space, Place and Landscape ...... 4

Race and Class in Landscape Studies ...... 6

From Material Culture to Material Life ...... 12

The Structure of this Dissertation ...... 14

II. PLACING THE LANDSCAPE: RACE AND CLASS IN APPALACHIA ... 18

The Appalachian Mountains ...... 21

American Indians and the Mountains (12,000 BP to Contact) ...... 24

The Appalachian Frontier: The Resettling of America (1540-1840) ...... 32

Appalachia's Farm-and-Forest Economy (1760-1860) ...... 36

The Civil War and Reconstruction (1860-1880) ...... 43

viii lX

Industrial Appalachia: The Emergence of Supra-Regional Systems (1860-1950) ...... 51

Post-Industrial Appalachia (1945-Present) ...... 57

Appalachian Stereotypes ...... 62

III. SOCIAL SCALES AND SCALES OF TIME: INTEGRATING SOURCES IN HISTORICAL ANTHROPOLOGY ...... 66

The Ethnographic Present ...... 68

Web-Based Interaction ...... 71

The Archive ...... 72

The Archaeological Past ...... 76

The Laboratory ...... 79

'Tacking' It All Together ...... 80

IV. LAND AND LABOR IN THE BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS, 1800-1920 ... 82

Historical Archaeology in Appalachia ...... 83

Antebellum Amherst County, Virginia ...... 86

Jesse Richeson: An Appalachian Plantation Owner ...... 92

Postbellum Amherst County, Virginia ...... 101

Moses Richeson: An Appalachian Landowner ...... 102

Eli Hughes: An Appalachian Tenant Farmer ...... 113

Race and Class Along Brown Mountain Creek ...... 123

Spacing Segregation: Mapping Race and Class ...... 133

V. CLEARANCE: FROM FARMS TO FORESTS, 1890 TO 1920 ...... 140

Conservation as a National Agenda ...... 142

Timber in Appalachia ...... 146 x

Clearing Landscapes: Abandoned, Expelled and Depopulated ...... 150

From Farms to Forests: Depopulation in the Blue Ridge Mountains .... .153

The Pedlar Reservoir ...... 154

Land Acquisition in the Pedlar Watershed ...... 157

Transition and Change: Forests in the Blue Ridge Mountains ...... 162

VI. LABOR AND LEISURE: THE APPALACHIAN TRAIL, 1920 - THE PRESENT ...... 166

The Appalachian Trail from Concept to Management ...... 169

Benton MacKaye and the Idea of the Appalachian Trail ...... 171

Myron Avery and the Building of the Appalachian Trail...... 174

The Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club ...... 176

Managing the Appalachian Trail...... 178

Race, Class and the Appalachian Trail...... 179

Volunteerism and the AT ...... 182

Brown Mountain Creek, as a Section of the Appalachian Trail...... 183

The AT Meets Taft Hughes ...... 186

Communities that Matter and Mattering to Communities: Archaeology Along the Appalachian Trail ...... 189

VII. CONCLUSIONS, THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF TEN MINUTES AGO: RACE AND CLASS IN AN APPALACHIAN LANDSCAPE ...... 192

Can Archaeology Address Contemporary Concerns? ...... 193

Forests and Water: Issues that Matter...... 195

Race and Class in Appalachia ...... 202

Future Research ...... 208 XI

Bringing the Past into the Future: Trowels, Buttons, and Blazes ...... 209

APPENDIX ...... 211

REFERENCES ...... 221 LIST OF TABLES

Table Page

2.1. Chronology of the Prehistory of the Southern Appalachians ...... 26

2.2. Changes in Appalachia's Slave Holdings ...... 38

2.3. Percentage of Enslaved Laborers, 1810-1860 ...... 3 9

2.4. Slavery and Ownership of Farm Acreage, 1860 ...... 39

2.5. Where Did Appalachian Slaves Go After Emancipation? ...... 47

2.6 Tenancy Arrangements ...... 49

4.1. Early Land Grants Along Brown Mountain Creek (From Various Deeds in the Amherst County Archives) ...... 90

4.2. Jesse Richeson's Land Acquisitions (From Various Deeds in the Amherst County Archives) ...... 93

4.3. Division of the Staton Estate (From Various Deeds in the Amherst County Archives) ...... 99

4.4. Moses Richeson's Land Acquisitions (From Various Deeds in the Amherst County Archives) ...... 104

4.5. Total Artifact Counts in Functional Groups Recovered from Moses Richeson's Farmstead ...... 108

4.6. Total Artifact Counts in Functional Groups Recovered from Eli Hughes's Farmstead ...... 117

4.7. Comparison of Artifact Patterns by Functional Group (Percentages) ...... 129

5.1. Joseph and James Richeson's Land Value ...... 158

xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Figure Page

1.1. Taft Hughes and Members of the Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club ...... 2

1.2. Images from the Section of the AT Along Brown Mountain Creek ...... 5

2.1. Map of Southern Appalachia ...... 19

2.2. Physiographic Map of Appalachia ...... 22

3.1. Landscape Survey in the Snow ...... 77

3.2. 2007 Excavations, Mary Miles, Taylor Smith and Madeline Konz ...... 78

4.1. Map of Amherst County, Virginia ...... 88

4.2. Map Noting Some of the Early Land Grants (Adapted from U.S. Forest Service 1918-1919 Land Acquisition Map) ...... 91

4.3. 1864 Map Showing the Location of the Richeson Plantation ...... 94

4.4. Map of the Staton Estate (Adapted from U.S. Forest Service 1918-1919 Land Acquisition Map) ...... 100

4.5. Map of the Research Area (Adapted from the George Washington National Forest Topographical Map) ...... 106

4.6. Map of Moses Richeson's Farmstead ...... 108

4.7. Map of the Richeson House with Excavation Units ...... 109

4.8. Map of the Hughes House with Excavation Units ...... 115

4.9. Unit 06 Excavated in the Shed Kitchen ...... 117

4.10. Map of the Hughes Farmstead ...... 118

4.11. Eliot Balasz, Taylor Smith and Bob Fener Mapping the Hog Enclosure ...... 120

xm xiv

4.12. Plan View of the Hog Enclosure ...... 120

4.13. Ruth Hughes's Grave Marker in an Unmarked Cemetery on Brown Mountain; James, Josephus and Clara Richeson's Grave Markers at Piney Mountain Church ...... 135

5.1. George Washington National Forest...... 149

5.2. The Blue Ridge Mountains ...... 154

5.3. Map of the Richeson's Property ...... 159

6.1. Map of the Appalachian Trail; Cultural Resources Training Workshop, Iron Furnace, Boiling Springs, PA ...... 168

6.2. Early Hikers ...... 171

6.3. Building the Appalachian Trail...... 175

6.4. 1931 Hike from Robinson's Gaps to Whites Gap ...... 177

6.5. Map of the AT Along Brown Mountain Creek...... 184

6.6. Appalachian Trail Along Brown Mountain Creek; Brown Mountain Creek Shelter; Journal from Brown Mountain Creek Shelter ...... 185

6. 7 Joseph McCall and the Interpretive Sign Along Brown Mountain Creek. .... 187

7.1. U.S. Drought Monitor 2008 ...... 199

7.2. Lynchburg Reservoir (2007) ...... 200

7.3. A Hike with Taft Hughes; Excavations 2005, Justin Golash, Jordan Leverett and Don Owen ...... 208 LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

AT Appalachian Trail

ATC Appalachian Trail Conservancy, previously the Appalachian Trail Conference

ATPO Appalachian Trail Park Office

NBA TC Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club

NPS National Park Service

xv CHAPTER 1

THE MATERIAL LIFE OF AN APPALACHIAN LANDSCAPE:

AN INTRODUCTION

The group descended Long Mountain along the narrow footpath toward Brown

Mountain Creek. Bundled up in layered windbreakers and bright knit-caps the hikers ambled through the woods, taking in the sights, sounds and scents of the mountain landscape. It was late fall, the first snow fell and the crunch of leaves rustled underfoot.

The oaks, red maples, and tulip poplars within the maturing hardwood forest were shedding their fall colors. As the group of hikers neared the hollow, the sound of Brown

Mountain Creek could be heard as it bubbled, slowed into pools, and sped over riffles on its way to the Pedlar River. Soon the woods were broken by a clearing separated from the stream by a large stonewall. The stonewall, two to three feet high, extends along the stream. Two stone chimneys and a stone foundation, collapsing from age, stood within the clearing. The fems, periwinkle, poison ivy, and spicebush that obscured the house foundation from sight in the summer months had withered and fallen. The hikers walked along a section of the Appalachian Trail (affectionately called, the AT) that was once a county road, serving the transportation needs of a small farming community. This seemingly natural landscape has a material life; it is marked by the everyday experiences of people living in and moving through the mountain land. The agricultural past has been

"cleared", but not forgotten.

l 2

Figure 1.1. Taft Hughes and Members of the Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club. Photo by Sandra Elder.

As the group stopped to admire the view, Taft Hughes, wearing glasses and a mix match of plaid, told members of the Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club (NBA TC), many of whom live in the nearby city of Lynchburg, about growing up in this mountain hollow. 1 Hughes, born in 1909 to tenant farmers who were themselves born into slavery, told stories of how his family, after emancipation, rented land from Moses Richeson, a mixed-race former enslaved laborer and one of the largest landowners in the area in 1898.

Taft Hughes told the hikers about Moses Richeson and the other families who made their livelihoods within these mountains. All of the hikers had questions for Mr. Hughes:

What is your earliest remembrance? How did you farm? Was it flat enough? What did you raise? Did they all leave because the Forest Service bought the land or because they couldn't make a living anymore?

1 Dave Benavitch, a NBA TC member and retired forester, organized the hike in 1995 after conducting an oral history with Taft Hughes (Benavitch 1992). The description of the interactions between the hikers and Taft Hughes are based upon an audio recording of the hike created by Bob Fener (1992). 3

Hiking along the Appalachian National Scenic Trail (to some, or an old country road to others) Taft Hughes and the hikers wound memories and stories around a place creating senses of selves and belonging. Ten years later, I walked the same path with

Dave Benavitch, who shared Taft Hughes' stories as we hiked from household to household. As an outsider whose only connection to the area was my work with the

Appalachian Trail Conservancy, I was very cognizant of the process of place-making and the role researchers have played in the construction of the negative images of the

Appalachian region. As I documented the material life of the landscape in the past and in the present, I tried to keep in mind that different people understand and experience the landscape in different ways.

I chose to start this biography of an Appalachian landscape with this hike along the Appalachian Trail because it provides a starting place to consider "the complex and entangled lives of things, environments and people in motion" (Hicks 2006: 9). Jean H.

Speer (1992) argues that an emphasis on landscape in studies of Appalachia have often

obscured the region's 'culture'. She writes, "Fascination with the scenic qualities of mountain lands can lead to the feeling that human culture is an intrusion, perhaps an

intrusion to be eliminated or, at least, recast to fit the contours of the Appalachian

landscape" (Speer 1992: 24). This is significant because the Appalachian Trail is often

thought of as wilderness or scenic with "unparalleled opportunities to explore, experience

and connect with nature" (Appalachian Trail Conservancy 2007). This view of nature

erases the history and culture of the Appalachian peoples who once populated the land in

which the Trail now winds. 4

Tracey Ireland argues that in Australia, landscape acted 'as a determinant of not only the course of colonial history, but also of the distinctive characteristics of national identity' (Ireland 2003: 56). The landscape played a similar role in North America. The

Declaration of Independence and the Constitution establish the bond between democracy and broad-based landownership. The former enthroned the pursuit of private property as a natural right. The latter construed ownership, once attained, as inalienable (Geisler

1983: ix). Political institutions were shaped and reshaped by land interests -- first by the gentry, then the yeoman farmer, and more recently the embattled taxpayer. With the AT as a starting place, I consider how these land interests shaped and continue to shape the

Appalachian landscape.

The Culture of Nature: Space, Place and Landscape

The Brown Mountain Creek section of the Appalachian Trail is a place and a product of interrelations between people and the natural world. By viewing the area as a landscape, I bridge and encapsulate both the action and fluidity of space and the rooted- ness and memory/history of place (Smith 2008: 16). As a landscape, this section of the

AT is 'nature' and it is 'wilderness', yet these seemingly universal concepts -- wilderness and nature -- are socially and historically constructed through place-making.

As Melissa Checker states,

Historically, anthropologists and other scholars made careful distinctions between nature and culture -- things that were natural just were, and things that were cultural were human-made. Now we have come to recognize that many of the things we see as 'natural' are actually shaped by cultural ideas. As cultural theorist Raymond Williams [1980: 71] cautioned several decades ago, "The idea 5

of nature ... is the idea of man in society. Indeed the ideas of kinds of societies" (2005: 16).

Wilderness areas are modern social and political creations. They are often thought of as original nature, yet this overlooks the profound changes past human activity has left on the land (Gazin-Schwartz 2008: 26).

Figure 1.2. Images from the Section of the AT Along Brown Mountain Creek

The "wilderness" which the Appalachian Trail winds through has a history and the mountain landscape is inscribed with social inequalities that result from struggles over natural resources, particularly the land. By examining the material lives of Moses

Richeson, as a mixed-race enslaved laborer and later as a landowner, and Eli Hughes, as a

Black tenant farmer, I place the Appalachian Trail within its historical context, as family farmsteads where individuals worked and made their livelihoods from the mountain land.

By examining the materiality of clearance, conservation, and recreation, I consider the complex and rich ways that cleared Appalachian landscapes have been "created, inhabited, and endowed with significance" (Smith 2008: 15). 6

Race and Class in Landscape Studies

Space, place, and landscape have been the focus of historians, anthropologists, and archaeologists. Scholars have considered the politics of landscape (Bender 1993;

Bender and Winer 2001 ); landscapes as constructed, conceptualized and ideational

(Ashmore and Knapp 1999); as heritage (Cotter et al. 2001; Groth and Bressi 1997;

Homing 2000a; Shackel 2001); as everyday space (Groth and Bressi 1997); as memory

(Kuchler 1993; Morphy 1993); as senses of place (Basso 1996; Feld and Basso 1996;

Thomas 2001; Tilley 1997); as standpoints (Hicks et al. 2007); as cleared and empty

(Smith and Gazin-Schwartz 2008); and natural places (Bradley 2000; Fontijn 2002).

These studies have approached the study of space utilizing a variety of analytical scales ranging from the region to the village to the specific site. The scale of spatial analysis places the explanatory power on a particular locus of action and human experience. Here my spatial analysis examines a landscape, a specific section of the Appalachian Trail, from varying scales ranging from the site and the local to the regional and national in

order to examine how struggles over the natural environment both create and express

racial and classed ideologies and stereotypes in Appalachia over time.

In order to understand the spatiality of race and class in rural Appalachian

Virginia, I build upon the work of historical archaeologists and anthropologists to

consider race and class as interdependent power relations (Hartigan 1999; Omi and

Winant 1994; Roediger 1994). A number of historical archaeologists have used

landscape as a way to examine political, economic, class, gender, and racial systems

(Pauls 2006: 68); yet archaeologists have not considered the relational aspects of race and

class. In African American archaeology or archaeology of the African Diaspora, 7 archaeologists have analyzed race, economics and power from a variety of perspectives.

For example, Dell Upton (1985) used a structuralist approach, similar to James Deetz

( 1977), to understand the social experience of architecture by examining plantations and slave houses. He describes slave houses as being part of two different landscapes. Upton

(1985: 63) shows that slave houses fit into the white landscape centered on the main house in one way and into a black landscape centered on the quarters in another, yet his analysis is based on a narrow dualism inherent in the structuralist mode of explanation.

Mark Leone (1984), in his study of William Paca's formal garden in Annapolis,

Maryland, interrogated cultural structures through the lens of power. Invoking a Marxist perspective in which all relations include an element of power, Leone considered the ways that power and control were made manifest when Paca, a slave owner, used the rules of perspective to make his garden appear larger than its actual size. He surmises that

Paca's motivation was to master nature and the people around him. Williamson (1999) however questions whether landowners during this period would have needed to impress their social underlings; instead, he argues their gardens served to establish status and legitimacy among peers of elite status. Leone (1984) and Williamson (1999), as well as other archaeologists (e.g., Shepard 1987; Stine 1990), approach class is by linking it with status, often using the terms interchangeably. Here class is a ranked social position is often determined based on documentary evidence of wealth or occupation.

Similarly, Orser (1988a, 1988b) and Epperson (1990) demonstrate the importance of examining 'economics and power' in the study of the spatial arrangements of plantations.

Orser (1988b) identified evidence of power relations in the size and spatial arrangement of plantation housing at Millwood, a postbellum tenant plantation located in the South Carolina 8

Piedmont. His findings show that house size was dependent upon the inhabitants' tenure group -- landlord, millwright, tenant, servant, wage hand -- which correlated with the political and economic power a tenure group holds in the plantation hierarchy. Orser ( 1988a:

329) further suggested that distances between buildings occupied by each major tenure group may be a reflection of 'the power relations enacted within the dominant mode of production at the plantation.' Epperson (1990), in turn, sees slavery in the Chesapeake as a system of domination characterized by a fundamental contradiction between incorporation of the oppressed and the need to create distance, difference, and otherness. Epperson suggests that the planter's power of domination is reflected by the landscape and architectural space that he controlled and that evidence of both class formation and racism in the Chesapeake is indicated by the exclusion of slave dwellings from the formal landscape of the plantation.

While Orser and Epperson share similar theoretical positions and apply these frameworks to understand spatial arrangements on plantations and farms, they reach different conclusions in their interpretation of race and class. Orser (1988a: 131) sees the postbellum plantation in

South Carolina as essentially an economic institution that exhibits class differences that are not necessarily related to race, while Epperson (1990) sees the development of plantation spatial patterns in colonial Virginia as evidence of class formation based on racist ideology.

The emphasis on power relations and inequality fits nicely within a relational definition of class that focuses on the struggle between social groups over the means of production (Wurst and Fitts 1999: 2), though most of the discussion is framed around power and inequality rather than class.

As LouAnn Wurst (1999: 9) points out, many historical archaeologists have tried to create predictive models of class by relating economic wealth or occupation to material 9 patterns. In effect class is projected as a "universal'', a single attribute of individuals or households. Wurst (1999: 9) defines a common scenario: historical research is conducted to identify the occupants of a property; these occupants are identified by class (i.e., occupation or income); this class is then "tested" archaeologically based on the cost of ceramics or sometimes meat cuts, assuming the direct relationship between cost and status (e.g., Miller

1980, 1991; Shepard 1987). Therefore, class is assumed to be an objective, unproblematic and "real" category. Another common approach has been to link class with race and gender.

Most historical archaeologists recognize the complex intersections between race, class, gender and ethnicity (e.g., Delle 2000; Scott 1994), yet continue to identify all of these aspects as objective traits or attributes that characterize individual identity (Wurst 1999: 8).

Teresa Singleton ( 1999) brought to the fore the fact that "you cannot fully understand the European colonial experience in the Americas without understanding that of the African".

Her volume, "L Too, Am America", brought forth a growing body ofliterature on the archaeology of the African Diaspora in which archaeologists have studied the formation and transformation of the Black Atlantic world, representations of cultural identity, cultural interaction and change in addition to relations of power and domination (e.g., Fennell 2007;

Orser 1998; Singleton 1999). Most of these studies have focused on enslavement (e.g.,

Armstrong 2003; Ferguson 1992; Singleton 1995, 1999) and post-enslavement studies have tended to focus on tenancy (e.g., Brown 1994; Orser 1988a; Wilkie 2000). But in African

American archaeology class is an underdeveloped area of archaeological analysis. It has tended to be an organizing principle in discussions of external relationships between blacks and whites and has been used less often to examine internal relationships within African­

American communities (Singleton 1999: 3). Teresa Singleton (1999) argues that this may be 10 partially related to the greater emphasis and visibility of African-American communities occupying the lowest socioeconomic strata, slaves, tenant farmers, and wage laborers of

American society than to other social classes. Few studies have been undertaken on African

Americans who own land and other property (e.g., Blomberg 1988; Catts and Davy 1991;

Muller 1994). The majority of these studies have emphasized urban property owners (e.g.,

Blomberg 1988; Mullins 2003), rather than rural.

Class is seldom seen as an appropriate topic of study for 19th century rural

America (Wurst 1999: 12). Images of rural life are based on an agrarian pastoral ideal that defines "rural" social relations in contrast to urban -- as simple, homogenous, agricultural, and past, while urban is complex stratified, industrial and future (Wurst

1999: 12). Barron (1986: 145) has suggested that class relations in the countryside are more elusive than in an urban context, since the ownership of property (particularly land) was more widespread. The widespread ownership of land has often led to the conclusion that rural society was composed of a homogenous "middling" class of farmers (McMurry

1988; Wurst 1999: 12). Since farms stood structurally in the same relation to the ownership of the means of production, class, from this vantage point, is thought to have not existed (Wurst 1999: 12).

Here I move away from viewing class as a rigid dualism between owners and workers and elites and non-elites (Wurst 1999) to demonstrate that class operates on many scales and can be used to tease out the complexity of the social relations of everyday life. Historical anthropology provides methods to examine the full potentials of the relational aspects of race and class (Wurst 1999: 8). Race and class are sets of relations that are historically constituted, fluid, and constantly changing (Wurst 1999: 9). 11

Recently, historical archaeologists have begun to critique the view that whites are

"non-raced" (Bell 2005; Orser 1999). Before the introduction of critical whiteness studies into archaeology, to say that one was interested in race meant an interest "in any racial imagery other than that of white people" (Dyer 2003: 301), especially that of

African Americans (Paynter 2001: 125). In some studies of whiteness (e.g., Homing

1999; Paynter 2001) the research is placed beyond the heartland of slavery (Bell 2005:

447).

The meanings of race and class develop and change in group struggles that are rooted in particular geographic locales and in particular historic time periods (Sayer

1987; Weber 2001: 73; Wurst 1999: 9). Since race is one of the modes in which people experience class, I build on critical whiteness theory ( eg., Roediger 1994, 1999; see also,

Frankenberg 1994, 1997; Mcintosh 1988) to understand how whiteness and blackness were made and unmade over time. Whiteness, similar to nature, is based on cultural ideas and naturalized to appear as if it has always existed as it does in the contemporary imagination. Whiteness is a classed racial identity and the American norm; and as such, it is often asserted as natural and not the product of social relations (e.g., Frankenberg 1994,

1997; Hartigan 1999; Roediger 1994; Thandeka 1999), yet racism and inequality have historical and structural dimensions. People make and remake structures even as the structures shape their actions (Thompson 1968).

The central role of ideologies and stereotypes is "the creation of a world of meanings, credible in various ways to those within it, that hides the exploitive or inequitable relations that exist in everyday working life" (Leone 1999: 6). 12

The representations of past events and objects as history and archaeology is a manifestation of ideology. Stories concerning past people, events, objects, episodes and anything else are often attempts to legitimize living, powerful relationships by creating precedent (Leone 1999: 6).

Through archaeology with an emphasis on the material life of the Appalachian landscape,

I show how raced and classed ideologies and stereotypes are made and remade relationally through people's everyday engagement with objects, the landscape, and each other.

From Material Culture to Material Life

Materiality has become a topic of increasing interest in anthropology and archaeology as well as the core of the new material culture studies (Attfield 2000; Buchli

2002; Meskell 2004; Miller 1998). These studies respond to the critique of the 'vulgar materialism' of the 'cultural materialist' approach (Friedman 1974) from the perspective

of structural Marxism and the contemporary interrogation of firm boundaries between the

'material' and the 'immaterial', emerging especially from architectural theory (Hill

2003). Materiality studies seek to

uncover and examine past and present lives of things, sometimes as objects, other times as active entities or didactic things, often as circulating cultural capital today, things that we have become accustomed to viewing umproblematically or residing in intransigent taxonomies (Meskell 2005: 6).

In this case, the object is the landscape. This section of the Appalachian Trail has been

enculturated as people moved into the natural world and marked that intrusion physically and

materially (Meskell 2005: 7). As individuals shaped and modified the landscape to provide

housing, accommodate the system of production, facilitate communication and

transportation, mark social inequalities, and express aesthetics, people and the landscape 13 gather time, movement and change. Both people and landscapes are constantly transformed, and these transformations of person and landscape are tied up with each other (Gosden and

Marshall 1999: 169).

Following archaeologists such as Gosden and Marshall (1999) and Darvill (2006),

I apply the metaphor of a biography to the processes by which human and object, in this case the landscape, historically inform each other. Meaning emerges from social action and the purpose of a biography is to illuminate that process (Gosden and Marshall 1999:

170). Darvill (2006) and Pollard and Reynolds (2002) used biography to understand how a landscape was made and how it worked. They modeled these studies after Hoskins'

(1955) study of the English landscape in which Hoskins walks the reader through 1,000 years of land change in England. The great time-depth of archaeology encourages an emphasis on long-term trends and social groups over specific moments and individuals

(Gichrist 2000: 325). As Lynn Meskell (2004: 57) points out, the employment of 'the trope of biography' can lead to studies that are 'somewhat indistinguishable from previous studies of site histories, reuse of places and monuments, recontextualisation and memory: a rather business-as-usual approach'. Therefore, I combine the biography metaphor with that of material life to locate the individual in specific moments. As Dan

Hicks argues,

By eschewing unhelpful narratives that bound off past from present or prehistoric from historical archaeology, by drawing inspiration from the ways in which archaeologies of the recent past weave together lived and material worlds, by thinking through how conceptions of life in material culture studies have failed so far to incorporate the 'more-than-social', and by focusing our attention upon the complex and entangled lives of things, environments and people in motion, archaeology could start to move beyond illustrations of the modem idea of material culture and develop new documentation of material life in the past and in the present (Hicks 2006: 9). 14

The documentation of material life in biographical form permits an emphasis on the short term, the small scale and the individual. It combines the two perspectives of time to examine the human life cycles that are connected closely with that of houses and landscapes (Gilchrist 2000). Most archaeological narratives are linear and represent time as chronology -- a progressive movement in one direction. I intend to "ensure this linearity remains open to the possibility of temporal disruptions and dislocations so the story does not have the appearance of inevitability" (Lucas 2005: 117) and emphasize the individual and the small scale over time.

This research is not just about slavery, tenancy or the Appalachian Trail; it is about social relations and the materiality and historicity of a place. I take the present as a

starting point and move back and forth in time to consider how power relations are materially constituted in the landscape. Archaeology, with its focus on time and materiality, has something to contribute to the study of the AT, a place whose creation is remembered and whose form and character we continue to influence in our everyday

lives (Bradley et al. 2004).

The Structure of this Dissertation

Archaeological research has the potential to bring something unique to the study

and understanding of the history of race and class, since the spatiality of racism and

inequality is not only inscribed on the landscape, but is also so often 'buried' (Byrne

2003: 173). The act of 'unburying' racism and inequality through the process of

archaeology and the retelling of a story about a place makes archaeology and

anthropology socially significant. In this dissertation, I tell a story about peoples' 15 relationships to the natural world and how everyday struggles over land create anxieties over race and class. I do not tell this in the 'traditional' archaeological site report format; instead I use anthropological method and theory to tell a story of land use, race and class

(e.g., Gibb 2000; Little 2000) as a way to navigate through people's relationships with each other and a place over time in order to circumvent the disconnects between academia and the real world.

As I consider the historical and social constructions of nature, race and class, I attempt to recognize my own white skin privilege. As a white woman, the reality of white privilege was disconcerting. Yet I could not deny that my identity as white conferred status, privilege, and power. I had been taught about racism as something that puts others at a disadvantage; I had not been taught to see its corollary aspect, white privilege, which puts me at an advantage (Barnes 2008; Mcintosh 2003). Race and class are constructed as some people gain advantage from the color of their skin. I recognize that language, particularly how societies define and categorize groups of people, plays a role in making race and class. Here I problematize the notions of whiteness, blackness, and mixed-ness while considering the class dynamics of each. Yet for the sake of understanding I use dominant terminology, such as white, black, African American and Euro American while continuing to challenge and problematize those categories.

In this dissertation, I focus on a specific place, a piece of land in the Blue Ridge

Mountains along the Appalachian Trail within the George Washington and Jefferson

National Forests. Along this section of the Appalachian Trail in the Blue Ridge

Mountains of Virginia, the labor of settlers and enslaved laborers changed the mountain landscape as they cleared fields, built houses, and marked the property boundaries with 16 stone walls. Emancipation brought a new order to the landscape as a former enslaved laborer acquired land, raised children and began renting land to tenants. Later, as the

land became more valuable to people in distant cities, the landscape changed yet again as the families living upon the creek were displaced and took their possessions along with them. People planted trees where families once lived. They helped build a dam to provide water to the nearby cities. They cleared the pipes of debris so that the water would be clean. In this new forest, people built a footpath as a place to get out of the city

and enjoy the scenic views of the mountain landscape. This dissertation delves further

into the material life of this landscape to understand how race and class are created and

recreated through struggles over the natural environment.

In Chapter Two, I situate the land historically in a regional and national context.

With an emphasis on race and class, I discuss the history of Appalachia and deconstruct

the stereotypes about the region in order to frame a more local history. Chapter Three

includes a discussion of my research methods. Chapter Four focuses on slavery and

tenancy in the Blue Ridge Mountains from 1800 to 1920, with a particular emphasis on

emancipation and African American landownership and tenancy. In chapter Five I focus

on displacement and the building of the National Forest from 1890 to 1920. Here I

discuss water and forestry and the renegotiation of meanings brought forth through the

conservation movement. In chapter Six, I discuss the building of the Appalachian Trail,

from 1920 to the present. With an emphasis on living in the landscape, this research

builds upon the anthropological study of space, race, and class. It brings anthropological

depth to a study of power relations and landscapes in process, while providing a historical 17 analysis of the ways the landscape physically embodies the history, structure and contexts of slavery, tenancy, displacement and conservation in Appalachia. CHAPTER2

PLACING THE LANDSCAPE:

RACE AND CLASS IN APPALACHIA

One place comprehended can make us understand other places better - Eudora Welty, Place in Fiction.

The section of the Appalachian Trail that follows Brown Mountain Creek is located in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Amherst County, Virginia. This mountainous land was once part of a plantation in which enslaved laborers cultivated tobacco and wheat. As a place, it is made through interactions between people and environments over time. Socio-spatial practices define places and these practices result in overlapping and intersecting places with multiple and changing boundaries, constituted and maintained by social relations of power and exclusion (Massey 1991; McDowell 1999: 4). In order to understand the history of this particular place, I draw connections between the regional and the local since spatial identities such as regions, nations, and the local are forged relationally through internally complex and essentially unboundable connections that are inevitably historically changing (Massey 1994; 2004).

Following scholars such as John Campbell (1969), Wilma Dunaway (2003a,

2003b) and Samuel Cook (2000), I place my research area in Appalachia. 1 Throughout this dissertation I discuss the changing interactions between people and the environment in a particular place in the Blue Ridge Mountain in Amherst County, Virginia. Because

1 The research area falls outside the Appalachian Regional Commission's definition of Appalachia. 18 19 of its mountain setting as well as its social history, the small community is a microcosm of Appalachia. As such, it provides a compelling revisionist test case for new considerations of how race and class mediate and effect land use in the region. In this chapter, I discuss key aspects of the history of Appalachia -- expansionism, the farm and forest economy, the Civil War, Reconstruction, industrialization, displacement and conservation -- in order to demonstrate how national and regional struggles over the natural environment created racial and classed ideologies resulting in particular stereotypes about the people of Appalachia.

Figure 2.1. Map of Southern Appalachia. (Adapted from Cook 2000: 5). 20

Geographically, Appalachia is defined as the region upon and alongside the

Appalachian Mountain range that extends from Quebec to the southernmost foothills in

Alabama and Mississippi (Edwards et al. 2006: xiv; Sullivan and Prezzano 2001). Yet the concept of Appalachia "is a fluid social construction that emerged with the expansion of America -- a formidable testing ground for 'otherness' -- that is defined according to the agendas of policymakers, media representatives, activists", and scholars (Batteau

1990; Cook 2000: 3). In the mid-1960s, the boundaries of Appalachia were delineated by the federal Appalachian Regional Commission (ARC) as part of the War on Poverty effort. This area encompassing all or part of 13 states is commonly accepted today as the political definition of Appalachia, if not the geographical and cultural (Edwards et al.

2006: xiv).

I begin with a discussion of the geographical setting and follow with key aspects of Appalachian history. I try to recognize that the history of Amherst County, Virginia is very different from that of Harlan County, West Virginia, while also touching on the key aspects of Appalachia's history. In addition, the fluidity of Appalachia's boundaries made the division of Appalachian history into time periods difficult. I divided the historical context into six time periods: American Indians and the mountains (12,000 BP to Contact); the Appalachian frontier: The Resettling of America (1540-1840);

Appalachia's Farm-and-Forest Economy (1760-1860); the Civil War and Reconstruction

(1860-1880); Industrial Appalachia: The Emergence of Supra-Regional Systems (1860-

1950); and Post-Industrial Appalachia (1945-present). These time periods are not necessarily distinct; there is overlap within each, events happened at different times in different parts of Appalachia, and some events happened simultaneously. In each of 21 these sections I demonstrate the role struggles over the natural environment played in shaping people's lived experiences of race and class.

The Appalachian Mountains

The environment, particularly the material struggles over the natural environment, is a significant part of the history of Appalachia. The natural world -- the plants and animals, climate and weather, soil and water -- has profoundly shaped the Appalachian past (Davis 2003; Steinberg 2001). Sullivan and Prezzano's (2001) co-edited volume focuses on the prehistoric and historic issues that cross cut, and are unique to, the

Appalachians. This discussion of the mountain environment follows Sullivan and

Prezzano' s (2001) description of the Appalachian highlands.

Appalachia encompasses three major physiographic provinces: the Blue Ridge, the Valley and Ridge, and the Appalachian Plateau (See Figure 2.2). The Blue Ridge, the easternmost province of Appalachia, consists of a single ridge extending from

Pennsylvania to Southern Georgia, with elevations averaging about 3,000 feet in its extent. The Valley and Ridge is located to the west of the Blue Ridge. This huge valley extends nearly the entire length of the Appalachians, encompassing the Great Valley of

Virginia as well as the Cumberland, Shenandoah and Tennessee Valleys. Although not strictly 'highlands,' the Valley and Ridge is an integral part of the Appalachian system since it is circumscribed on the east and west by the Blue Ridge, restricting access and affording a degree of isolation. Unlike the rest of the Appalachian Mountains, the Great

Valley contains good farmland and rolling to level land. The Appalachian Plateau 22 province is located in the western portion of the Appalachians. It is formed of moderately folded strata with deep valleys and plateau like mountains.

Figure 2.2. Physiographic Map of Appalachia (Sullivan and Prezzano 2001: xxii).

As Sullivan and Prezzano (2001) point out, the Appalachian terrain includes relatively lower and higher lands, major river valleys as well as the highest elevations in the eastern U.S. The elevation above sea level along some streams in the southern portion of the Valley and Ridge dips below 700 feet. In contrast, the highest elevations in the Blue Ridge run over 6,000 feet. Human movement along certain corridors tends to be directed by the general northeast-southwest trend of Appalachia's folded geologic strata 23 and corresponding ridges and valleys. It also tends to structure the distribution of plant and animal life.

Most of the Appalachian forests are deciduous. The Appalachian oak/northern hardwood forest, the greatest expanse of forest environment, is found between 2,500 and

5,500 feet. It contains more than 45 species of native hardwood and evergreens (Sullivan and Prezzano 2001 ). Before the chestnut blight of the 1920s, the oak forest, or more accurately an oak/chestnut forest, was predominately composed of several species of oak,

American chestnut, red maple and black cherry. The Eastern or Canadian hemlock also occurs in specific Appalachian habitats. Large tracts of broadleafed evergreens including rhododendrons are also features of Appalachian forests.

The mountains were home to a diverse wildlife until the arrival of European settlers. Woodland bison, elk, timber wolf, mountain lion, black bear and white-tailed deer were either wiped out or severely depleted by habitat alteration and gun-wielding settlers (Sullivan and Prezzano 2001: xxvi). Today larger native game birds such as wild turkey and grouse and several species of migratory waterfowl survive, and the deer population is expanding.

Water is one the most important and undervalued resources of the Appalachian region (Rouse and Greer-Pitt 2006: 51 ). Rivers such as the Susquehanna, Potomac,

James, and Rappahannock flow eastward, eventually reaching the Atlantic Coast through the Chesapeake. Feeding into the Ohio River are the Kentucky, Kanawha, Allegheny,

Monongahela, and New River. The Cumberland and Tennessee River systems move southward (Rouse and Greer-Pitt 2006: 51). Appalachian waterways have been used to 24 provide food for farm families, transport people and commodities, power factories and mills, produce energy and supply cities to the east with domestic water supplies.

Population growth has put pressure on water supplies, and decisions about how to protect

Appalachian watersheds continue to impact the lives of people throughout the region. As

I will discuss later, water became a key concern in the Blue Ridge Mountains with the building of the Lynchburg Reservoir.

Rugged terrain, abundant water, temperate deciduous forests, rocky soil, narrow floodplains, and biotic diversity give the Appalachian region a distinct environmental character (Sullivan and Prezanno 2001). While this natural environment does not determine the course of cultural development, it is an inescapable factor. Out of the material resources of soil, vegetation and mineral deposits come the means of livelihood, at least in the first instance, and upon such resources the characteristic social and political possibilities of the local community are built (Pierce and Wiles 1999). Services, labor supply, markets, natural resources, energy supply and even geographic ambiance all tie local enterprise to wider circles of trade and industry in the region.

American Indians and the Mountains (12,000 BP to Contact)

Archaeological studies of the eastern 'uplands' have focused on Appalachian subareas, such as the Appalachian Summit of western North Carolina, the Upper

Tennessee Valley, the upper Cumberland River of Kentucky, and the Virginia uplands

(e.g., Barber and Barfield 1981, 1984, 1987, 1996; Jeffries et al. 1996; Lane 1997; 25

Sullivan 1995). Lynne Sullivan and Susan Prezzano's (2001) edited volume,

Archaeology ofthe Appalachian Highlands, is the first comprehensive examination of archaeology along the Appalachian mountain chain. The Appalachian mountains are composed of three physiographic zones (see Figure 2.2) with ecologically diverse resources; therefore, the Appalachian Mountains were home to a diversity of cultures with diverse social and political organization, material culture, settlement patterns, architecture and burial practices (Sullivan and Prezzano 2001: xxxii). In this section, space does not permit an in depth discussion of these cultural practices, rather I provide an overview of American Indian history from the paleoindian, archaic, woodland and

Mississippian periods to contact with an emphasis on land use.

Human populations inhabited the Appalachian mountains by about 12,000 BP

(Carr et al. 2001; Sullivan and Prezzano 2001 ). After resource-rich areas at lower elevations and less challenging terrain were occupied, intensive settlement or use of the southern Appalachians began (Lane and Anderson 2001: 102). The floodplains along the

Appalachian plateau were used as primary migration routes into the region. Later the floodplains were loci for larger, seasonal, aggregate encampments (Lane and Anderson

2001: 100), since the hunting and gathering groups' mobile settlement patterns included seasonal forays into the Ridge and Valley province to the west and to the Piedmont farther east. Paleoindians with their fluted point technology utilized various habitats -- for hunting, fishing and gathering nuts and berries, migrating across the Appalachian landscape depending upon the season. 26

Paleoindian 12,000 BP - 10,000 BP Early Archaic 10,000 BP - 8,000 BP Middle Archaic 8,000 BP - 5,000 BP Late Archaic 5,000 BP - 3000 BP Early Woodland 3,000 BP - 2,300 BP Middle Woodland 2,300 BP - 1,500 BP Late Woodland 1,500 BP - 1,000 BP Mississippian 1,000 BP to 400 BP Table 2.1. Chronology of the Prehistory of the Southern Appalachians. (Adapted from Sullivan and Prezzano 2001: xxviii).2

Occupation of the Appalachian highlands gradually increased through time, until by the Early Archaic period the area was likely as densely occupied as most other parts of the southeastern United States (Lane and Anderson 2001: 102). Between 10,000 and

8,000 BP, American Indians generally lived in small mobile bands exploiting defined territories. Small groups made use of ridge tops and terrace locations overlooking primary river systems and sometimes aggregating along major rivers and at unusual landscape features such as chert outcrops, sinkholes (Lane and Anderson 2001: 102), caves and rock shelters. Walthall (1998) argues that this indicates logistical mobility as part of a collector based procurement strategy.

Between 8,000 and 5,000 BP, American Indians in Appalachia became increasingly sedentary and further developed trade networks that focused on specialized resources, such as steatite. An increase in the number of sites with non-local cherts and

2 Tn some places, there is an overlap in Late Woodland and Mississippian cultures. This could be because Mississippian groups may, in some instances, have been intrusive to Woodland cultures. It also could be a result of the cultural historical paradigm employed in different places, particularly in Virginia where late prehistoric societies were identified at Late Woodland (Egloff 1992; Jefferies 2001 ). 27 the proliferation in point types represent larger numbers of bands that traded resources and ongoing regional specialization. According to Ken Sassaman (2001: 103), around

7500 BP, certain groups of the Appalachian Plateau began to occupy riverine and wetland-associated sites for extended stays (Dye 1996), to add fish and shellfish to their diets (Styles 1986), to experiment with new technologies (Sassaman 1996), to create and maintain long-distance exchange networks (Jefferies 1996) and to engage in interpersonal conflict (Smith 1996). Claasen (1996) argues that land-use patterns of the shell mound

Archaic were shaped by social, not environmental concerns, since shellfishing occurred in so few places, not regularly in the best possible places, and many of the most productive rivers lack archaic shell middens. The foragers may have developed annual and seasonal cycles that included alternate periods of aggregation and dispersal, through which distinct groups became more and more closely attached to specific areas within the southern Appalachian landscape (Rodning 2001, 2004) creating conflicts between some groups.

During the later Archaic period (5,000-3,000 BP), the Appalachian plateau experienced a population increase and rising cultural diversity (Versaggi et al. 2001 ). In the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, small bands established base camps around upland bogs, since these areas provided substantial plant and animal, as well as lithic resources

(Tolley 1981 ). The main characteristic, besides elaboration of burial practices, that distinguished the Early and Middle Woodland from Late Archaic traditions, was the change from large projectile point types to smaller forms indicative of bow-and-arrow 28 use and the gradual intensification of local and interregional exchange of exotic materials.

Between the Late Archaic and the Woodland period, many American Indian groups began experimenting with horticulture. In Kentucky throughout the Early

Woodland period, groups were collecting starchy seeds and tubers, such as sunflower,

maygrass, sumpweed, giant ragweed, and knotweed (Fenton 2001; Gremillion 1994;

Watson 1985). Agriculture allowed American Indians to combine farming with hunting

and gathering to produce a more secure subsistence diet. Around the same time, native

people had begun making ceramics as alternatives to baskets and soapstone containers,

and experimenting with other forms of material culture that fit their increasingly

sedentary patterns of settlement.

Around 1,100 BP, populations that previously lived in dispersed single-household

hamlets began to aggregate in larger settlements at fixed locations for part of the year.

These larger settlements utilized a variety oflandforms, taking advantage of the diversity

of plant and wildlife. Native people most likely burned sections of these woodlands to

enhance mast harvests and to create environments favorable for hunting deer and turkey

(Hill 1997: 60). Native peoples also created edge habitats where nut trees and grasses

would thrive within gardens and the remnants of abandoned settlements (Hatley 1991:

38-41; Hill 1997; Rodning 2001: 240). Yet because the new settlement type concentrated

populations at the same location for extended periods of time, it also increased the

environmental and social risks of food shortage. Therefore, new tactics, such as

intensifying cultivation and resource exploitation, interregional exchange, and long term 29 storage (Nass 2001) were needed to ensure a continuous supply of wild and cultivated resources. At the same time, groups began building burial mounds in the southern Valley and Ridge and these mounds were used until at least 700 BP (Sullivan and Prezzano

2001: xxxi). People were participating in exchange networks and ritual traditions that connected people across all of eastern North America with major streams serving as important lines of communication (Fenton 2001: 137). Most of the western and central

Kentucky and western Tennessee Woodland cultures appear to have participated fully in the Ohio River Valley Early and Middle Woodland trading network. Because the

Appalachians represent a geological unit, there are many instances in which widely distant Eastern Woodland groups relied upon the same lithic raw materials and similar technologies (Cobb 2001: 207).

During the Mississippian period, many American Indian groups operated within a more centralized government organized into chiefdoms of varying size and sociopolitical complexity (Anderson 1994). These groups practiced maize agriculture, had a hierarchical political organization and constructed towns that shared architectural features like platform mounds and wall-trench houses (Scarry 1994: 29). Researchers have focused much attention on Mississippian sites or regions of Mississippian cultural development that are along major waterways, such as Moundville or Etowah, which operated out of temple mound complexes, that controlled specific territories usually associated with a defined floodplain environment.

Less information is known about the Mississippian groups who inhabited the rugged upland parts of the northern southeast, where river valleys are often narrow and 30 area of level arable soil are limited and widely scattered (Jefferies 2001: 198). The rivers and tributaries in the Valley and Ridge physiographic zone sometimes made travel through the region difficult, yet the rivers and tributaries combined with a network of overland trails provided access routes through the rugged terrain. In particular, the

Cumberland Gap, passing through the rugged mountains that separate the Cumberland and Tennessee Valleys provided a communication and transportation route for

Mississippian peoples that inhabited the headwaters of these two major river systems

(Jefferies 2001: 199). The number of mounds in the highlands, particularly the

Cumberland Gap polities, was relatively small compared to the lowlands. The mountain chiefdoms often consisted of a single-mound ceremonial/administrative center that served as the focal point for people living in associated small villages and farmsteads scattered along the nearby floodplains (Jefferies 2001: 220). By 400 BP, dozens of native towns dotted the Appalachian Summit landscape, as did abandoned towns and old fields

(Goodwin 1977) with Monacan villages following "the major rivers of the [Virginia] piedmont, particularly the James" (Hantman 1994: 96).

At contact, the Monacans were one of many groups populating the Appalachian

Mountains (Bushnell 1930; Cook 2000; Hantman 2001; Houck 1984). The Monacan territory extended along the Blue Ridge into the central part of the Shenandoah Valley

(Hantman 1994, 2001). The Monacans mined significant quantities of minerals such as schist, sandstone, soapstone, steatite and quartz and traded these subterranean minerals, including copper, with their Algonquian neighbors (Bushnell 1930; Cook 2000: 33). The

Monacans made their livelihoods from the mountain resources and played a powerful role 31 in shaping the Appalachian landscape. Monacan villages were composed of homes, gardens, ritual places, and burial places. The Monacan cultural landscape consisted these material features but also many aspects of their sociocultural system, such as gender, division of labor, and social hierarchy and the landscape is deeply involved in the organization of the political and economic relationships among communities (Fenton

2001: 138).

At the time of contact, it is thought that about 15 to 17 major Native American tribes lived in the Appalachian region, most of them sedentary agriculturalists and fishing peoples who supplemented their diet by hunting and gathering. The Cherokee dominated southern Appalachia, but there were also Monacans, Creeks, Choctaws, Chickasaws, and

Shawnees (e.g., Blethen 2004; Boyd 2004; Cook 2000). The various tribes represent different genealogies of native peoples and a diversity of cultural practices. Yet with

European contact, American Indians were increasingly seen "as an alien and singular

Other" (McGuire 1997: 66; Trigger 1980). Lumping all Indian peoples in a single group denied them an identity except in relationship to whites and defining them as alien placed

Indian peoples outside the rights and privileges of white society (McGuire 1997: 66), particularly in regards to land use. European settlers saw American Indians as "lazy",

"savage" and unable to tame the mountain wilderness. Yet "Indians farmed the soil, hunted game, set fires, and gathered berries and nuts, engaging in a spiritually rich relationship with the land, while shaping it to meet their needs of everyday survival"

(Steinberg 2002: 11). By grouping all American Indians together as not white and not

productive land users, European settlers were able to justify the resettlement of the 32

Appalachian Mountains.

The Appalachian Frontier: The Resettling of America (1540-1840)

The era often defined as the age of the frontier and settlement was actually an era

of displacement and repopulation (Williams 2002) as the land once populated by

American Indians was repopulated by Europeans. Hernando de Soto in 1540 and Juan

Pardo in 1567 led the earliest European expeditions through the Appalachian mountains;

both expeditions included African slaves among their numbers. These expeditions were

transitory and made little immediate impact on the region, but they marked the beginning

of a steady intrusion of Europeans and Africans, first as traders and hunters and

eventually as settlers (Blethen 2004).

The founding of Jamestown, Virginia in 1607 and other colonies on the east coast

displaced American Indian populations and transformed accustomed social relations and

cultural habits for both Europeans and American Indians. The fur trade was the start of

European movement into the Appalachian Mountains, making contact with Native

Americans, and incorporating North America into the European commodities market.

The fur trade moved rapidly westward as one beaver population after another was hunted

out, and the fur hunters had to push further inland in search of untapped beaver grounds.

This meant that people who had felt the first impact of the fur trade were left behind in its

wake, while new groups sought to enter it (Wolf 1997: 161). As the traders demanded

furs from one group after another, paying for them with European artifacts, the groups re- 33 patterned their ways around the European manufacturers. At the same time, the demands of the Europeans for fur increased competition among native groups. Competition for new hunting grounds as well as for access to the European goods soon became essential components of native technology as markers of differential status (Wolf 1997: 161).

The timing and contact was not uniform across the Appalachian Mountains. In northern Appalachia, contact was early and sustained; in the south early contact was often followed by years oflittle or indirect interaction (Sullivan and Prezzano 2001). In some areas, native populations were decimated by European diseases or were forced to move or assimilate as a result of European intervention (e.g., Cronon 1983; Salisbury 1996;

Sullivan and Prezzano 2001). Yet the mountains also became a refuge where American

Indians (and later escaped African enslaved laborers) could maintain aspects of their culture in some circumstances (e.g., Cook 2000; Duggan 2002; Lavin 2001).

European resettlement of the Appalachian Mountains began in Virginia particularly in the southwest near the Blue Ridge Mountains. The coastal areas of the

British colonies were settled by English migrants who often came as rather well positioned individuals and groups who happened to be out-of-favor during England's revolutionary period (1640-1688). As life in the colonies became more settled and secure and the English migrants positioned themselves as the coastal elite, immigrant populations, particularly English, Scotch-Irish and German, began to grow, putting pressure on eastern towns and farmlands. As a result of the growth in immigrant populations, resource exploitation, and the conquest of the Indian lands, many colonial leaders urged westward expansion as a vital key to a prosperous future (Cook 2000; 34

Straw 2006). Beginning in the late 18th century; land in Appalachia was 'privatized' through speculation; a small number of absentee owners had purchased about three­ quarters of the land from the new states. Those land speculators were eager to sell, but only for a profit. Increasing population growth on the frontier meant steadily rising land values, which priced many settlers out of the market, ensuring that land ownership became very inequitably distributed (Blethen 2004: 21). As a result of this early speculative land development, the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Great Valley of

Virginia became the Appalachian and the American frontier (Drake 2001 a; Straw 2006;

Williams 2002).

Increasing cultural contact between Indians and pioneers along the rapidly expanding frontier provided numerous occasions for misunderstandings and conflict.

The British government tried to keep the peace by forbidding white settlement west of the

Blue Ridge Mountains, but the Proclamation of 1763, which sited that boundary, was weakly enforced. In the aftermath of the American Revolution, the new federal and state governments rejected the proclamation, using western lands to pay military veterans and generate revenue (Blethen 2004: 17-18). Manifest Destiny, the concept that European

Americans had the divine right to move west and 'civilize' the frontier caused many white politicians to press for removal of all Indians in the eastern United States. The passage of the Indian Removal Act (1830) led to the forcible removal of the Cherokee to the west on what is known as the Trail of Tears (Boyd 2004: 11).

The resettlement of the mountains was heterogeneous. According to Drake

(2001a), many Germans and Scotch-Irish came to America as individual indentured 35 servants, though sometimes they crossed the Atlantic as families and whole congregations and settled in one place. Between 1715 and the American Revolution it is estimated that 250,000 Scotch-Irish made the journey to America. The German migration was nearly as large during approximately the same period. Each group brought ideas about nature, tradition, religion, building and farming practices, foodways and language. The Scotch-Irish and the English provided the language norm for the backcountry dialect (Drake 2001a: 36; Dumas 1999). Despite the numbers of Germans in backcountry culture and the remarkable persistence of the German language in southeastern Pennsylvania and for a number of years in the Valley of Virginia, the

German language was gradually lost as German families migrated into the valley sections of Virginia and the mountains beyond. But German building and farming practices became a significant part of the Appalachian backcountry culture. Although the Germans and the Scotch-Irish made up the majority of the backcountry population, a substantial portion of the population was considered 'English' (Drake 2001a: 37). The 'English' settlers consisted of a diverse group of English speakers ranging from religious dissenters to those squeezed by overpopulation in the low country colonial society. Although they lacked a cohesive sense of group identity, the 'English' brought legal and government institutions (Blethen 2004: 18) and frequently played a key role in mediating between the

Scotch-Irish and the Germans who often did not mix together well in backwoods society.

The cultural tensions in the mountain society of the colonial backwoods were considerable as these three separate and very different groups attempted to find ways of living together (Drake 2001a: 38). 36

During the early European exploration and resettling of the Appalachian

Mountains, the pathways linking the routes of settlement and conquest to the colonies bound Appalachia to the commercial and political lineaments of the American nation

(Dunaway 1996; Williams 2002). It also produced particular power relations and anxieties over race and class. According to historian David Roediger (1999: 21),

Settler ideology held that improvident, sexually abandoned 'lazy Indians' were failing to 'husband' or subdue the resources God had provided and thus should forfeit those resources. Work and whiteness joined in the argument for dispossession. Settlers, whether or not they worked harder or more steadily than Native Americans, came to consider themselves "hardworking whites' in counterpoint to their imagination of Indian styles of life.

Whiteness was initially associated with the ideals of European labor, discipline, and social order to help facilitate the disenfranchisement and removal of Native Americans

(Beaver and Lewis 1998: 55; Roediger 1999: 21). Through this construction of alterity along racial and cultural lines, American Indians were conceived as fundamentally different from, and inferior to, white Europeans (Barnes 2008; Thomas 2000; Trigger

1980). Whiteness was defined as not "Indian", and that unified whiteness conferred status and privilege.

On the other hand, class played a role in how whiteness was defined during this period of resettlement. As mountain settlements spawned a commercial elite, subsequent population growth ensured the mountain society would be class differentiated and heterogeneous (Lewis 2004: 59-60). Social status and national origins divided early

European settlers between those who were 'white' -- officers and wealthy elites -- and those who were 'not white' -- indentured servants, laborers, frontiersmen, particularly the 37

Irish and German. The white/European self-constitution was fundamentally tied to the process of discursive production of others (Frankenberg 1994: 63). Mountain elites modeled themselves after the coastal elites and defined themselves as not "Indians" and

"not Irish" and based their status and privilege on control of land, labor, and resources.

Appalachia's Farm-and-Forest Economy (1760-1860)

The yeoman ideal -- the hope of having land of one's own -- impelled most

Appalachian settlers into the mountains (Drake 200la). Starting in the 1760s in the

Valley of Virginia and as late as the antebellum period in the Allegheny and Cumberland plateaus, settlers moved into the Appalachian wilderness. The land was considered the

"desolate, wild places untouched by 'civilization"', yet settlers diligently set about improving -- fencing and farming -- nature (Magoc 2002: 56). 3 When Europeans settled the Appalachian region, they found a region that was 80 to 90% forested (Rouse and

Greer-Pitt 2006: 53). Timber cutting tended to be an adjunct activity to farming, supporting building and commercial activity within the region, and helped to establish the farm-and-forest economy through Euro-American and African-American labor (Williams

2002: 16).

Many scholars of Appalachia have focused on the farm household that practiced a subsistence-oriented system of production based predominately on family labor. The successful farm household could provide for its basic necessities but was usually cash

3 This view overlooks the relationship of American Indians with the landscape before European contact. American Indians farmed the soil, hunted game, set fires, and gathered nuts and berries, engaging in a relationship with the land while shaping it to meet the needs of everyday survival (Steinberg 2002: 11). 38 poor (Straw 2006; Williams 2002). Yet this overlooks the plantations -- large and small -- that cultivated crops in response to distant market prices (Dunaway 2003a). The demand for flour, meal, and grain liquors was high in plantation economies where labor was budgeted toward the production of exotic staples, such as tobacco, not foods. So in addition to tobacco Appalachia's surplus producers concentrated their land and labor resources on the generation of wheat, com and the production of livestock. There was a high demand for meat, work animals, animal by-products, and leather in those peripheries and semi-peripheries that did not allocate land to less-profitable livestock production.

The forest -- the oak, walnut, hickory, and especially chestnut trees -- provided an abundant mast crop in which Europeans allowed hogs to 'free range', fattening on the mast (Robbins 2006; Rouse and Greer-Pitt 2006).4 Southern Appalachia specialized in manufacturing agricultural tools, milling flour and cornmeal, distilling grains into liquor, manufacturing tobacco plugs and twists.

Percentage of landowners holding slaves Frontier Years 1860 Appalachian Virginia 46.7 57.4 Appalachia 27.8 32.4

Based on Dunaway (n.d.) Table 1.4. Table 2.2. Changes in Appalachia's Slave Holdings

4 Mast is the fruit of oak, chestnut, and other forest trees used as food for pigs and wild animals. 39

1810 1820 1850 1860 Aooalachia 17.2 15.3 15.3 13.9 Appalachian VA 26.4 19.l 27.6 24.6 !United States 16.5 15.9 14.6 12.6 Southern US 33.5 34.1 40.7 36.8

Based on Dunaway (n.d.) Table 1.1. Table 2.3. Percentage of Enslaved Laborers, 1810-1860

Dunaway (2003a) argues that planters owning large Appalachian plantations were the wealthiest, most powerful elites in the region. Large Appalachian plantations owned more than 100 slaves. These plantations were multifunctional, blending crop cultivation and livestock with the manufacture of agricultural commodities, commercial enterprises, or extractive industries. Large plantations were somewhat scarce compared to the rest of the South; rather Appalachian agriculture was organized around small plantations. On small plantations, planters owned one to 19 slaves. Nearly one of every three Appalachian farms was a small plantation (Dunaway 2003a: 31 ).

Non-slaveholders Small Slaveholders Laree Slaveholders Avg. acres % of all Avg. acres % of all Avg. acres % of all owned farmland owned farmland owned farmland

Annalachian VA 31 13.5 362 57.4 1,847 29.1

Annalachia 108 45.8 505 42.5 1885 11.7

Based on Dunaway ( n.d.) Tab le 1.11. Table 2.4. Slavery and Ownership of Farm Acreage, 1860 40

For a time, the indentured servitude of Germans or Scotch-Irish was the major source of labor on mountain farms and plantations owned by English settlers. In the

1600s and 1700s, poor people came to America by force, by false promises, or by their urgent need to escape the living conditions of their home countries. These immigrants agreed to pay their cost of passage by working for a master for five or seven years. The immigrants became commodities for merchants, traders, ship captains, and eventually their masters in America (Zinn 2001: 43). More than half the colonists who came to the

North American shores in the colonial period came as servants. Smith ( 1971) notes that about 80% of indentured servants died during servitude, went back to England, or became "poor whites". Most remained landless, becoming tenants who provided cheap labor for the large planters both during and after their servitude (Smith 1971; Zinn 2001:

47).

Increasingly, slaves replaced indentured servants, as the indentured servants ran away or finished their time. The slave trade brought peoples of diverse African cultures from various geographic locations on the West African coast to the Americas. African peoples brought agricultural practices, architectural forms, cuisine, music, art and technology with them. Yet upon the arrival in the Americas what the slaves shared was enslavement and slave communities developed out of patterns of interactions among and between slaves and between slaves and slaveholders (Mintz and Price 1992: 10).

At the turn of the 19th century African slavery increasingly became a significant form of labor in the region. The existence of slave labor in pre-Civil War Appalachia is seldom discussed since the mountains, for the most part, inhibited a widespread 41 occurrence of large plantations (Cook 2000), and most mountain families could not afford to maintain slaves on their small farms. The vast majority of Appalachians did not own slaves, yet slavery expanded in Appalachia as it did in the Old South throughout the antebellum period (Drake 2001a: 17, 20). As Dunaway points out, "mountain slaves have remained a people without history because too many researchers have claimed that

'the peculiar institution' never influenced Appalachian culture and society" (2003b: 5, emphasis in original). Nearly half the region's families were landless and impoverished, and roughly another two-fifths were landowning non-slaveholders (Dunaway 2003a: 25).

But in 1860 nearly one-third of the region's farm owners held slaves. This varied among

Appalachian states, with over 50 % of Appalachian Virginia's landowners owning slaves

(see Table 2.4.). Land provided the economic basis for the structuring of polarized local economies in which slaveholders amassed a majority of the acreage of land while more than half the white households remained landless (Dunaway 2003a: 139).

The railroads facilitated the movement of slaves into and out of the region (Noe

2001). Slaves could be sold at any gathering of people, but regular slave markets existed throughout the region. For instance, slave markets were present at Winchester, Staunton,

Lexington, and Bristol in Virginia and at Knoxville, Chattanooga, and Jonesboro in

Tennessee. Even in the much poorer Cumberland Mountains of Kentucky, regular slave auctions were held in London, Pikeville, and Manchester (Drake 2001b: 19).

In addition, industrial slavery was utilized in the tanning works, salt mines, iron foundries, and brick mills (Inscoe 2001; Straw 2006: 7; Turner and Cabbell 1985). Most slaves were hirelings, as factories and foundries rented slaves to provide a continuous 42 supply of laborers (Stealey 2001: 50; Tripp 1997). As a result of slaveholders' dominance, manufacturing was concentrated in small middle-sized plantations to a much greater extent than was true of the rest of the United States.

Although slavery ultimately came to be thought of as a more dependable and controllable source of labor, indentured servitude was never abandoned during the colonial period (Drake 2001 a: 3 7) and landless white tenants provided an important source of labor. The human labor invested in the cultivation of land gave the land value, and the owners of the land determined how that land would be cultivated by means of slavery, indentured servitude, tenancy or wage labor. The control of land, and other resources, led to greater economic marginalization among Appalachia's white population, since the landowners and mercantile elite had economic, social and political power influencing the allocation ofland, jobs, money, and in some ways social status. As slavery expanded, poor whites could, and did, define and accept their class positions by fashioning identities as "not slaves" and as "not Blacks" (Roediger 1999: 13; see also

DuBois 1964). The Irish and other immigrants did not move into the ranks of "white"

America until they repudiated the rights of those deemed nonwhite (Orser 1999: 665).

Scholars have drawn connections between the 'white race' concept and labor problems within plantation society (e.g., Allen 1994; Wilson 2001). European indentured and wage laborers were beginning to bond with African slaves and Native Americans into a rebellious, working class that opposed impressments and oppression of workers,

and inequities of income and power (Beaver and Lewis 1998: 55; Linebaugh and Rediker

1990). In response the ruling class proclaimed that all white men were superior to people 43 of color. The term "white trash" itself is believed to have been coined by African­

American enslaved laborers in the southern United States, as a contemptuous label to signify the relative lack of authority or status of white indentured laborers and the lower servant classes (Wray and Newitz 1997: 2). 'White trash' became a way for African enslaved laborers and elite whites to differentiate themselves from poor whites. The term is used to explain the economic condition of these landless laborers (Hartigan 1992: 8).

Slavery, tenancy and indenture created differing class positions in which the benefits of being white were related to the costs of being nonwhite.

The Civil War and Reconstruction (1860-1880)

The Declaration of Independence and the Declaration of the Rights of Man undermined the ideological foundation upon which slavery rested; these ideological upheavals allowed slaves new leverage to contest their owners' power (Berlin 1998: 11).

This, however, was anything but uniform; in some places, the events that accompanied revolutionary change toppled slavery; in some places, they strengthened it; and in

Appalachia they pulled simultaneously in both directions.

In the 1850s, as the United States became increasingly polarized over slavery, the

North and the South became suspicious of each other's political power. Slavery was tied to the fight over states' rights -- the doctrine that all rights not reserved to the federal government by the U.S. Constitution are granted to the states. Disputes between the supporters of slavery and the proponents of free labor were responsible for many of the political, economic, cultural and ideological differences that divided the country during 44 the war (Frankel 2000: 227). During the secession crisis that followed the election of

Abraham Lincoln, the majority of mountaineers resisted a move to create a separate southern nation. This sentiment was strongest in East Tennessee, northwestern Virginia, western Maryland, and southeastern Kentucky (McKinney 2004: 46). Yet the unionist debate of the Civil War divided Appalachian counties and families. Mountain society was ripped apart as community was pitted against community, county against county, and family against family (Straw 2006: 7).

It is argued that in Appalachia the Unionist debate was more important than slavery in the Civil War (Straw 2006). Yet this argument overlooks the significance of slavery in the region. Elites in virtually every mountain community owned slaves and were strong supporters of the institution. Nevertheless, a majority of the mountain population, especially in Appalachian Kentucky, Virginia, and Tennessee, were probably antislavery (Drake 2001b: 24). The Germans and Quakers opposed slavery on moral, ethical, and religious grounds, but other Appalachians objected for political and economic reasons. Drake (2001 a: 90) argues that as southern society sold itself on slavery's morality, it became increasingly insistent upon a uniformity of opinion within its border. Thus, in North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, Georgia, and Virginia where substantial antislavery sentiment existed, particularly in the mountain sections of these states, antislavery sentiments were either driven from the state or hushed into silence. 5

5 For more information on antislavery movements in the mountains see Drake 2001 band Dumond 1966. 45

By the end of the Civil War the situation in the mountains, as in many areas of the south, was desperate.6 The Union and Confederate armies, both active in various parts of

Appalachia throughout the war, followed a policy of living off the land. Crops and livestock were destroyed, homes robbed and burned, and civilians killed. Those who survived were confronted with shortages of food. The Civil War disrupted the stability of

Appalachian life, as it did that of American history generally. The violence and impoverishment that occurred during and after the war exacerbated the decline of the farm-and-forest economy as population growth came up against a relatively fixed array of environmental resources. Its wartime experience led the region to be regarded as somehow different from the rest of the South, while at the same time it was visited with many of the same punishments dispensed to the losing side (Williams 2002: 16-17).

By the spring of 1865, Appalachian society appeared to be on the verge of disintegration from the powerful assaults of the war (McKinney 2004: 52). Attempts to reconstruct the governments in Appalachian states were not successful. According to

Gordon McKinney (2004: 53), many European Americans were hostile to African

Americans and resisted the extension of political and civil rights to the recently freed people. In addition, the former political and economic elite sought to regain their accustomed positions in mountain life. Consequently, between the end of the war and

March 1867, conservative and elite members of mountain counties tried to limit the impact of the changes the war brought to their communities. In many places in

6 For an in depth discussion of the Civil War in Appalachia, see Noe and Wilson 1997. 46

Appalachia, African Americans preferred to leave the mountains rather than face the hostility of their European American neighbors.

Black Codes passed after 1865 limited the rights of African Americans. The

Black Codes bestowed certain legal rights to former slaves, such as the right to enter into contracts legally. As a result, freed people gained the right to marry and acquire personal property. But more significantly, the Black Codes limited aspects of African Americans' lives. Most states passed vagrancy laws, which meant that African Americans had to prove they were employed or risk arrest. To further ensure that African Americans were available for employment by whites, the states passed strict rules enforcing year-long labor contracts so that workers could not change employers for at least a full year, even for higher wages. Black Codes also forbade interracial marriage and prohibited African

Americans from serving on juries (Frankel 2000: 242-3).

Along with the passage of Black Codes, white vigilante groups sprang up throughout the south to terrorize African Americans and keep them from exercising their vision as free people. The Ku Klux Klan, which was formed in Tennessee in 1866, targeted Euro- and African American men and their families who were active in the

Republican Party as well as white and African American school teachers. They also attacked black landowners and African Americans refusing to behave in a manner

subservient to whites (Frankel 2000: 243).

Wilma Dunaway (2003a, 2003b) examined slave narratives in Appalachia to understand where Appalachian slaves went after emancipation (See Table 2.5). She found that 85 % of former enslaved laborers stayed in their home country, with 80 % staying 47 with their former owner for a year or longer and only 15 % migrating by 1870 (Dunaway n.d., Table 14.12). 7 Almost 75% percent of Appalachian ex-slaves were illiterate and almost 97 % were landless (Dunaway n.d., Table 14.6).

% of cases reported in Action by slave family Narratives

Staved with former owner 80.8 1 year or less 11.5 2-4 years 38.6 5-9 years 19.2 10 years or longer 11.5 Left owner immediately 19.2 Stayed in home county 85 Migrated bv 1870 15

Based on Dunaway (n.d.) Table 14.2. Table 2.5. Where Did Appalachian Slaves Go After Emancipation?

According to historian Noralee Frankel (2000), African Americans learned

through their dealings with southern whites that freedom could not be easily attained but

would involve struggle. Freed people adopted a variety of methods to try to ensure what

they considered freedom. On plantations they joined together to demand better wages

and working conditions. Within their communities, they established their own churches

and schools. With the passage of the 14th Amendment to the Constitution, African

American men, along with women and children, marched to polling places. There the

7 For an explanation of Dunaway's data analyses, see http://scho Jar. Iib. vt.edu/vtpubs/mountain s lavery/tables.htm. 48 men cast their votes for Republican candidates to help ensure civil rights for themselves and their communities (Frankel 2000: 243). During reconstruction, a small number of

African Americans became landowners with small family farms, but those who became landowners were the exception (Frankel 2000: 254).

Emancipation, disruption of the established social and economic structure, three successive years of crop failure, as well as a depression during the 1870s affected the livelihoods of Appalachian people (Barnes and Robbins 2006: 9; Schweninger 1990;

Stuckert 1987). Poor blacks and whites were both affected by Appalachia's transition from self-sufficiency to economic dependency (Salstrom 1994; Steinberg 2002), but it was especially ruinous for African Americans who had been promised freedom after years of bondage. In addition to racism, African Americans found themselves constrained in a culture that mediated its relations with the land through Black Codes and the institution of private property. In most cases, the Euro-American planter class that controlled the land in the antebellum period continued to retain its title to the region's most valuable resource, the land, even when they no longer had a reliable source of labor.

In general, planters divided their plantations into 30 to 50 acre farms and rented them to freedmen (Steinberg 2004), while others sold parcels of land. There were various forms of tenancy arrangements such as cash tenancy, share tenancy and sharecropping (See

Table 2.5). Cash tenants owned their work animals and tools, could provide their own keep during the year, and only paid a flat rental sum for the use of a plot of land and house (Conrad 1965; Jones 1985; Wilkie 2000). Share tenants were less independent than cash tenants. Share tenants owned most of their work-animals, feed and seed, and had the 49 option to obtain cash credit. In return, they paid the landowner from one- quarter to one- third of the crop (Conrad 1965; Wilkie 2000: 35). The most common of the labor arrangements was sharecropping in which sharecroppers only had their labor to offer

(Conrad 1965; Wilkie 2000). Most people in Appalachia, regardless of race, were 'land poor' following the Civil War. Many migrated farther west or to cities in order to make a living.8

Type of tenancy Payment for land use Tenant's contribution

Sharecropper Labor --

Share tenant Labor/ 114 to 113 crop Owned most work animals and tools, feed and seed.

Cash tenant Labor/ rental sum Owned work animals and tools, feed and seed. Table 2.6. Tenancy Arrangements

Some progressive reforms were achieved -- such as state taxation systems, social welfare programs, and free public schools with compulsory attendance laws -- that helped the mountain counties (Straw 2006: 8-9). Yet the reforms were short lived and didn't necessarily benefit all Appalachians equally. In the 1870s, Appalachia faced an era of severe under-funding for public schools, transportation and public services in general

(Straw 2006: 9). Ironically, while the mountain regions were being forgotten by their state governments, others, notably northern and foreign investors, began to turn a covetous eye toward the natural resources of the region. Neglect, on the one hand,

8 In addition, after the Civil War, the land actively farmed also increased. While in 1860 there were 111,969 acres of improved farmland, that acreage rose to 205,691 by 1925 (U.S. Bureau of Census 1864: 126; 1925: 126). 50 seemed to have opened the door to intense exploitation on the other, and by the 1880s

Appalachia was on the verge of rediscovery and redefinition.

Starting in the 1870s, local color writers 'discovered' the mountain region. Local color writing attempted to convey the 'essence' of Appalachia (Algeo 2003; Shapiro

1978). The plots of these travel stories were usually simple, romantically sentimental or nostalgic, and the characters displayed exaggerated regional traits, often to the point of stereotype. These stories were often published in popular magazines such as Harper's and Atlantic Monthly that were a part of the emerging national magazine market; therefore, local color writers brought distant, often exotic places to a mainstream audience. A variety of regional settings were employed for the literary novelty they afforded a middle-class American readership, but in the case of Appalachia, the genre was to prove particularly important in establishing the themes that came to define the region in the popular imagination (Algeo 2003: 30).

Following the Civil War, farm sizes decreased with the number of farmers increasing. With this decrease in farm size local color writers discovered the 'otherness' of Appalachia's residents and published a style of fiction or travel writing that conveyed detailed depictions of the geographic setting with characters that supposedly represent essential qualities of the place. Through the "local color movement" the "mountaineer" emerged as a separate and distinct persona from the pioneer and the backwoodsman; these depictions of mountain people and the region resulted in many of the stereotypes about Appalachia today. 51

With the unification of opinion about slavery prior to and during the Civil War, whiteness became defined by being "not black" and not "a slave". With the abolition of slavery and the concurrent socio-economic dismantling of the South in the wake of the

Civil War, the original 'white trash' category expanded and diffused to embrace a variety of white groups and communities. These groups were mostly rural and became identified chiefly with the 'backwoods' yokels of the southern Appalachians; they became the

'hillbillies' of derisive folklore and, significantly, supposedly scientific studies undertaken at the end of the 19th century by the U.S. Eugenics Records Office (Wray and

Newitz 1997: 2; Bulmer and Solomos 1999: 8; Kevles 1998). As scientists, color writers and scholars focused on poor whites, the African American residents of Appalachia became invisible. The focus on the poor white populations, which resulted in the stereotyping of the region as populated by 'white trash' and 'hillbillies', was a social control tactic that justified the economic and environmental exploitation that occurred as control of land and labor moved out of the region.

Industrial Appalachia: The Emergence of Supra-Regional Systems (1860-1950)

Prior to the Civil War, industry was expanding in the Appalachian south. The capital investment in the railroad and basic industries in the last decades of the 19th century lifted the expansion to a crescendo and transformed much of the region from a rural agricultural economy to one in which major sub-regions became dependent on industry (Lewis 2004: 59). During the first half of the 20th century, the national 52 institutions -- corporations, labor unions, state and federal governments, media, the military, cultural institutions and the apparatus of tourism -- brought Appalachia's economic and cultural resources into the embrace of supra-regional systems (Whitaker

2002; Williams 2002). The state and national government and mining and timber companies owned by speculators based in major eastern cities and abroad, controlled resources in the region. This multi-staged process included not only the labor struggles to which many historians have been drawn (e.g., Banks 1995; Pudup 2002; Scott 1995), but also the origins of the Tennessee Valley Authority (McDonald and Muldowny 1982;

Walker 1998), of Appalachia's national parks and forests (Horning 2000a, 2000b; Sarvis

1993), of the Council of the Southern Mountains and the Southern Highland Handicraft

Guild, of folk schools and festivals and commercial entertainment industries and various other federal programs active in the region (Barker 2002; Williams 2002). This was also an era of town building, in which a gulf opened between Appalachian towns and cities and their hinterlands with the railroad era (Williams 2002).

Manufacturers related to agriculture served a vital function in the early mountain economy, particularly gristmills, sawmills, and tanyards. These manufacturing industries grew in relation to population density and social complexity (Lewis 2004: 60). In addition, industrial enterprises, such as coal, salt, timber, iron, and agricultural processing, became important to the Appalachian economy. Railroad construction facilitated more convenient transportation to eastern and southern markets, increasing tobacco production in the region (Noe 2001: 101) and giving new impetus to the mining of iron, lead and copper. Towns grew along the rails, as did a plethora of hot springs 53 catering to well-heeled tourists (Noe 2001: 101).

The railroad aided in the transportation of cash crops such as tobacco, but particularly timber to the eastern and northern markets. Commercial timbering for sale outside the region began as early as 1870. Cutting was done selectively of large, prime, hardwood trees. Timber companies purchased specific trees from private landowners, contracting the landowner to cut and deliver the timber to a distant sawmill (Rouse and

Greer-Pitt 2006: 54). Later, large commercial land and timber companies financed and headquartered in Philadelphia and New York began buying up great tracts of

Appalachian timberland, since northern timber sources were being exhausted. The growing conservation movement partly coincided with an industrial timber boom of the

1890s to 1920 (Sarvis 1992), which will be discussed in chapter 5.

The industrial expansion of the 1880s not only increased the demand for timber but also brought increased demand for the region's coal (Rouse and Greer-Pitt 2006).

And like the demand for timber, the demand for coal brought speculative capital from the eastern United States and abroad. Land ownership became concentrated in the hands of a few corporations located outside the region; and farming, particularly in the coalfields, faded into insignificance. The company town rather than the family farm became the site of Appalachian life (Rouse and Greer-Pitt 2006). As producers ofraw materials such as timber and coal, Appalachian people played a significant role in America's rise as a global power between the Civil War and World War I (Lewis 2004).

Industrializing Appalachia was presented with a matrix of cultural interaction between a multitude of races and cultures. The African American population in the 54 region increased as people took temporary and permanent employment in the coal mines.

Many of the African Americans males who migrated into the region regarded coal mining as a way to acquire cash that enabled them to keep farms elsewhere. In the coalfields,

Euro- and African-Americans encountered an array of newly arrived European immigrants. These diverse groups of coal miners lived in company towns where they were usually segregated into sections designated as "Colored Towns" or "Little Italy".

Generally, there was discrimination in the kinds of jobs available to each group, but once underground the men worked together. Despite the fact that labor bosses pitted different ethnic groups against each other, the lines of segregation often became blurred particularly as the miners came to focus on their common economic interests in the

United Mine Workers of America (Lewis 2004: 67).

Yet as coalmining boomed, so did the grievances of the miners. Hostile to unions, southern Appalachian operators evicted blacklisted miners who joined unions and launched a campaign to destroy the United Mine Workers of America. Periodically, the efforts to establish a union exploded into what have become known as the 'mine wars'; for example, the Harlan County Kentucky mine war ( 1931-1932). In all these prolonged conflicts, the coal companies prevailed because local, state and federal governments intervened on the company's side to break organized labor (Lewis 2004: 67). Relief for union organizers did not appear until the Great Depression of the 1930s when Franklin

Roosevelt's New Deal initiated reforms to jolt the nation's economy out of the

Depression. 55

The Great Depression of the 1930s began in Appalachia in the 1920s when the industrial system that had lured thousands off the farms of the region and thousands of others to the mountains collapsed under the weight of overproduction and increasing competition (Straw 2006: 15). The years of the Great Depression in Appalachia were marked by severe hardships -- hunger, homelessness, and starvation -- affecting Blacks and Whites alike. In 1933, the federal government initiated a New Deal to lift the country out of the despair of economic depression. The New Deal did not challenge or fix the structural problems which plagued the mountain economy. The Works Progress

Administration (WP A), the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) and many other programs provided employment opportunities in mountain counties. The New Deal also gave business oriented mountain leaders a chance to secure federal funding for tourist development, such as the Blue Ridge Parkway (Mitchell 1997).

During the early years of the New Deal relief measures, African Americans were confronted with a number of discriminatory practices, such as exclusion from job opportunities and limited training opportunities. A variety of forces, such as the emergence of new interracial alliances, and the growing political mobilization of African

Americans themselves to put pressure on the federal government to address the needs of

African Americans, helped change the relationship between Blacks and the New Deal.

(Trotter 2000: 138). The Works Projects Administration established regulations ending racial discrimination in its programs.9 In addition, one of the projects that emerged from the WPA was the Federal Writer's Project that employed "educated Negroes ... for the

9 Despite the regulations, southern whites continued to evade the rules making it more difficult for blacks than whites to gain adequate public works jobs and relief (Trotter 2000: 147). 56 collection and publication of authentic material on Negro life" (WWP and WPA 1994: viii) resulting in the gathering and publication of slave narratives.

Slave narratives were not the only cultural projects taking place at this time. At the turn of the 20th century, academics and professional musicians learned that people were still singing very old British songs in some of the mountain counties of the South.

The discovery of Appalachian balladry played a role in the conception of Southern

Appalachia as a special 'forgotten' place (Malone 2002). Music became extremely important in representations of place in the Appalachian Region of the United States, where ballads and banjo tunes become musical signposts in popular and academic culture to mark the region's Otherness (Thompson 2006).

Interest in mountain music coincided with a general revival of interest in the old­ time ways; interest in Appalachian herbal lore, foodways, storytelling, music, dance and handicrafts. Factory-produced goods and professional entertainment generally replaced the more time-consuming handmade traditional arts in the region as family members sought regular wages in mines, mills, factories and commercial establishments. At this time, institutions such as Berea College and the Appalachian Highland Handicraft Guild were founded to continue local handicraft traditions. It was the start of the myth of quaint Appalachia (Barker 2002: 288) which is still perpetuated today.

With the growth of mass-market print media during the second half of the 19th century and the advent of newer media such as phonograph records, radio and motion pictures during the first half of the 20th century, the image of Appalachian culture in the

American popular mind evolved in marked contrast to American mainstream culture. 57

Whether extolled for its authentic "folk" qualities or derided for its rustic "hillbilly" characteristics, Appalachian culture was represented as distinctly different from

American culture (Olson and Kalra 2006: 163). The widespread commodification of the

Appalachian Mountains -- as sources of coal and timber as well as folklife -- brought new characterizations of the mountainous region. The people of Appalachia became the obstacles to progress and two defining stereotypes lodged in the American mind: the

Appalachian mountaineer, noble and stalwart, rugged and independent, master or mistress of the highlands environment; and the profligate hillbilly, amusing but often also threatening, defined by deviance and aberration, a victim of cultural and economic deprivation attributable to the mountain geography (Williams 2002: 223).

Post-Industrial Appalachia (1945-Present)

During and after World War II, Appalachian people in unprecedented numbers poured out of the mountains into military service and into the cities of the surrounding lowlands, such as Baltimore, Philadelphia and Detroit (Williams 2002; Hartigan 1999).

For the first time, the region acquired a set of official boundaries from the Appalachian

Regional Commission, yet any distinctiveness that might be claimed for its history and culture seemed irrevocably compromised. Scholars commonly characterized the region's fate during this era as that of a 'colonial economy' (e.g., Dunaway 1996; Lewis et al.

1978). For much of the century, official attention turned to the question of why and how the region failed to keep pace with the material growth of an urbanized consumer society. 58

Demand for mountain labor and natural resources rose with World War II. The expansion of war industries stimulated interest in Appalachian coal and timber, and the new aircraft plants, steel mills, ordinance factories, and uniform manufacturers clamored for additional workers (Eller 2004: 197). In rural areas, farm prices recovered, and workers began to return to the mines and mills, lessening the pressure on overstressed land. However, the wartime boom did little to alter deep-rooted flaws in the mountain economy. A pattern of growth without development had settled on the region earlier in the century. Most of Appalachia's mineral and timber resources continued to be owned by outside corporations. The expansion of these extractive and primary industries generated low-wage jobs in the mines and mills, but that growth had come without the development of schools, roads, small businesses, and other internal capacities that might sustain prosperity.

The temporary rise in the demand for labor during World War II failed to change this pattern, and despite a short-lived boom in coal prices after the war, hard times again returned to the hills. Ironically, the same forces of technology and modernization that transformed the rest of the nation in the years after WW II, bringing jobs and new consumer goods, worked against the recovery of Appalachia. The introduction of fertilizers, pesticides, tractors and other mechanized equipment revolutionized agricultural production. All categories of rural black and white labor -- landowners, cash tenants, sharecroppers, and wage laborers -- suffered from declining incomes and mechanical devices reduced the numbers of workers needed for agricultural production

(Trotter 2000: 132). The modernization of agriculture began to replace human labor on 59

American farms, causing thousands of small landowners and tenant farmers to abandon their farms and move to the manufacturing centers (Eller 2004: 198).

In the late 1950s and early 1960s, Appalachia was identified as a problem area within the nation. Various social science and missionary studies had been published that identified the region's educational and economic deficiencies. During the 1960 presidential campaign, John F. Kennedy reminded Americans that there were still

Americans in poverty and promised that if elected he would initiate a War on Poverty

(Drake 2001a: 173). With the War on Poverty in 1963, Appalachia's poverty became a national issue. The War of Poverty fit into international development ideals of the time with two major dimensions: (1) the Economic Opportunity Act of 1964, which established the OEO (Office of Economic Opportunity); 10 and (2) the establishment of the Appalachian Regional Commission (ARC), a joint federal and state agency to guide the region's development. The ARC built highways and other infrastructure in the belief that transportation, health and educational facilities were necessary before significant development could occur (Drake 2001a: 175). From its inception, developmental economists and managers largely from outside the region administered ARC from the nation's capital. In addition, there was an emphasis on white Appalachia. The War on

Poverty programs that focused efforts on African Americans were located on the coasts

10 The OEO established numerous programs such as job training; Head Start (which gave kindergarten experience to children from poor homes to enhance their chances of succeeding in the early grades); a domestic peace corps called VISTA (Volunteers in Service to America; the Job Corps (a War on Poverty resurrection of the New Deal's CCC); and Upward Bound, a summer program for potential high school dropouts (Drake 2001a: 174). 60 of Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia, --the areas considered places of former plantations.

The Highlander Center played an influential role in the Civil Rights Movement in

Appalachia. In 1932, Dr. Lillian Johnson provided land for Don West and Myles Horton to found the Highlander Center in Tennessee. From 1932 until the mid-1940s,

Highlander strove to build a progressive labor movement among woodcutters, coal miners, government relief workers, textile workers, and farmers in Appalachia, by supporting strikes and training workers to take leadership in labor unions. In 1953,

Highlander changed its focus from labor to Civil Rights. The staff believed that conquering racism and segregation was key to conquering poverty and winning progressive change throughout Appalachia. Highlander's work focused mainly on school desegregation and voter education and voting rights. The school served as a gathering place for civil rights activists and pioneered efforts to conduct cross-race educational sessions. African American political involvement brought better jobs, educational opportunities, and the right to vote (Harding et al. 2000: 169) yet it also brought racism with the rise of a black middle class.

During the Reagan years, there was tension between increasing conservative temper and the 'radical' mountain politicians. Some mountain politicians believed that the coal industry, which was being swallowed by great outside, multinational energy conglomerates, needed significant new and closer controls (Drake 2001 a: 181 ). Yet the nation as a whole seemed determined to continue to enjoy the benefits of Appalachia's 61 mineral wealth and continue to impose on the people of the region most of the costs of the exploitation in terms of strip-mined mountains and smoking gob piles.

Today, there is increasing concern about global warming and clean energy, yet coal companies have become increasingly destructive in their strip-mining process.

Through "mountain-top removal'', ore is mined by literally blasting away tops of mountains, dumping waste into the valleys below, burying streams, polluting the headwaters of rivers that provide drinking water, and altering fragile ecologies (Reese

2006). At the same time, community organizations in coalfields are organizing initiatives to end the destructive practice of mountain top removal coal mining by gaining support for the Clean Water Protection Act, which would restore the original intent of the Clean

Water Act by preventing disposal of waste material, such as mining waste, in streams.

In contrast to the destruction by mountain-top removal, Appalachia is known for its scenic mountain views. People visit the region to hike the Appalachian Trail, drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway or visit the Shenandoah National Park. These scenic places are also attracting new residents to the region as people purchase second homes and the cities grow and suburbia spreads into rural areas creating new competition over resources. The parks, as wilderness landscape, perpetuate and legitimate the "otherness' of Appalachia by providing visual confirmation of the isolation of the mountain life

(Homing 2000a: 211) while obliterating signs of other historical processes at work in the southern highlands.

The 'discovery' of Appalachian poverty in the 1950s and 1960s brought media coverage that concentrated on portraits of white people; Appalachian poverty was white 62 poverty. With the decline of the timber industry, changes to agriculture and mechanization of the coal mining by mid-century, mountain people began migrating into northern industrial centers. These migrations produced new competition over jobs, housing and services (Beaver and Lewis 1998: 60). As white Appalachians became a new urban problem, they became known as hillbillies or 'white trash' (Hartigan 1999). At the same time, African Americans in the region were virtually invisible (Beaver and

Lewis 1998: 62; Turner and Cabbell 1985).

The stereotypes of the hillbilly and 'white trash' were connected to images of white landlessness, abject poverty, and the mountains. As stated previously, the stereotypes were used to 'explain' the economic conditions of Appalachia's people, overwhelming any suggestion that the commodification of the region combined with economic, political and social policies might produce such conditions. In Appalachia, white trash became a "naming practice within a discourse of difference by which racial and class identities in the U.S. are maintained" (Hartigan 1992: 8). The people of

Appalachia were being defined as different from the people in the urban flatlands. Yet in the use of the stereotype the diversity ofracial, ethnic and class relations was erased.

Appalachian Stereotypes

Scholars, writers, politicians and activists have depicted the people and the mountains in specific ways that have shaped conceptions of Appalachia. Between 1870 and 1940 northern local color writers discovered the 'otherness' of Appalachia's residents (Algeo 2003; Shapiro 1978). These writers published a style of fiction or travel 63 writing that took Appalachia as its starting point and attempted to convey the essence of the region through detailed depictions of the geographic setting and through characters that supposedly represented essential qualities of the place (Algeo 2003; Shapiro 1978).

In addition, stereotypes about people residing in the mountains based on scholarship of the region, romanticizes or presents Appalachia in a pejorative manner (Hsiung 1997;

Walls and Billings 1977). The stereotype that an isolated, homogeneous population inhabited the region increasingly defined the region (e.g., Shapiro 1978; Sherman and

Henry 1933). For example, Sherman and Henry (1933: 1-2) described Appalachia as composed of "families of unlettered folk, of almost pure Anglo-Saxon stock, sheltered in tiny mud-plastered log cabins and supported by a primitive agriculture". Through federal programs attempting to address the region's uneven development, a variety of stereotypes have been evoked to explain poverty and deprivation in Appalachia including geographic isolation (e.g., Berry 1973; Bowman and Haynes 1963), genetic deficiency (e.g. Caudill

1963; Hirsch 1928), overpopulation (U.S. Department of Agriculture 1935; Williams

1972) and cultural deficiency (e.g., Ball 1970; Weller 1965).

With the establishment of Appalachian Studies programs in the 1970s and 1980s, scholars have increasingly critiqued the stereotypes of the region. These scholars have problematized the notion that the region is pristine or only consists of the scenic mountains and hills along the Appalachian Trail. For example, Chad Montrie (2003) shows how local people protest the environmental abuses of strip mining from the 1950s to the 1970s. Other scholars have challenged the idea of Appalachia as backwater or the home of the 'strange land and peculiar people' and as pitiful or the poster region of 64 welfare and privation (Biggers 2006: xiii). Dunaway (1996, 2003a) questions the idea that the mountains were isolated from the eastern parts of the United States and shows how the fortunes of those who came to settle in the mountains were inextricably bound to the fortunes of the United States. In addition, Billings and co-authors ( 1999) challenged stereotypes about Appalachia by deconstructing the concept of the hillbilly fool and the negative images of travel narratives and early exploration in the mountains. Williamson

(1995) critiqued the image of the hillbilly that became widespread in the early to mid-

20th century, as represented in fiction, in cartoons, and in the newly developing film industry.

Many of the early depictions of Appalachia present a narrative of an Anglo-Saxon mountain region populated only by 'white' inhabitants. For many scholars, the diversity of Appalachia's population has become of increasing interest (e.g., Beaver and Lewis

1998; Kessler and Ball 2001; Turner and Cabbell 1985). C. G. Woodson, an

Appalachian, African American historian, wrote the first treatment of race and racial attitudes in the mountain South in 1916. Woodson ( 1916) described the topographic, economic and ideological impediments to the existence of slavery in the highlands.

Despite this early scholarship, until recently African Americans have been excluded from the history of Appalachia (e.g., Dunaway 2003a, 2003b; Inscoe 2001; Turner and Cabbell

1985). The authors trace the history of African Americans in Appalachia by focusing on slavery, disenfranchisement following the Civil War, and industrialization as well as the dynamics and diversity of slave labor in the mountains -- who owned slaves and how they used them; shifting demographics of Appalachia's African American presence; and 65 race relations as functions of various forces of modernization. These volumes (Dunaway

2003a, 2003 b; Inscoe 2001; Turner and Cabbell 1985) demonstrate that race relations were no less complex, ambiguous or contradictory than anywhere else in the South or the nation.

Appalachia's 'otherness' was constructed historically. The Appalachian

Mountains and the people who live in them function as sites for addressing national anxieties over economic and social concerns such as conflicts over land. These conflicts produced and reproduced relationships of power such as race and class. Key aspects of the history of Appalachia -- expansionism, the farm and forest economy, the Civil War,

Reconstruction, industrialization, displacement, and conservation -- demonstrate how local developments articulate with the regional, national and global changes taking place.

In the following chapters, I will demonstrate how some of these key events played out on a local level.

In Chapter Three, I turn the focus to Amherst County, Virginia; the Appalachian county in which the research area is located. The 467 square miles that became Amherst

County are situated along the north bank of the James River and straddle a dividing line between the Appalachian Plateau and the Blue Ridge Mountains. The farmsteads located within the Pedlar watershed can be seen as a microcosm of Appalachia demonstrating how local developments articulate with regional, national, and global changes. In the following chapters, I utilize anthropological method and theory to delve further into the social history of this microcosm of Appalachia to consider how ideologies of classed and racial difference were used to mitigate struggles over the natural environment. CHAPTER 3

SOCIAL SCALES AND SCALES OF TIME:

INTEGRATING SOURCES IN HISTORICAL ANTHROPOLOGY

As historical anthropology, my research combines ethnography, archaeology and history with African American and Appalachian Studies to connect particular communities with regional and national events through time and space. Archaeology is the anthropological study of the material consequences of human action in the past. It has a potential beyond filling in the gaps left by documentary sources. Archaeology can challenge historical orthodoxies and examine the mechanisms by which social relations in the past were produced, maintained and transformed (e.g., Gero et al. 1983; Voss

2000). It can also help make visible the invisible people of the past: the poor, the illiterate and those who were socially, politically or geographically remote from the literate and empowered centers of culture (e.g., Gero and Conkey 1991; Singleton 1999;

Tarlow 1998: 263). In addition, the very materiality of archaeological evidence has an immediacy which is absent from more literary sources of knowledge about the past; there is a joy in being able to touch and see objects which were held by women and men who died long ago (Tarlow 1998: 263-264).

Yet historicizing an Appalachian landscape from past to present provides archaeological and historical challenges. For the study of the recent past, there can be an overabundance of data and information. The sources of information far outnumber those available for the study of the more distant past. In addition, landscapes, sites and people

66 67 are constantly in a state of change (Bradley et al. 2004; Buchli and Lucas 2001 ). Small

Appalachian farmsteads occupied by landowners as well as tenants and sharecroppers provide differing challenges. The farm sites have often been occupied by multiple families overtime and may merely consist of a stone foundation, a chimney pile and scattered piers, plus in some cases, ephemeral evidence of outbuildings. Historical detail tends to be lacking since the occupants often could not or simply did not write. If they kept diaries or wrote letters, these often do not survive. Oral history can contribute information but has to be carefully obtained and interpreted. Archaeological data are also difficult to interpret since land changed hands and tenants/ sharecroppers often moved from farm to farm in search of a better deal, making the deposits a mix of families and perhaps a mix of work arrangements. Therefore, in this dissertation the interpretation of

each historical period requires different methods of analyses, although a similar

framework of historical anthropology guides the study in general.

To address these challenges I combine the methods and practices associated with

anthropology and archaeology with an interpretation of the landscape through time. In

parts of the research, I map and analyze the spatial patterns in the distribution of artifacts

and material remains. I also consider how discourses about Appalachia and about

conservation were written and inscribed upon the landscape. These approaches can be

considered 'archaeological' in the sense that they share an interest in stratification and

layering, the examination of the landscape as an archive, and its implication for

understanding human relationships with time and space (Harrison 2004: 3). In addition,

to construct a biography of this Appalachian landscape and the individuals who live and

work upon the mountain land, and to approach the questions that lie at the heart of this 68 research, I combined two practices that have been utilized in the formation of object biographies: (1) ethnographic research that renders a narrative of how certain objects -- in this case, the landscape -- are perceived and experienced by the persons that they are linked to (e.g., Hoskins 1993, 1998; Keane 1997; MacKenzie 1991), and (2) historical or archaeological research which 'interrogates objects themselves' and tries to make mute objects 'speak' by placing them in a historical context, linking them to written and ethnographic sources (e.g., Meskell 2004; Miller 1998, 2005; Thomas 1996; Tilley 1996,

1999). In this chapter, I discuss the research in four phases -- the ethnography, the archive, the archaeology, and the laboratory -- although the research in each area was not necessarily conducted separately or in this order.

The Ethnographic Present

An ethnographic approach is a way to work at the level of individual lives lived in the local landscape and to work in the present as well as the past. I conducted participant observation, informal interviews, and workshops to bring a concern for individuality and subjectivity (Byrne 2003) to the research. This also helped me attain new perspectives on people's relationship to the landscape and encourage the involvement of community members in aspects of the archaeological investigations.

I began participant observation while I was an intern for the Appalachian Trail

Conservancy (ATC). My experiences with the Appalachian Trail provided the initiative for archaeological research on the Trail. As an intern I hiked sections of the Trail, learned about the history of the Trail (King 2000) as well as history on the Trail, became acquainted with the Appalachian Trail Conservancy, the Appalachian Trail Park Office, 69 and Trail Club volunteers, and felt the enthusiasm and commitment to that narrow foot path. I also attended and presented papers at A TC Biennial Conferences and led hikes for the Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club.

Following a movement in archaeology for community involvement (e.g., Derry and Malloy 2003; Greer et al. 2001; Marshall 2002) and civil engagement (Little and

Shackel 2007), I worked to incorporate community-involvement in my methodology.

Public archaeology has moved from "making archaeology meaningful" to community engagement, collaboration, and praxis. In the 1980s and 1990s, there was an increased emphasis on "making archaeology meaningful to the public" (Judge 1989: 4). Public archaeology began to include "education" (e.g., Haas 1995; Moe 1999; Tomlan 1998) and "public interpretation" (e.g., Jameson 1997; Little 2002) as archaeologists were urged to recognize their professional responsibility to the public (e.g., Brown 1997; King 1983) and the public benefits of that responsibility (Little 2002). This resulted in innumerable public programs, pamphlets, interpretation centers, and dig tours. Yet here public archaeology was usually based on a consumerist model in which archaeologists produced a product (McGuire 2002) that they package and sell to the public. The implicit assumption is that archaeologists have the authority, the knowledge, the skill, and the right to determine how the past should be interpreted and what that interpretation should be.

Today many archaeologists (e.g., Derry and Malloy 2003; Dongoske 2000;

Loring 2001; Moser et al. 2002; Singleton and Orser 2003) recognize that control of archaeological resources and knowledge must be shared with descendant groups, other impacted communities, and the public at large. In many public archaeology projects 70 archaeologists develop a research design and invite the public to get involved. Before a research design was put together, Lisa H. Robbins and I held two archaeological heritage

workshops (Barnes and Robbins 2006; Robbins 2006). The workshops were designed to

foster an insider's understanding of the community's notions of history and heritage

(Gadsby and Barnes in prep.), to begin sustained public conversations about Brown

Mountain Creek's past among the communities of Amherst County, and to generate

information to be used to create a research design for the archaeological field school held

in the summer of 2005. Fliers were posted in libraries, historical societies, and other

public places and ads were placed in the local newspaper with a list of names of people

who had owned land in the area or were mentioned in the oral history with Taft Hughes

(Benavitch 1992). Each workshop consisted of a thirty- minute presentation and was

followed with a question and answer session. About 10 people attended each workshop,

with some overlap for each session. For the first workshop, George Tolley, a Forest

Service archaeologist, presented his research in the area. Tolley's presentation was

followed with discussion and workshop participants contributing their knowledge about

the area. In the second workshop, Robbins and I discussed our research interests,

summarized what we thought were the interests expressed at the previous meeting, and

engaged a discussion on the creation of a research design that combines the interests of

both the archaeologists and the community members. Issues that emerged from these

workshops were the environment, the history of indenturing and tenant farming, race, and

family history. These themes were incorporated into the research question -- how

ideologies of classed and racial difference were used to mitigate struggles over the

natural environment. 71

In addition, I conducted informal interviews with individuals living in the surrounding area before and after fieldwork was conducted. I interviewed descendants, such as Georgia Richardson Barksdale, Philip Davis, and Mr. Richeson, Trail Club members including Dave Benavitch and Tom Morgan, and other local people, such as

Dora Hughes, Bob Fener and Keith Kendrick about the history of the area, attachment to the land, and the artifacts and ecofacts recovered through excavations. The interviews were analyzed in the context of the AT and U.S. Forest Service goals and literature and the oral history with Taft Hughes (Benavitch 1992).

Web-Based Interaction

Since I did not live in the area, it was difficult to maintain sustained communication and involvement. I was inspired by Carol McDavid's (2003, 2004) use of the internet; she saw the internet as a non-linear, open and multivocal way to talk about archaeology. Following McDavid's model, I developed a project web page (Barnes

2005) which includes data from the research, a report from the 2005 field season, and a section for project participants to include biographies that link to information, such as photographs, artifacts, or maps, on the site under their own names. I also contributed to two blogs (Barnes 2006, 2007). One of the blogs (Barnes 2006) is focused on archaeological heritage and contains field updates, news items and short essays produced about the area and the research. It was developed to provide a forum for community members and others to keep up to date on the project and to comment on the work. I also

'blogged' (Barnes 2007) on trailjournals.com, which are the journals of long distance hikers; Appalachian Trail hikers record their experiences for their families and friends to 72 read. Here I included essays about my experiences hiking, camping and excavating on the specific section of the Appalachian Trail.

The websites had benefits and challenges. The web site was time consuming to build, maintain and keep up-dated. It did not have the interactivity that I anticipated.

People were reluctant to share biographies on the internet and responses to my blog entries were limited. On the plus side, the web site encouraged interest and involvement in the project; it inspired people to share information, come out and visit the site, and volunteer.

Through the practice of archaeology a variety of stakeholders and communities were brought together to form an archaeological community. The archaeological community included descendants of the people who left the material originally, contemporary local community members, Appalachian Trail Club members, hikers, and students. Since places are "politicized, culturally relative, historically specific, local and multiple constructions" (Rodman 1992: 641 ), the heterogeneity of the archaeological community brought multivocality -- multiple and sometimes competing voices -- and multilocality -- people from differing geographical, social and political locations' -- to the project.

The Archive

I conducted archival research at the National Archives in College Park, MD, the

Virginia State Library and Archives in Richmond, VA, the Jones Memorial Library in

1 Margaret Rodman (1992) coined the terms 'multivocal' and 'multilocal' in a study of place in Melanesia. 73

Lynchburg, VA, the Amherst County Historical Society and Museum in Amherst, VA and the Forest History Society, Durham in NC. The documents located in the archives help to identify the people who once lived at the particular sites, provide the social­ cultural context in which the sites were occupied, and contribute to the social meanings of the landscape and the objects recovered (Wilkie 2006: 16). Yet I also tried to acknowledge the role of writing as a tool of oppression and power. The abilities to read and write were often tools that past societies used to create systems of power (Moreland

2001: 119). This is particularly significant in this research since most of the people did not read or write and a lot of the documentary sources that are available tend to be from the government or wealthier white families. Therefore, writing and access to it is a distinct and unique circumstance in the construction of inequality (Moreland 2001;

Wilkie 2006: 15).

George Tolley's (1995) report on archaeological sites along Long Mountain was particularly useful. Tolley used land acquisition files, census data, and land deeds to describe landownership in the area from the first land grants in 1761 to the purchase of the land by the U.S. Forest Service in 1920. I build upon Tolley's work by examining individual census records, slaveholding schedules and the census of agriculture.

From the National Archives, I was also able to locate land acquisition files from the U.S. Forest Service and the City of Lynchburg that were previously unavailable. The

National Archives housed surveyors' notes from the City of Lynchburg Water

Commission, maps, deeds and plats from the City's purchase of land along the Pedlar watershed. The Jones Memorial Library in Lynchburg provided documents connected to the City of Lynchburg's water supply. These documents were useful for understanding 74 the construction process and the displacement of families from the Pedlar watershed. It was particularly useful for interpreting how the land and the people were discussed in the planning stages. Newspaper articles from Lynchburg newspapers such as the Lynchburg

News, which may have had stories about the construction of the Lynchburg Reservoir, were difficult to locate, since none of the Virginia libraries hold newspapers from 1890 to

1910, the key dates ofland acquisition and planning for the Reservoir. Fortunately, the

Washington Post covered some stories about the planning and passage of legislation for the building of the reservoir. The Washington Post was particularly helpful for situating the Forest Service and the Appalachian Trail nationally and regionally. At the Forest

History Society, I was able to locate documents recording the history of building

Appalachian forests and pertaining to people such as Gifford Pinchot. The Amherst

County Historical Society housed a number of genealogy files and documents pertaining to the history of Amherst County.

Ancestry.com, a genealogy database, provided individual census data, probated wills, and birth and death records that helped me construct kinship charts. These kinship charts helped me understand Tolley's (1995) report and further construct the history of landownership and tenancy. Through an examination of census records, family trees, and immigrant and emigrant files, I was able to trace the heritage of several generations of

Euro-American Richeson and Staton's. The documents provide insight into the ancestry of these families as well as the life stories of individual family members.

U.S. Census data was vital for understanding the social history of Brown

Mountain Creek. Yet the interpretation of the data brought forth some challenges to the research. One of the main challenges was the spelling of names, particularly Richardson 75 and Richeson. The spelling of Moses Richeson' s name changes from Richeson to

Richardson during different census years. The varying spellings of this African

American family's name may have been because the family did not read or write. Yet the changes in spelling also occurred for Jesse Richeson, a Euro-American, who could read and write. In all of the census data the surname is spelled Richeson, but on an 1855 map it is spelled Richardson (see Figure 4.4). Throughout the dissertation, I spell the name Richeson.

Oral histories, examined critically, were helpful in understanding everyday life in

the mountains, as well as personal experiences of slavery, tenancy and displacement.

Dave Benavitch interviewed Taft Hughes in 1992 when he was 83 year old. The oral

history with Taft Hughes produced by Dave Benavitch (1992) provided site-specific

information and local insight. Ex-slave narratives (WWP and WPA 1994: 51-63, 238-

249, 337-353; Hurmence 2004) provided first hand accounts of enslavement from people

who endured it. Oral histories on tenant farming life (Agee and Evans 1973; Benavitch

1992; Holland 1990; Leftwich 1996; Rosengarten 1974) provide an additional source for

interpreting the material culture derived from excavated contexts. The diversity of

documentary sources -- including written records, photographs, maps and oral traditions

from curated contexts -- allow movement between social scales -- individual, family,

community, local or regional -- as well as the movement back and forth between scales of

time (Wilkie 2006: 25). 76

The Archaeological Past

Archaeology can show how particular events are given material form (Appadurai

1996: 181; Hall 2000: 3) and provide ways to determine the meanings that are attached to objects through daily practice (Wilkie 2000: 15). The fieldwork, which included a phase- one reconnaissance survey, phase-two excavations, and a landscape and metal detector survey, were conducted over a three-year period. All of these archaeological methods helped locate items which had been discarded and swept along fence lines or that had slipped between the gaps in floorboards. The archaeology helped provide insight into activity areas and ways space was used in and around the home and across the landscape.

In 2005, fieldwork began with a landscape and a phase-one reconnaissance survey.2 The location of the phase-one survey was determined several factors including information provided in the oral history produced by Dave Benavitch (1992) and the contours of the upward sloping landscape. Approximately 1,360 meters ofrelatively flat land was surveyed on both sides of the creek. We began on the southeast side of Brown

Mountain Creek and excavated Shovel Test Pits (STP) along the contours of the land from south to north. In total, 78 STPs were excavated. We produced maps (see Figures

4.6 and 4.8) based on that fieldwork which demonstrated the relationship between positive and negative STPs, the landforms and the foundations, retaining walls, fence lines, roadbeds and other observable traces on the landscape. During this survey, seven historic sites were located; five house sites are located within the creek bottom and two

2 The phase-one survey was conducted as part of an American University Archaeology Field School co-taught with Lisa Holly Robbins in June of2005. 77 are located on higher ridges (Barnes and Robbins 2006). At each of these historic sites, the artifacts were clustered around the house and outbuilding foundations.

The landscape survey3 was implemented to locate material traces of human action and provide information about the plants that were grown or gathered for food or medicinal purposes historically. While walking the mountain landscape, the natural features, resource locations, and land use types were noted.

I also camped near the house foundations to get a sense of what it would be like to wake up there in the morning and go to sleep there at night, how and when the sun reached different areas. Moving through the landscape during different seasons and different times of the day provided insights about seasonality -- what herbs and mushrooms to gather in the spring, what it might have been like to obtain water during times of drought, or what it might have been like to trek through the snow or during a pre-electricity night.

Figure 3.1. Landscape Survey in the Snow

3 The Sigma Xi Grants-in-Aid of Research program funded the preliminary landscape survey. 78

l·:l~;;::;::, .. , Figure 3.2. 2007 Excavations, Mary Miles, Taylor Smith and Madeline Konz

In 2007, I conducted systematic archaeological excavations at the Richeson farmstead (44AH0587) and at one ofRicheson's tenant properties (44AH0586) to provide the context of time and space. At 44AH0587, four 1 m x 1 m units were excavated. Two units were excavated within the house and one outside of the front door of the house. A fourth unit was excavated in Outbuilding 01 (see Figures 4.6 and 4.7). At

44AH0586, one 1 m x 1 m unit was excavated inside the house; another was excavated between the eastern wall of the house and a chimney fall (see Figures 4.8 and 4.9). All units were excavated according to natural horizons unless units exhibited cultural features, which were excavated separately. The soil was screened through one-quarter inch mesh. Each level was mapped and photographed. Artifacts were collected, cataloged and transported back to the American University laboratory.

Excavations were difficult and slow because of the mountain location which required a hike along the Appalachian Trail and the sloped rocky soil. In addition, only a small number of artifacts were recovered from archaeological contexts. Since a limited number of artifacts were recovered during excavations and trash pits were not located 79 through the landscape survey, a metal detector survey was implemented to determine the distribution of metal artifacts at the Hughes farmstead (44AH0586).4 Following the stone wall a transect running south to north was surveyed with a metal detector (see Figure

4.8). Mary Miles,5 the metal detector operator, walked a generally south-north transect across the area, approximately 260 m by 40 m, using a sweeping motion over the ground making sure her sweeps overlapped the preceding ones. A person walked with the metal detector operator putting pin flags in the location with a signal while visually examining the surface for artifacts. A crew followed behind the metal detector operator, carefully uncovering artifacts with a trowel while leaving them in place. The individual locations were plotted on a map, assigned specimen numbers, and in some cases photographed and/or collected. A total of 125 artifacts were located and in addition to metal artifacts, other discarded objects such as ceramics and glass were recovered (see Table 4.6).

The Laboratory

'Laboratory' work, which included artifact analysis and coding and analysis of documents, has been continuous throughout the research process. Artifacts were sorted, counted, cataloged, photographed and curated. The preliminary analysis consisted of

sorting artifacts into gross material (material of manufacture) categories consisting of glass, ceramics, hardware and other. Artifact counts helped determine the relative proportion of artifacts on each site and their distribution across it (see Tables 4.5 and 4.6).

4 In future research, a medal detector survey will be conducted at the Richeson farmstead.

5 Mary Miles, a member of a local metal detecting club, was a volunteer. Through a conversation about a talk by Mike Barber at her metal detecting club meeting, Mary and I started discussing a metal detector survey within the farmsteads. 80

A limited number of ceramics were recovered; therefore, I was unable to develop a typology based on ware-type, decoration, vessel size, shape and diagnostic elements.

Glass artifacts were separated by color and function. Hardware items were categorized, separated into nails, screws, hinges, and others.

Although vessel numbers, whether of plates, teacups, wine bottles, or clay pipes, are more meaningful measures for analyzing how objects were used before they were lost or discarded (Lawrence 2006; Miller 1986; Sussman 2000), a minimum vessel count

(MNV) for ceramics and glass was difficult because of the limited number of ceramics and bottle glass recovered. I calculated the mean start and end dates when each deposit was formed. In addition, artifacts were grouped into functional categories: foodways, clothing, household, personal, arms, architecture, activities, and agriculture in order to determine patterns of men and women living within a cultural tradition (see Table 4.5,

4.6 and 4.7). In developing functional categories, I attempted to avoid a rigid functional classification that assumes that artifacts were only used for one purpose and that this was the purpose for which the item was originally manufactured (Lawrence 2006: 365).

'Tacking' It All Together

A diversity of methods and sources were utilized, since the documentary, oral historical, and archaeological data are not comprehensive on their own. It is through the

integration of this data that the biography of this particular Appalachian landscape can be

constructed. The diversity of sources at play in this study is its strength. Alison Wylie

(1989) argues that archaeological interpretations gain strength by moving back and forth

between multiple lines of evidence, a process that she calls 'tacking'. With these methods 81 and sources, I build upon Wylie's concept of 'tacking' to integrate different types of data.

This 'tacking' of data provides an opportunity to play to the differences in resolution inherent in the materials. 'Tacking back and forth' between sources allows a movement between social scales and a movement back and forth between scales of time (Wilkie

2006: 25). It is in this 'tacking back and forth' that historical anthropology shows how the present and the future are connected to the past. In the following chapter, I focus on the archaeology of two farmsteads in order to compose biographies of three individuals and the material life of the Appalachian landscape upon which they live. The archaeological data combined with historical and ethnographic sources helps provide insight into the interconnections between land and the ways individuals negotiated raced and classed relations during specific time periods in Appalachian history. CHAPTER4

LAND AND LABOR IN THE BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS,

1800-1920

Grab this land! Take it, hold it. .. dig it, plow it, seed it, reap it, rent it, buy it, sell it, own it, build it, multiply it, and pass it on! - Toni Morrison, Song ofSolomon.

The material life of the Appalachian landscape and the ways it was transformed as land was mapped, territorialized as farmland and granted to settlers. In Amherst County,

Virginia, land was granted to wealthy, white, predominately British settlers by the crown and the Virginia Commonwealth. These settlers differentiated themselves from each other and from the Native American populations by owning land, building farms and mills, and producing agricultural surplus to participate in the market economy. The farm and forest economy in the mountains of Virginia required fertile land and inexpensive, dependable labor; therefore, the people who controlled the allocation of these resources -- land and labor -- had power in the social system. In rural Appalachia, class is based upon a household's relationship to land and the means of production (Stine 1990), but it is also relational (Wurst 1999). In Appalachian, and elsewhere, the landholding classes differentiated themselves from the laboring classes and race, a social construct with real life consequences, was given meaning through struggles to control land and labor.

In the popular imagination, rural Appalachia is seen as inhabited by poor, white families. In this chapter, I focus on the lives of three individuals from 1800 to 1920 with the emphasis on race and class, as historically and relationally changing. In order to

82 83 examine the relational aspects of class, I compose biographies of three individuals, Jesse

Richeson, Moses Richeson and Eli Hughes, focusing on their relationships with the mountain land, material culture and their neighbors. I am influenced by feminist scholarship in archaeology with concern for local, micro-scale, empirical data (Gilchrist

2000; Wylie 1992); therefore, I build upon the historical archaeology of Appalachia, with an emphasis on individuals.

Historical Archaeology in Appalachia

In Virginia, archaeological research has focused on plantations as the 18th century social and economic unit and placed an emphasis on the social, cultural, economic and geographical forces that shaped the plantation system (e.g., Hudgins 1996; Kelso 1984;

Noel Hume 1974; Reinhart 1984). In contrast, archaeological studies of Appalachia have emphasized farmsteads and the understudied yeomen farmers (e.g., Groover 1998,

2004; Homing 2000a, 2001; Stine 1990). The emphasis on farmsteads does not mean there were no plantations in Appalachia; rather it signifies the ways ideas about the mountain region have shaped archaeological research.

Challenging the stereotypes about the region, Audrey Horning (2000a) studied three mountain hollows -- Corbin, Nicholson, and Weakley Hollows -- in the Blue Ridge

Mountains that were inhabited by white Appalachian families. She notes that within these hollows architectural forms varied from simple two-room log houses, to two-story, log houses with one chimney and to larger two room, two-story, double chimney log and frame houses located on farms consisting of one acre to over 300 acres (Homing 2000a: 84

223). By linking artifact assemblages with household succession, Mark Groover (1998,

2004) demonstrates that Appalachian yeomen farmers participated in the commercial economy in order to maintain the family home and acquire more farmland for succeeding generations. Homing (2000a, 2001) and Groover (1998, 2004) challenge the assumptions about the poverty and isolation of the region arguing that physical isolation did not exist when the hollows were plowed, planted, and awash with daily activities.

The Upland Archaeology Series, edited by Mike Barber and Eugene Barfield

(e.g., 1981, 1984, 1987, 1996) contributes a large part to the historical archaeology of

Appalachia, particularly Virginia. Leftwich (1996) draws from oral history data to describe the lives of sharecroppers in Virginia; she focuses on food preservation, self­ sufficiency, farming methods and gender. Archaeological research was conducted to determine whether the activities described by former residents were mirrored in the artifact assemblage (Boyd and Bowen 1996). Boyd and Bowen (1996) excavated in and around the smokehouse and the root cellar to determine how the functions of the structures changed over time. These studies provide comparative data for analyzing farmsteads along Brown Mountain Creek; yet do not consider race and class.

Russ and McDaniel (1996) use Miller's (1980) model of examining ceramics to determine socio-economic status and connect the data to factors influencing settlement patterns in Virginia. According to Russ and McDaniel (1996), the sites with the highest socio-economic status within the hollow were those that were settled first. Russ and

McDaniel's (1996) research provides data to compare settlement along Brown Mountain 85

Creek, yet class is not an objective and unproblematic category that can be determined by the analysis of ceramics.

Similarly, Linda Stine (1990) conducted archaeological research at two farms, one owned by a black landowner and the other by a white landowner, in upland North

Carolina. According to Stine ( 1990), the material culture was more alike than different, suggesting that ethnic factors did not play an important role in the procurement, use and reuse of material items on the two farms. Instead, the material culture reflects similarities in occupational and economic factors of stratification more than ethnic differences (Stine

1990: 48). Stine bases the argument on the metaphorical agricultural ladder, which likens agricultural stratification to the rungs of a ladder with the laborer at the bottom, various levels of tenancy in the middle, and the landowning farmer at the top (Atack 1989: 1).

This model of social mobility has a basis in reality, yet it also served to legitimate class differences by defining them as natural, as opposed to social and temporary (Wurst 1999:

12). Stine (1990) recognizes the racial inequality of the institutional landscape that the

African American landowner may have faced, yet does not consider race and class as

interdependent power relations.

LouAnn Wurst ( 1999) argues that class is an analytical concept that operates on

many scales and thus can be used to tease out the complexity of the social relations of

everyday life. Here I include race, and argue that race affects the way people experience

class in Appalachia since race often masks class inequalities. I combine Stine (1990) and

Wurst (1999) to show what historical archaeology can tell us about the ways individuals

experience race and class. I discuss the lives of three Appalachian families and the ways 86 they participated in the market economy and forged identities "on the ground" through internal definition, by creating a sense of "whiteness" or "blackness" and external differentiation, by generating a belief in difference from others (Bell 2005: 447; Jenkins

1997). The land ownership and labor history as well as the architecture and material culture inscribed upon this landscape provide a lens in which to examine how struggles over the natural environment have shaped racial and classed ideologies in Appalachia.

By examining U.S. Census records, maps, deeds, and the material traces on the landscape and building upon archaeological research conducted in the Appalachian region, I consider changes in land ownership and spatialized power relations, particularly race and class, from 1800 to 1919. I examine farmsteads as economic units that provide income and sustenance to the landowners and laborers and as residential units, where laborers and planters raised families, cooked meals, and socialized with friends (Wilkie

2000: 42). I focus on a 120-year period in which control ofland and labor is disrupted by the Civil War and Emancipation, with particular emphasis on post-emancipation since few studies have analyzed the spaces owned and occupied by African Americans (but see

Gundaker 1998, 2005).

Antebellum Amherst County. Virginia

Amherst County, Virginia, is situated along the north bank of the James River and straddles a dividing line between the Appalachian Plateau and the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia (see Figure 4.1). Fur traders, trading with the Monacan Indians, were at the vanguard of the Euro-American movement into the upper James River region (Hantman 87

1990, 1994). The Pedlar River (and its tributaries) was an important trade route as well as a source of industry. These early traders paved the way for the systematic encroachment oflndian lands by more aggressive settlers and the first trading posts emerged as commercial centers which ultimately served as springboards to distant markets (Cook

2000: 52). Significant settlement west of the Blue Ridge began in 1730 and increasingly after 1750 droves of settlers came to the area currently known as Amherst County. 1 This early land ownership was shaped by the state as land was mapped, territorialized as farmland and granted to settlers. As far as these new settlers were concerned, the land was previously unoccupied. To help facilitate the disenfranchisement and removal of

Native Americans, whiteness, which was considered not Indian, was associated with the ideals of European labor, discipline, and social order (Beaver and Lewis 1998: 55;

Roediger 1999). Early settlers in Amherst County displaced American Indians, settled the mountain land and began defining themselves against the native other.

Wilhelm's ( 1967) model for settlement in the Blue Ridge mountains places early settlers moving down the Shenandoah Valley and establishing homes wherever there was flat bottom land. Often children of these settlers moved to similar ecological zones further west or south also selecting for flat land, usually in the heads of hollows. Once the population threshold was met, the sloping land was finally used for settlement (Russ and McDaniel 1996; Wilhelm 1967).

1 The land that comprises Amherst County was part of the original shire of Henrico, which became Goochland County in 1724 and Albemarle County in 1744. Around 1774, Albemarle County was partitioned to form the county of Amherst (Houck 1984: 31 ). 88

Virginia Figure 4.1. Map of Amherst County, Virginia. (Adapted from Cook 2000: 81).

In Amherst County, the earliest settlers established themselves in the mountain hollows where tributary streams, such as Brown Mountain or Swapping Camp Creeks joined the Pedlar River valley. Later with population growth and the division of land among large families, people settled farther from the Pedlar River along the tributary streams. These settlers brought an entrepreneurial desire to join the ranks of the plantation South, or at least compete within the agrarian economy. Thus the primary resource sought was the land itself. By 1790, Amherst County's population had reached

13,703 of which 5,296 were slaves (Cook 2000: 54). The fact that nearly half the population consisted of slaves makes obvious the predominance of plantation agriculture 89 in the county.2 Amherst County was cultivating tobacco, com and wheat; so large plantations exploited slave laborers to an extent that exceeded the southern averages

(Dunaway 2003a: 29).

In 1800, Amherst County planters, predominately of European descent, were the wealthiest, most powerful elites in the region. They built plantations that blended crop cultivation and livestock raising with the manufacture of agricultural commodities and commercial enterprises with the use of African enslaved labor and poor white tenants.

Although the rocky mountain land in Amherst County was not the most arable, it was more than adequate to produce valuable cash crops such as com, oats, wheat and especially tobacco (Cook 2000: 53). Amherst county planters cultivated large quantities of wheat and tobacco for export. In addition, cattle, sheep and swine were also raised and continued to play a major role in the local economy throughout the 19th century (U.S.

Bureau of the Census 1841: 155-156; 1895: 311).3 The efforts of Appalachian slaveholders to maximize land and labor resources resulted in the close spatial coexistence of slavery and tenancy and anxieties over race and class. Land provided the economic basis for the structuring of polarized local economies in which slaveholders amassed a majority of the acreage of land while more than half the white households remained landless.

2 This ratio did not change significantly until the institution of slavery was terminated after the Civil War (Cook 2000; U.S. Bureau of the Census 1864: 155) with Amherst County, Virginia near the Southern average in slaveholding numbers in I 860 (Dunaway 2003a: 266n).

3 In 1840, 2,106,149 pounds of tobacco were produced in the county, making it one of the top producers in the state, and by the inception of the Civil War that number had climbed to 2,847,209 pounds of tobacco (U.S. Bureau of the Census 1841: 155; 1864: 155). 90

I focus on tracts of land in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Amherst County. This land is located on Brown Mountain Creek, which flows between Long (2080 feet above sea level) and Brown (2383 feet above sea level) Mountains into the Pedlar River which flows into the James River (See Figure 4.2). The terrain consists of flat ridge tops, steeply sloping ridge sides, narrow, steep sided hollows containing intermittent streams, saddles, colluvial aprons, alluvial fans, and terraces (Tolley 1995).

Grantee Date Acreage and Location Joseph Edwards 1780 350 acres on both sides of Brown Mountain Creek (sold to William Hartless in 1788) Phillip Smith 1793 164 acres, north side of Pedlar River, along north bank of Brown Mountain Creek (sold to John Ware in 1804) William Hartless 1799 88 acres on both sides of Brown Mountain Creek

Joseph Ballenger 1801 80 acres on both sides of Brown Mountain Creek

W. Tomlinson 1805 70 acres on both sides of Brown Mountain Creek (sold to John Ware in 1809) William Horsley 1808 500 acres on both sides of Brown Mountain Creek

Total acreage, 1,252 Table 4.1. Early Land Grants Along Brown Mountain Creek (From Various Deeds in the Amherst County Archives)

The first land grants from the Commonwealth of Virginia along Brown Mountain

Creek began in 1780 (See Table 4.1 and Figure 4.3). Early land grants varied considerably in size ranging from 80 to 500 acres. Settlers on these tracts built houses and mills on the flattest, most fertile lands along the Pedlar River as well as on Brown

Mountain and Swapping Camp Creeks. Environmentally, the hollow generally provides fertile soil, protection from the wind, and water, elements that produced conditions

favorable to settlement. Brown Mountain Creek hollow contains three springs and an 91 intermittent stream. Not surprisingly, all of the hollow's archaeological sites are found within close proximity to these water sources.

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Figure 4.2. Map Noting Some of the Early Land Grants (Adapted from U.S. Forest Service 1918-1919 Land Acquisition Map) 92

In the next section, I discuss a particular Appalachian plantation owner, Jesse

Richeson. Richeson consolidated a number of early land grants and amassed much of the fertile, productive land along the Pedlar River and its tributary branch Brown Mountain

Creek. Here Jesse Richeson is a representative of white antebellum Appalachian plantation owners and his biography provides a lens by which to examine rural class positioning and the social construction of racial difference in antebellum Amherst

County, Virginia.

Jesse Richeson: An Appalachian Plantation Owner

In 1812, Jesse Richeson purchased 600 acres from John and Elizabeth Ware

(Amherst County Land Records 1812: 141). The Ware family owned land that was part of two original land grants from the Commonwealth of Virginia.4 The land was located on both sides of the Pedlar River and Brown Mountain Creek and the purchase included

all of the premises located on the land. In 1815, the Commonwealth of Virginia granted

Jesse Richeson 50 acres on both sides of the Pedlar River and both sides of Swapping

Camp Creek (Amherst County Land Records 1815: 144). Jesse Richeson continued his

land acquisition buying 438 acres from William and Nancy Hartless in 1823 (Amherst

County Land Records 1823: 268), 80 acres from Charles and Sarah Barret in 1828,

(Amherst County Land Records 1828: 321), and 680 acres in 1839 (Amherst County

Land Records 1839: 185). In 1847, Jesse Richeson made his final land purchase of240

4 John Ware purchased the land from two of the original grantees. He purchased 164 acres from Phillip Smith in 1804 and 70 acres from W. Tomlinson in 1809. See Table 4.1. 93 acres from Commissioner Zacharia Drummond (Amherst County Land Records 1847:

63). In total, Jesse Richeson owned approximately 2,088 acres ofland; this included all of the early land grants except the 500 acres granted to William Horsley (See Tables 4.1 and 4.2).

Purchased from Date Acreage and Location Amt Pd John and Elizabeth Ware 1812 600 acres ofland located on both sides of the Pedlar ~990 River and Brown Mountain Creek Commonwealth of Virginia 1815 Granted 50 acres on both sides of Pedlar River, both sides of Swapping Camp Creek William and Nancy Hartless 1823 438 acres of land; 88 acres were located on both sides $1314 of Brown Mountain Creek Charles and Sarah Barret 1828 80 acres, on both sides of Brown Mountain Creek, $80 including a mill.

Bank of Virginia 1839 680 acres, 253 acres from Thomas Barnett's heirs; 200 - from William Tomlinson; 82 from William Galt; and 75 from John and William Beasley Zacharia Drummond 1847 240 acres $199

Total acreage, 2,088 Table 4.2. Jesse Richeson's Land Acquisitions (From Various Deeds in the Amherst County Archives)

Born in Amherst County, Virginia in 1779, Jesse Richeson was the white son of

John and Mary J. Richeson from Caroline County, Virginia in the Chesapeake.5 Jesse married Amelia Rucker from Amherst County, Virginia in 1801 (Wood 1932: 165).

Jesse and Amelia had ten children, five sons and five daughters. Amelia died in 1815 and

Jesse married Katherine N. Sledd in 1816. Jesse and Katherine had eight children, five sons and three daughters (Central Missouri Counties Biographies 2004; U.S. Census

5 The ancestry of Jesse Richeson extends back to England. There are two options for following the Richeson's genealogy. I have been unable to prove either without doubts. John Richeson, Jesse Richeson's father, could have been a line ofRicheson's who settled in the Chesapeake from England. Or John Richeson could have been a line ofRicheson's that migrated south from Massachusetts. 94

1850).6 The family lived on flat fertile land south of the convergence of Brown Mountain

Creek and on the west side of the Pedlar River (See Figure 4.3).

. '.''·,~~1 f..

Figure 4.3. 1864 Map Showing the Location of the Richeson Plantation. (Adapted from 1864 Gilmer Map No. 9, Map of Amherst and Nelson Counties: From Survey to Reconnaissances by General J. F. Gilmer, Chief Engineer's Office D.N.V.)'

Jesse Richeson owned 2,088 acres of some of the most fertile land along the

Pedlar River. In 1850, Richeson owned 39 slaves and his real estate was valued at

$12,000 (1850 U.S. Census). According to the 1850 slave schedules, only a small number of landowners in Amherst County owned more than 19 slaves and one of those was Jesse's son William. According to Dunaway's (2003a) study of Appalachian

6 See Appendix, pages 212-214 for kinship chart.

7 See chapter 3, page 75 for a discussion of the spelling of the Richeson/Richardson name. 95 plantations, a small plantation owner owned up to 19 slaves and about 500 acres of land.

Large plantation owners owned about 100 slaves and 1,850 acres ofland. By Dunaway's criteria, Jesse Richeson would be in between a small and large plantation owner, since he owned more land than a large plantation and more slaves than a small one. Planters were accorded a measure of prestige in antebellum society based on the number of slaves and the amount of land they owned (Stampp 1956: 385). Enslaved laborers on a plantation served the planter in two important ways; enslaved laborers provided labor and they indicated the planter's purchasing power, or wealth and status (Orser 1988b: 740; Padgug

1976: 17-18).

Although little is known about the layout of the plantation since it is currently beneath the Lynchburg Reservoir, land acquisition files and oral history provide a glimpse into life on Jesse Richeson's plantation. Slaves, and possibly tenant farmers, cleared Jesse Richeson's land and made it productive. They cut the timber, tilled the soil and harvested the crops. Yet Jesse Richeson shaped the social order of the plantation landscape. The Great House, barns, sheds, and various other outbuildings were the physical and architectural embodiment of his hegemony (Berlin 1998: 97). The location of the slave quarters, tenant and over-seers' houses and the Big House shaped and reflected social relations that were established through landownership and enslavement.

The houses on land from previous owners were either given to family members or became tenant houses for white landless laborers or slave quarters. By giving land to his sons, Jesse Richeson passed on ways of thinking about land and social relations while providing his heirs with economic status and power. 96

For people working on a plantation, one of the most important differentiating criterions on the plantation was occupation. Enslaved laborers had specific occupational roles as field hands, house servants, cooks, craftsmen, and drivers. Non-slaves held complementary occupational roles such as planters, overseers, hired hands, and tenant farmers. African Americans generally were accorded the lower positions on plantations and whites generally received the higher positions (Orser 1988b: 740). In 1850, Fielding

Wright, a 27 year old, white male, lived on Jesse Richeson's property and worked as a blacksmith (1850 U.S. Census). Jesse Richeson paid a wage for the blacksmith and provided a place to live.

Jesse Richeson owned a mill, the Richeson Mill, which functioned as a grist mill. 8 The mill was located at the confluence of the Pedlar River and Brown Mountain

Creek where the stream had enough fall and volume to turn a water wheel. The mill allowed Jesse Richeson to blend tobacco and wheat cultivation, livestock raising and the manufacture of agricultural commodities. The miller on Jesse Richeson's plantation was an enslaved laborer. In Appalachian Virginia, almost 53 % of slaves worked in agricultural production (Dunaway n.d.: Table 3.1).9 According to Dunaway (n.d.: Table

3.5) in Appalachia less than one percent of Appalachia's slaves worked in the artisan position of a miller. This may cause us to wonder why Jesse Richeson enabled an enslaved person to hold this position.

8 Joseph Ballenger may have built the mill prior to Richeson's purchase of the land (Tolley 1995).

9 14.3% worked in commerce, 20.2% in industry and 12.8 in a mixture of the three. 97

The miller position would have placed the enslaved laborer, Moses Richeson, in a higher occupational position on the plantation, which generally went to white laborers.

Skills such as a blacksmith, wagoner or miller gave some slaves social status that field hands were unable to access. Yet the higher occupational position in the plantation

society, may have contrasted with the status positions in the slave society. Orser (1988b:

740) notes that for enslaved laborers, those people "who could heal the sick, preach, teach, entertain, and fool the master -- in short, who could tend the needs of the slave community -- were accorded the highest social position".

Fielding Wright and other white laborers working on Jesse Richeson's plantation

most likely differentiated themselves from enslaved laborers, as not black and not slaves.

Enslaved laborers, like Moses Richeson, probably differentiated the plantation owner,

Jesse Richeson from Fielding Wright, recognizing the class differences that resulted from

landownership and control of the means of production. In addition, enslaved laborers

were not a homogeneous population. Differences in the enslaved population resulted

from the occupational position the plantation owners assigned enslaved laborers on the

plantation and from the internal differentiation enslaved laborers made between each

other. Land and labor shaped social relations on the mountain landscape.

In 1832, Jesse Richeson either gave or sold two tracts of land, totaling 518 acres, along

Brown Mountain Creek to one of his sons, Varland (Amherst County Land Records1832:

321; Tolley 1995). Varland used this land as collateral on debts he owed to several

businessmen in Lynchburg. He left the country without paying the debts. When the 98 businessmen tried to collect via a chancery suit10 to force the sale of the land, Jesse claimed he had sold the land to his son and that he had never been paid for it. The businessmen's lawyers discovered Jesse had actually given his son the land and then post dated the bill of sale to make it appear that his son had taken advantage of him on a land deal. The judge found in favor of the businessmen and the land was sold to Zacharia

Drummond in 1839 (Amherst County Land Records 1839: 151). Drummond gave this land, along with some additional holdings, to his son in 1849. Around 1850, Thomas

Staton bought 675 acres, including the 517 acres Varland Richeson had gotten from his father, from Edward Drummond. The purchase of this land by Thomas Staton will be discussed in the next section.

Jesse Richeson died in 1855 and his estate was settled primarily among six heirs.

He willed two of his sons, William and John, the land they were living and farming upon.

The remainder of his property he willed to six of children from the second marriage to

Katherine: James, Thomas, Petticus, Samuel, Josephine Millner, and Lucy Rucker. He gave these six heirs the remainder of the estate except the property, which was to be sold and the money equally divided among the six heirs. A number of the heirs bought property from Jesse Richeson's estate. Samuel Richeson bought the mill and a number of enslaved laborers. In the 1860 Census, Samuel Richeson' s real estate was valued at

$8,000 and personal property at $12,000. The Civil War brought drastic changes to the real estate value and personal property of Jesse Richeson's heirs. In 1869, Samuel

Richeson sold his portion ofland, including the mill for $7,500 and moved to Missouri.

0 ' According to Black's Law Dictionary, a judge, not a jury, decides chancery cases which are usually cases that could not be readily decided by existing written laws. Chancery cases often address the division of estates, the dissolution of business partnerships, the resolution of land disputes, and divorce; therefore, they contain useful information for biographical, genealogical, and historical research. 99

As a brief aside, to continue to follow the history of land ownership along Brown

Mountain Creek and to demonstrate the challenges Appalachian families faced following the Civil War, I want to return to the 500 acres ofland that Jesse Richeson gave to his son

Varland, which was lost in a chancery suit and purchased by Thomas Staton around 1850.

Thomas Staton and his family farmed the land for a number of years. Thomas Staton and his family did not own slaves, but were members of the upper rung of the rural class

system, since he owned land and controlled the means of production.

Thomas Staton died in 1862 and his widow, Parthenia, and some of their children

remained living on and cultivating the 843 acres of land. The remaining children grew

tired of this situation and filed a chancery suit against their mother and siblings asking for

the estate to be settled in an equitable manner (Tolley 1995: 3). The judge found in favor

of the children and a commission was established to divide the estate among nine heirs.

This was accomplished through the division of the estate into nine lots, with each of the

heirs gaining possession of one lot (See Table 4.3 and Figure 4.3).

Lot# Heir Acrea2e Dower Lot Widow Parthenia Staton 143 Lot #1 Heirs of Lunsford Staton 100 Lot#2 Marshall T. Staton 50 Lot#3 Indiana and John Henson 119 Lot#4 Ann E. (Parthenia) and John Lawhorn 68.5 Lot#5 William M. Staton 64 Lot#6 Edgar N. Staton 60 Lot#7 A.M. Staton Heirs 99 Lot#8 Edward P. Davis 135 Total acreage, 838.5 Table 4.3. Division of the Staton Estate (From Various Deeds in the Amherst County Archives) 100

U' W

8.76

h!."''":~.-~~r.~!-:.Y ".. ~-L"~~'!e

·NATURAL BRIDGE NATIONAL FOREST a Staton Dower Lot DJ. P. Davis Lot J.S. &. .J. H.RICHS:SON TRACT.5 m 1. & J. Henson's Lot (251)"' (.251 -r) Edgar Staton Lot .+5C.p3 A. A.R.K ·..svJ=<:. William Staton Lot 191B - l9!S Marshall Staton ~,.,,,1...... ,..1.~'-''''-' -:-..:.~;_..:.::...:.~..::.;;..;./:Jh~~:~-E: . ·=~~~-::;:.. :::.:.: ...... :_.:Jeo !MU."-'""""''N"­ A. & J. Lawhorn

Figure 4.4. Map Noting the Staton Estate (Adapted from U.S. Forest Service 1918-1919 Land Acquisition Map)

The control of land and labor by plantation owners shaped economic opportunities for landless whites and enslaved laborers in Appalachia. Jesse Richeson and his family are significant here because they represent a time in Amherst County and 101

Appalachia's history when European plantation owners controlled large portions ofland, owned slaves, and created economic opportunities while blocking other opportunities. As a wealthy white land and slave owner, Jesse Richeson' life story challenges the stereotypes of Appalachian peoples and demonstrates the economic diversity of the region, particularly Amherst County, prior to the Civil War. Slavery, tenancy and indenture created differing class positions in which whiteness was defined by class.

Postbellum Amherst County, Virginia

After the Civil War, the economic prosperity that some landowners had experienced changed with the need for new forms of labor. The Civil War disrupted the structure of mountain life, as it did that of American history generally. Emancipation, disruption of the established social and economic structure, three successive years of crop failure, as well as a depression during the 1870s affected the livelihoods of people in

Amherst County. The building of the Norfolk and Western Railroad in 1880 triggered a great land boom, the growth of cities, such as Buena Vista and Lynchburg and integrated

Amherst County into larger markets.

The planter class who controlled the land maintained their positions of power and privilege, although their land was often broken up and rented to tenant farmers or sold.

Many planters expected the former slaves to remain on their plantations as tenants or sharecroppers. Former enslaved laborers with a limited number of options had to make decisions about what to do and where to go. According to Dunaway (n.d.: Table 14.6), almost 97 percent of African American freed enslaved laborers remained landless, 74 percent of adults were illiterate, almost 39 percent of African American households lived 102 next door to Blacks with the same surname, and almost 26 percent of the family units resided as laborers in white households. The demography and social structure of

Amherst County was transformed as former enslaved laborers sought new social and economic opportunities. Racial tensions increased significantly among lower class whites who perceived more clearly than ever the impact of large-scale black competition for low-status jobs, as both poor whites and blacks were dependent upon the landowning class for their livelihoods as tenants and sharecroppers.

In the following sections, I discuss the material lives of two African Americans,

Moses Richeson and Eli Hughes, and their families. Moses Richeson, a former enslaved laborer, and later his sons, became large landowners in the area. They acquired most of the land that Jesse Richeson gave to his son Varland, which later became a part of the

Staton estate. Eli Hughes, also a former enslaved laborer, rented land from the Richeson family. These two families provide a way to analyze race and class within space owned and occupied primarily by African Americans.

Moses Richeson: An Appalachian Landowner

Moses Richeson, a 'mulatto', was born into slavery around 1828. Jesse Richeson was his father and his mother was an enslaved laborer. Taft Hughes told Dave Benavitch

(1992) that Moses Richeson' s "father was a slaveholder and Moses Rich[ e ]son was his son by a slave woman". The U.S. Census Slave Schedules and Jesse Richeson's 1855 will support the fact that Jesse Richeson, a white landowner was Moses' father. The

1850 Slave Schedules showed that one of Jesse Richeson's slaves was a 25-year-old, male, mulatto, and this fits the age of Moses within two years. During the sale of 103 property to settle Jesse Richeson's estate, Samuel Richeson purchased the Richeson mill and a number of slaves. He purchased an enslaved laborer named Moses, a miller, for

$1,200. "A large majority of mulatto children born to slaveholders lived their lives as slaves, often with no special consideration or privileges" (Genovese 1976: 416), yet according to Taft Hughes (Benavitch 1992), Jesse Richeson let his son Moses "run the mill so he made a little money".

In addition to earning money, Moses Richeson was probably able to build relationships with local farmers and landowners. When customers brought their grain to the Richeson Mill which functioned as a grist and a saw mill, Moses Richeson kept the hopper full and watched the grind; he also measured, tolled and bagged the grain for the customer. I I After emancipation in 1865, Moses Richeson may have continued as the miller for Samuel Richeson who sold the mill the following year in 1869 or he may have profited from the Appalachian timber boom hauling timber by wagon to Buena Vista or to Lynchburg (Philip Davis 2008, personal communication). By June of 1868, Moses

Richeson had earned enough money to purchase 220 acres from the white landowners,

Henry and Susan Smith for $300 (Amherst County Land Records 1868: 232). This included the Staton Lot #3, which Smith had purchased from the Henson's.

Moses Richeson continued his land acquisition by purchasing partial interest in the Edgar N. and Ellen Staton Lot #6 in 1870 (sec Figure 4.3). In 1872, Edward P. and

Isabelle Davis's sold Moses 20 acres of Lot #8 for $20 (Amherst County Land Records

1872: 97). Also in 1872, Moses bought Lot ff2 from Marshall T. and Caroline Staton for

$375 (Amherst County Land Records 1872: 163). In 1878, Moses Riche~on acquired

11 The description of Moses Richeson' s work as a 111 i lier is based on Tunis (1965). 104

William M. and Nancy Staton's Lot #5 for $275 (Amherst County Land Records 1878:

101), becoming one of the largest landowners in the area at that time. By 1878, Moses had acquired most of the land that Jesse Richeson gave or sold to his son Varland, which later became a part of the Staton estate.

Purchased from Date Acreage and Location Amt Pd

Henry E. Smith 1868 220 acres, including the Staton Lot #3 purchased in $300 1863 Edgar N. & Ellen Staton 1870 Partial interest in the Dower lot $18

Edward & Isabelle Davis 1872 20 acres, Staton Lot #8 $20

Marshall & Caroline Staton 1872 50 acres, Staton Estate Lot #2 $375

William M. & Nancy Staton 1878 64 acres, Staton Estate Lot #5 $275

Total acreage, 354 $988 Table 4.4. Moses Richeson's Land Acquisitions (From Various Deeds in the Amherst County Archives)

For former enslaved laborers, landownership was a tangible assurance of freedom

(WWP and WPA 1994: 242). A landowning family could make decisions about

allocation of time and energy into domestic and agricultural labor. Domestic labor or

work inside the home was geared toward production for subsistence and family life.

Agricultural labor or the work outside the home was directed toward the production of

commodities for exchange (Mann 1989: 778). The ability to control these decisions

reshaped the lives of African American families.

Moses and his wife Clara, who was also an enslaved laborer, had two children,

Josephus and James, in 1857 and 1858 respectively. Clara died in 1860. Moses then 105 married Mary (Molly) and in 1864 Clara Ann was born. 12 During slavery, men and women had to work to maintain family bonds. In addition to their work on the plantation, wives and mothers assumed primary responsibility for childcare and for operations involved in daily household maintenance -- cooking, cleaning, tending fires, sewing, and patching clothes (Davis 1983; Jones 1986: 36). In addition to these kin relationships, slaves often supplemented 'blood ties' with 'fictive kin' or patterns of mutual obligations among enslaved laborers (Jones 1986: 31 ). These relationships may have continued after emancipation, since the Richeson family had additional people living in their household.

During the 1870 census enumeration, Ann Richardson, age 20 and Black, and Petticas

Richardson, age one and Black, lived with the Richeson family. 13 In addition, Daniel

Winston, a 'mulatto', lived with Moses Richeson and his family. Daniel Winston may have been one of Jesse Richeson's slaves who was purchased along with Moses by

Samuel Richeson. There is a Winston and a Daniel Webster included in Jesse Richeson's will. Daniel Winston lived with the family until 1875 when he purchased 90 acres for

$225 along the east side of the Pedlar River and on both sides of Brown Mountain Creek

(Amherst County Land Records 1875: 9).

12 See the Appendix, pages 2 I 4-2 I 6, for a kinship chart.

13 In an interview with Philip Davis, a descendant of Edward P. Davis, Davis said the land sale between Edward P. Davis and Moses Richeson (20 acres for $20) may have been connected to Edward Davis' relationship with a woman and a child, Ann and Petticas Richardson, who were living with Moses Richeson during the I 870 census enumeration. This may have been Ann Rucker who lived along Brown Mountain Creek (at site 44AH0588) and practiced midwifery. 106

l ' Figure 4.5. Map of the Research Area (Adapted from the George Washington National Forest Topographical Map)

Moses Richeson and his family lived in a house on the eastern side of Brown

Mountain Creek at the base of Long Mountain (Staton Lot #3). 14 The log house was two stories and approximately 8 m x 5 m. There were two rooms downstairs and two upstairs

(Taft Hughes in Fener 1992). The house had an uncut stone foundation with unrefined log walls with chinking and mortar to prevent drafts. It had a front gable, with the chimney fall located to the north of the house (See Figures 4.6 and 4.7). Excavations revealed wooden floors and a porch at the front. The floor consisted of parallel beams

14 The site number for the house is 44AH0587. 107 approximately 60 cm apart with planks nailed across the beams. The porch, with rough­ hewn poplar supports, most likely functioned as an outdoor living and workspace. A number of small things -- tiny white ware and milk glass sherds -- were recovered during excavations at the entry to the house (Unit 02), most likely things that fell between the floorboards of the porch.

Excavations in the house (Units 01 and 03) and in the entryway (Unit 02) resulted in a limited number of diagnostic artifacts. The most predominant artifacts recovered were cut and wire nails. Based on the nails the house was built after 1815, although other artifacts recovered support a later occupation. From within the house, Units 01 and 03, two Flow Blue white ware sherds, in production between 1844 and 1860, and six fragments of an opaque white canning jar lid liner, circa 1869, were recovered. In

general, a limited number of ceramics were recovered. In Unit 01, a bone toothbrush head was recovered. The first patent for a toothbrush was by H. N. Wadsworth in 1857

(US Patent No. 18,653) in the United States, but mass production of the product only

started in 1885. Also, a buttonhook, Hammersmiths- Galveston- Houston, 5-1/8, was

recovered in Unit 02. The buttonhook is advertising for Hammersmiths, presumably a

department or shoe store, and was probably given-away with purchases. Little is known

about this specific buttonhook, yet buttonhooks have a fairly limited date range, from ca.

1880 to about 1914 (Mary Beaudry 2008, personal communication). A buckle, a blue

bead, a fragment of a comb and a number of white, four hole buttons were also

recovered. These artifacts support an occupation date between 1850 and 1914, yet they

also suggest that the house was occupied in the 1880s. 108

Unit Clothing Personal Food House Arms Archite Activities Other Total Type ways hold ctural STP 0 0 4 0 0 6 0 2 12 I x I 8 5 87 25 3 466 32 23 649 MDS 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 Total 8 5 91 25 3 472 32 25 661 Richeson Farmstead (44AH0587) Table 4.5. Total Artifact Counts in Functional Groups Recovered from Moses Richeson's Farmstead.

44AH0587 Moses Richeson's Farmstead

5m

Moderate slope

0 180m(013S0

Cl Appalachian Trail 0 J 60mra) 175" I 40m(u'. i 60"

,) 120m~d59"

0 20m@IS9"

• Positive STP O Negative STP t Slope

~I~ Figure 4.6. Map of Moses Richeson's Farmstead. 109

44AH0587 Richeson House Foundation with location of excavation units

i •E:JCll.:JCllll Im

• l \ ~!~"1 Chimney fall

Unit 0 I i Unit 03

Figure 4.7. Map of Moses Richeson's House with Excavation Units. 110

According to Taft Hughes, there was a little shed kitchen on the backside of the house 15 and a basement root cellar, a storage area for fruits and vegetables. Within the

walls of the Richeson's house, there appears to be a depression in the soil. This could

indicate a root cellar or possible storage area, although this was not located through

excavations. Root cellars were often dug on the side of hills and under farmhouses

because they stayed warm in the winter and cool in the summer (Robbins 2006; Sohn

2005: 50).

There are the remnants of a springhouse about 10 meters southeast of the house

foundation. The location of the farmstead was probably based in part on the proximity a

supply of clean, cold water (Wigginton 1977: 334). Springhouses were built to collect the

cool water and keep foodstuffs, such as crocks of milk, cheese, and butter, cool

(Wigginton 1977: 339).

Two outbuildings are located near the house. A small outbuilding (Outbuilding

01) which is about 2 m x 4 m in size and located approximately 10 m southeast of the

house, may have functioned as a storage shed. A larger one (Outbuilding 02) is about 4

m x 4 m in size and is located approximately 20 m northeast of the house foundation.

Outbuilding 02 may have functioned as a smokehouse. The structure may have had an

earthen wall on the north and log walls chinked with mud upon a stone foundation on the

other three sides. The smokehouse would have had waist-high shelves to store the meat

(Wiggington 1972: 1999), since smokehouses often served as pantries and were located

near the house (Robbins 2006). Inside the smokehouse slabs of pork were rubbed with

salt and placed on the shelves that lined the sides or on a large wooden table (Sizemore

15 During future research, this information will be tested. 111

1994: 114). Several pieces of bottle glass and a cast-iron stove door were recovered from the area suggesting that more materials might be encountered if the rubble was cleared away. In Boyd and Bowen's ( 1996) excavations of a smokehouse, most of the artifacts were related to food storage or preparation activities, such as broken jars or bottle glass

(Boyd and Bowen 1996: 115). A third possible outbuilding is located about 100 meters north of the house foundation. The remnants of a foundation, possibly a barn, approximately 15 m in width, are located close to the creek, near the remnants of an old roadbed.

The family grew tobacco, wheat and com and kept a garden to supplement the families' diet. Tractors weren't available to farming this rocky, mountain land through the tum of the twentieth century; therefore, plowing and planting would be done by hand or by horse or mule (Leftwich 1996: 110). Moses Richeson probably practiced a form of crop rotation. The land would be cleared of stones and the tree stumps were pulled out before it was planted with com.

For about three years they'd have com growing in there. And that com ... depleted the land of all of its nutrients, and after com they would come in there and plant a nitrous kind of plant to put something in the soil, and they'd come back in and they'd plant wheat. And they'd rotate the crops that way; they were always trying to get some new land (John Bowles quoted in Leftwich 1996: 111).

Figure 5 .2 depicts the different land uses in 1919. Large tracts of land were cleared for agriculture. A number of acres were utilized for animal grazing and about 20 acres was left to lie fallow in order to restore its fertility as part of a crop rotation.

The yard functions as part of the domestic compound but also as a mediating space between the public world and the constructed, private world of the dwelling (Heath

2000: 38). At the Richeson's, the yard that surrounded the house was most likely kept 112 clean by sweeping (Heath 2000: 43 Westmacott 1992). Rose bushes grew along the retaining wall bordering the creek and yucca and daffodils were planted to the western side of the house. Beyond gardening, socializing and relaxing out of doors, the

Richeson's probably used the spaces around their house to perform household chores such as cooking, laundering, butchering, and raising animals.

The yard consisted of active and peripheral areas (Heath 2000; Moir 1987). The active yard extends in a circle around the house, encompassing the storage shed, smokehouse, and springhouse (Outbuildings 01 - 03). Beyond the active yard space lies the peripheral yard, which is located north of the drainage at some distance from the house. This space provides the setting for the barn and garden. The negative data from the STP survey indicates that the relatively flat land north of the house may have been the location of the garden (See Figure 4.6). Various trees and vines were grown on the property producing fruit. The fruit growing on the property and the vegetables from the garden, were canned, placed in the smokehouse, rootcellar or springhouse for storage, or dried for later consumption. The yard was set aside for particular personal or group uses, including, but not limited to, food production and preparation, care and maintenance of animals, domestic chores, storage, recreation, and aesthetic enjoyment (Heath 2000: 38).

This mountain land was a home. The land in which the Richeson' s built their home become "the place of happenings: births, deaths, labor, friendships, disputes, and goings and comings of the generations" (Gundaker 1998: 15). Moses died in 1898. The land was divided between his wife Molly and their three children, Joseph, James and

Clara (Amherst County Land Records 1879: 379). In 1909, Molly Richeson deeded 143.5 acres, her dower right, to her son Joseph S. Richeson (Amherst County Land Records 113

1909: 226). Moses' sons, Joseph and James, continued to buy land in the area with

Joseph purchasing Lot #6 from Edgar N. and Josephene Staton in 1902. Tenant farmers rented land from Moses Richeson, and later his sons. One of the families will be discussed in the next section.

Eli Hughes: An African American Tenant Farmer

Eli Hughes, a former enslaved laborer, was a tenant on Moses Richeson's land.

After Moses' death in 1898, the Hughes family continued as tenants of Joseph Richeson,

Moses Richeson's son. Taft Hughes described their tenant arrangement as: "My dad [Eli] paid a fourth of his crop. If you owned your team (of horses), you only paid a fourth, but if you didn't own your team and the landlord had to furnish the team, you had to give half of what you made" (Benavitch 1992:8). This arrangement structured social relations between landowners and tenants with the location of the house and fields creating spatialized power relations.

Eli Hughes, born in 1865, was the son of William Hughes. Taft Hughes told Dave

Benavitch how his grandfather, William Hughes, came to Amherst County. 16

My granddad [William] was a slave. When the Richardson boy was to take his wife over here to Amherst to live the girl's daddy asked the girl what did she want for a wedding present. She said she wanted Billy. That was my granddad (Taft Hughes in Benavtich 1992).

The "Richardson" boy is James S. Richeson, a son of Jesse Richeson, who married

Nancy Douglas from Rockbridge County, Virginia, in 1842 (Bradley 1971: 22). Taft's

grandfather, William, was Nancy Douglas' slave. William changed his surname to

16 For a kinship chart, see the Appendix pages 217-220. 114

Hughes when he left Rockbridge County. When he was coming across the Blue Ridge, he decided, 'Well, I ain't going to be a Douglas when I get over there. I'm going to change my name to Hughes' (Benavitch 1992). Taft explains, 'Back in them times the

slaves went by the slaveholder's name. Like my mother, the Hiltons owned her, here in

Amherst, and she went by the name Lucy Hilton' (Taft Hughes in Benavtich 1992).

William Hughes married 'old Marsa's daughter by a slave woman', Susan Richeson (Taft

Hughes in Benavitch 1992). 17 Their son, Eli Hughes was born in 1865 just prior to the

end of slavery. Eli married Lucy Hilton and the couple had nine children, one of which was Taft Hughes.

As tenant farmers, Eli and Lucy Hughes rented a small two-story, side gabled, log

house at the base of Long Mountain (on Staton Lot #2). 18 The uncut stone house

foundation is approximately 7 m x 5 m with a chimney fall on the north end of the

structure. The house had two rooms upstairs, in which the family slept, and two rooms

downstairs, which functioned as living space (Benavitch 1992). The abundance of sheets

oftin recovered from the surface and from Unit 05 within the house foundation indicates

that the house had a tin roof. In addition, since a number of cut and wire nails were

recovered, the house construction dates to after 1815.

Excavations inside the house (Unit 05) resulted in a limited number of diagnostic

artifacts. A number of blue beads and white four-hole outer embossed buttons were

located. In addition, two French style translucent golden yellow hairpins were recovered.

17 According to the 1880 U.S. Census, William and Susan Hughes appeared to have tenant farmed near the convergence of Brown Mountain Creek and the Pedlar River, possibly on land owned by James Richeson.

18 The house the Hughes family rented is site number 44AH0586. 115

These hairpins were made from celluloid plastic, or imitation tortoise shell, which dates from 1868 to 1920. A 1919 buffalo Nickel was also recovered from Unit 05 inside the house foundation.

44AH0586 Hughes House Foundation with location of excavation units i •r••• N lm

Chimney fall Large oak tree

Unit 06

• I ,ighlening rod'?

Figure 4.8. Map of Eli Hughes' House with Excavation Units. 116

Also recovered in the STP and medal detector surveys, ten whiteware sherds with a partial maker's mark of"KNOW" were recovered. This mark is from the word,

Knowles, from the Taylor & Knowles Company of Eastport Liverpool, Ohio, which was in existence from 1870-1929 (Barnes and Robbins 2006; California State Parks n.d.). A fragment of a carbon arc rod from a carbon arc lamp was recovered. This type of lighting fixture was first invented in 1801 by Sir Humphrey Davy, but did not gain commercial success until the 1870s (Barnes and Holly 2006; Douma n.d. Goodman 1996; Troubled

Times n.d.). Touching two carbon rods that were connected to an electrical source generated light (Goodman 1996; Troubled Times n.d.). A Kerr's Self Sealing Mason jar circa 1903 was also found. The artifacts recovered at this house site suggest an occupation between 1868 and 1919.

Unit 06 was excavated along the eastern wall of the house foundation in between the wall and a second chimney fall. Artifacts recovered from Unit 06 and Taft Hughes recollections indicate that the space was a shed kitchen. Taft Hughes recalls his mother hung an iron pot in the fireplace to prepare beans and other dishes Benavitch 1992). A

collection of kitchen utensils, mainly spoons and knives, were recovered from Unit 06

(See Figure 4.10). One of the spoons had the maker's mark, Rogers. William Rogers was

a master American silversmith and a pioneer in the silverplate industry. The mark Wm.

A. Rogers was used as early as 1897 and became part of Oneida silver around 1929.

Another spoon with the maker's mark Crown Silver Company dates to circa 1870. In

addition, glass, two white ware sherds, and a number of buttons, including an N & W

Union Made button circa 1880 and a Virginia Military Institute Cadet button, were

recovered in the kitchen. The buttons suggest that the kitchen may have also functioned 117 as a place to wash the family's laundry (Jordan 2005). Most of the time laundry was done outside, but in the winter women would wash their clothes in the kitchen

(Wigginton 1973: 265). The Hughes family may have been taking in laundry to earn extra money.

Unit Clothing Personal Kitchen Furniture Arms Architectural Activities Other Total Type STP 1 0 21 2 0 7 0 5 36 1 x I 16 28 80 19 6 277 I 35 462 MDS 0 2 48 I 1 21 32 20 125 Total 17 30 149 22 7 305 33 60 623 Hughes Farmstead (44AH0586) Table 4.6. Total Artifact Counts in Functional Groups Recovered from Eli Hughes's Farmstead.

Figure 4.10. Unit 06 Excavated in the Shed Kitchen 118

~ 44AH0586 fi T"b"tory Eli Hughes' Farmstead ij _. .. //l.1· 240m@223" t ~ ,,, ==:=CJ springhouse :N ,,,_...,.-,_;:::.>- ;/ • .. /;::.:-.---- # .~~Om@21~ "' /// House founda~.n . '-f.)utb~iding I/ "- 1 I"'> iQI \ ( Apple orchard e - Shed kitchen/ \ \ 200m@2 I 2'' chimney fa}Y \ .

0 ~\' :~ I 80m(aj2 l 2° ; I B I i ~ ( ; ~

J.JJ 0 ff¢ 120m(q/202"

1/ I 00111(~~220" l80m@24-0"0

.:0:@205° Moderate slope

~ e Positive STP :·) Negative STP t Slope • MOS Positive

0 20m@183" Figure 4.8. Map of the Hughes Farmstead 119

There are two outbuildings on the property (See Figure 4.8). There is a small outbuilding (Outbuilding 01), about 3 m x 3 m, located approximately 10 meters northeast of house. Outbuilding 01 may have functioned as a smokehouse but no archaeological evidence was recovered to support this. A larger outbuilding (Outbuilding

02), approximately 5 m x 5 m in size, is located 30 meters northeast of the house foundation. Taft Hughes mentions another structure in the same area, but it is not observable on the surface (Benavitch 1992). These structures functioned as a tobacco barn and a stable where the family kept their horses (Taft Hughes in Benavitch 1992).

There is also a springhouse, located north of the foundation. The family would have stored milk and butter in the springhouse to keep it cool; this is supported by the stoneware sherds and glass recovered near the springhouse.

South of the house foundation, there is an unusual architectural feature consisting of a very large boulder with an overhang and a number of stone walls extending around it

(See Figures 4.10 and 4.11 ). The walls, about a meter high and 70-90 cm in width, form two pens -- the north and south pens and most likely functioned as a hog lot. The hogs were allowed to roam and fatten on the 'mast' of the forest -- acorns and chestnuts.

Farmers marked their hogs with identifying brands cut into the ear of each animal.

According to Wigginton (1972: 189), hogs to be slaughtered were rounded up and brought down out of the mountains to the farms where they were fed on corn for a week to a month. The enclosure (See Figures 4.10 and 4.11) would have housed the hogs before butchering. 120

Figure 4.11. Eliot Balasz, Taylor Smith and Bob Fener Mapping the Hog Enclosure

44AH0586 Hoglot at the Hughes Fannstcad Plan view i :N

Part ofi1 wall that has follen off the lar~c beJrock boulder y Small pile of stones. possibly debris from Large -;.roncs forming ch~aring fields the north pen wall North pen / e' ;<': I entrance?

Boulder Tree i .._, \ Nonh pen

Partially collapsed wall ;!

South pen

Largi:: rock)' rubbk, may be u C{lllapsed \\all Figure 4.12. Plan View of the Hog Enclosure. Map by Stephen Loring. 121

In addition to the care, maintenance and butchering of animals, the yard surrounding the Hughes's house was a place for food production and preparation, domestic chores, such as laundry, storage, recreation, and aesthetic enjoyment. The house was situated beside Brown Mountain Creek in a narrow floodplain. Two-headed daffodils were planted near the entrance (and still bloom in the woods today). The house was most likely surrounded by a swept dirt yard. The inner active yard, which encircles the house, included the springhouse, the smokehouse, and the shed kitchen. The shovel test pit

(STP) and a medal detector surveys revealed a pattern of artifact distribution with artifacts located along the stone fence line to the west of the house, along the mountain upslope to the east and south of the house to the hoglot. Along the stonewall, an oil lamp base, stoneware sherds, wire and cut nails, glass and farming implements such as the remnants of a horse drawn cultivator were recovered through the medal detector survey.

On the eastern side of the yard, a canning lid with a milk glass center, a fragment of a cast iron waffle iron with the maker's mark, & Leibrandt, 19 whiteware sherds, and glass were recovered. Aside from the sweeping pattern of the yard, these artifacts indicate that the active yard surrounding the house was used for performing household chores such as cooking.

The peripheral yard is located further from the house and provides the setting for the barn, apple orchard, hoglot and garden. On the western side of the stonewall, there was a small apple orchard bordered by Brown Mountain Creek (Taft Hughes in Fener

1992). Within the apple orchard, a number of artifacts from a carriage were recovered

19 Warnick & Leibrandt was a company Philadelphia that produced waffle irons (Stahl 2004). The waffle iron was most likely a gift from one of Eli and Lucy Hughes' children who moved to Philadelphia. 122 including a step, a spring and the frame of a seat. A number of barrel straps and a mattock head were also recovered.

To the north of the house, the land is steep as it slopes up Long Mountain. "We couldn't have a garden or anything there" (Taft Hughes in Benavitch 1992). The family garden, in which they grew potatoes, sweet potatoes, beans, molasses, and sugar beets, was most likely located on the flatter land south of the house. The negative data from the

STP survey indicates that the relatively flat land south of the house and hoglot may have been the location of the garden (See Figure 4.8). Near enclosure, a plow part with the maker's mark "Hunte" was recovered. The cast-iron plow was from Charles E. Hunter

Company in Fredericksburg, Virginia and dates to about 1892 (Wendel 2004: 346). In addition, the family grew tobacco, com, oats, and wheat on the land they rented from

Moses Richeson along Brown Mountain Creek. The wheat was carried up Long

Mountain to the Davis Mill and ground to flour for the family's use. The com also provided feed for the livestock and com meal for cooking.

The barns would have housed the horses and mules raised by Eli Hughes. A number of horseshoes and horseshoe nails were recovered with the medal detector survey, but more research is needed in the area of the barns. Eli Hughes may have sold the animals to people engaged in timbering or mining (Barfield 1996: 317). The raising of horses and hogs by the Hughes family indicates a level of self-sufficiency that may not have been an option for most tenant farming families. The Hughes family may not have owned legal title to the property in which they lived and worked, but they worked the

Appalachian landscape and made a home. 123

Race and Class Along Brown Mountain Creek

Prior to the Civil War, Moses Richeson lived and worked on one of the largest plantations in Amherst County. He was one of 39 enslaved laborers who worked Jesse

Richeson's 2,000 acres of land. Moses Richeson and the other 38 enslaved contributed to

Jesse Richeson's prestige by providing labor and by representing Jesse's purchasing power and wealth. Moses Richeson and the other enslaved laborers legitimated Jesse

Richeson's claim on the mountain land by making the land productive and also reinforcing his position as white and upper class.

Moses Richeson's class position was shaped by his position as miller with professional skills on a plantation. As a miller at the Richeson Mill, Moses Richeson moved between white and black worlds and occupied space other than the slave quarters, the tobacco fields or the Big House. The everyday interactions between the miller and the customers of the mill may have allowed Moses to meet and gain acquaintance with people who brought corn or timber to the mill. Yet as a mixed-race enslaved laborer with privileges on the plantation, it is difficult to know what his social position may have been in slave society.

Eli Hughes, on the other hand, experienced the legacy of slavery indirectly. Born in 1865, Hughes grew up in a household hearing stories about slavery. His family were enslaved on land owned by James Richeson, one of Jesse Richeson' s sons. After emancipation, his family were sharecroppers on land owned by James Richeson.

Sharecropping was not the most progressive option for former enslaved laborers following emancipation. Rather, sharecropping was a compromise solution to serious conflicts between landowners and emancipated slaves. The failure of radical land reform, 124 the demise of any hopes for 'forty acres and a mule' and a continuing concentration of land ownership in the hands of wealthy whites resulted in a strictly controlled system of production and marketing. Yet tenant farming was an important advance over slavery.

The legal and institutional rights to human property were abolished so that human beings could no longer be legally bought, sold, tortured or murdered under the guise of private property. In most cases, the diet, education, leisure time, and general standard of living of the emancipated improved (Mann 1989: 777), yet in parts of the south, sharecroppers had little hope of economic and social improvement landowners because they were in debt and immobilized (Comad 1965; Higgs 1977). When Eli Hughes began renting land from Moses Richeson, an African American, it most likely represented a change in power relations, since the ways both of these families experienced slavery shaped the social and economic conditions in which they engaged the world.

After 1865 when the slave labor system was outlawed, the number of farms in

Amherst County more than doubled (U.S. Bureau of the Census 1883: 94). An increasing number of African Americans secured tenancy arrangements or property of their own. But the majority of freed enslaved laborers were not landowners in 1870, and the goal of the govermnent to provide emancipated slaves with a small tract ofland for their families or "40 acres and a mule" failed (Oubre 1978: xv). Reconstruction did not destroy the landowning white aristocracy. Both poor whites and blacks tended to be dependent upon the planter class for their livelihoods as tenants and sharecroppers at the very time when their positions as farm laborers were diminishing in the face of gradual industrialization (Wilson 2001: 202). 125

Following the Civil War, the United States was profoundly transformed by the eradication of slavery, European immigration, mass marketing, and working-class formation (Agnew 1990; Mullins 1999: 22; Susman 1984). The post-Civil War period witnessed a dramatic expansion of anti-black racism which pitted racial groups against each other and undermined the plausibility of an interracial sociopolitical order (Mullins

1999: 22). As Paul Mullins (1999: 22) points out,

In the urban Northeast, race structured social identity through complex differentiations between groups such as Irish, Anglos, African American and native-born rural newcomers to the cities. In the South, on the other hand, popular discourse tended to distill racial differences into a stark black/white divide.

In Appalachia, the differentiation between groups was dependent upon the geographical location and economic opportunity. In mining communities, racial differentiation was complex as differing European immigrants competed for jobs with African Americans and Appalachian born whites. In areas sustained by a farming economy, racial difference were often based on the black and white binary. On the ground, this binary was more nuanced as class shaped internal and external racial differentiation.

African American ascension into freedom was troubling to both upper class landowners and aspiring white and European working class laborers, although for different reasons. After the Civil War, former enslaved laborers could aspire to and assume equal footing alongside "free" white laborers (Mullins 1999: 24). For the upper classes, what was unsettling about this statement was the social and material 'leveling' that could produce a mobile, interracial class structure that would unsettle the white domination (King 1875: 776; Mullins 1999: 23). 126

The relationships Moses Richeson built as the miller along with the money he earned surely helped Moses attain land after emancipation. Land ownership shifted spatialized power relations so that Moses Richeson now controlled the means of production as well as his leisure. He was able to determine who worked his land and how. With the purchase of land, Moses Richeson could be considered to have moved into the highest rung of the agricultural ladder of the rural class system -- a landowner with no mortgage. Yet placing Richeson on the agricultural ladder only provides a gradational view of class and only describes Richeson's specific circumstances. The agricultural ladder does not provide any insight into how race may have shaped his social position or the social relations which link Richeson's class position to other class locations (Wright 1997: 30). Aside from the fact that many white landowners were willing to sell land to Moses Richeson, it is difficult to know how white families living in the area surrounding Brown Mountain Creek may have related with Richeson. But a consideration of the ways Moses Richeson used the mountain landscape, participated in the market economy, and provided land to tenants provides a lens into his class position.

Moses Richeson owned 354 acres of land. He and his sons were listed in the

Chataigne Business Directory as principal farmers in Amherst County in 1893 (Chataigne

1893-1894: 204). Yet his house was small (8 m x 5 m) in contrast to his wealth. The house was not a temporary unfloored structure, rather it had a stone foundation with unrefined log walls, a log floor, windows and a porch. With Moses Richeson's economic position, it is surprising that he did not renovate the log house to frame and whitewash the walls, as was commonly practiced (McAlester and McAlester 2004: 84). 127

In the three mountain hollows in which Homing (2000a: 223) documents house types, 25 percent of the dwellings described in the tract records were built entirely of frame, 54 percent were constructed wholly of log, while the remaining 21 percent employed a combination of log and frame. The smallest houses were located in Corbin

Hollow, which was considered hit hardest by the depression since many of the families had given up farming in favor of wage labor. These contrast with housing in Nicholson and Weakley Hollows where houses averaged four rooms in size and were built on solid rock foundations with at least one chimney and often a subsidiary stone stove flue

(Homing 2000a: 223). Further analysis of the architecture located in the hollows surrounding Brown Mountain Creek would be necessary in order to determine if there is a similar trend in the area. But it is significant to note the Moses Richeson's house fits within the 54 percent of houses constructed wholly oflog on a solid rock foundation.

The house also appears similar in size and construction to houses in Nicholson and

Weakley Hollows, which, Horning (2000a) argues, demonstrates a variety of wealth and labor arrangements in Appalachia. The construction and size of Moses Richeson's house could indicate an unwillingness or inability to renovate with current fashions. Or it could indicate that owning land to pass down to future generations was more important than demonstrating wealth through the architecture of the family home.

Also, a limited number of material objects were recovered from Moses

Richeson's farmstead. Although items such as the toothbrush head and the buttonhook indicate that the Richeson family purchased items from local markets and were not isolated or outside the commercial mainstream as people of Appalachia are often stereotyped as being, few ceramics and glass wares were recovered. This differs from 128

Homing's (2000a) research in Shenandoah National Park and in some ways from the tenant home of Eli Hughes. In Shenandoah, a surface survey located an array of kitchen and dining wares, pharmaceutical items, military items, mail-order toys, 78 rpm record fragments, specialized agricultural tools, store bought shoes, and even automobiles, suggesting that mountain residents were as equally bombarded by mass consumer culture as were other early 20th century Americans (Homing 2000a: 215). Yet Moses Richeson died in 1898, he may have chosen not to participate as fully in the market economy during his life.

In fact, if artifact patterns are considered, the artifact assemblage recovered from

Moses Richeson's farmstead, particularly the architectural and kitchen functional categories, resembled the pattern for a 19th century slave or a 20th century tenant farmer more than a wealthy landowner (see Tables 4.5 and 4.7). As seen in Table 4.7, personal items and clothing have one of the highest frequencies (after architecture) reflecting an interest in showing their status in their personal appearance. The Richeson family appears to work towards demonstrating their class position through their dress and personal appearance, yet materially minimalize their class differences by living in an unrefined log house and purchasing limited items from local merchants. Minimalizing class differences as a strategy should not be seen as evidence that the Richeson's did not experience class differences. 0-.. N ......

Artifact Patterns Clothing Personal Food ways Household Arms Architectural Activities Pipes Other

18th-Cent. Carolina 2.95 0.29 59.51 0.35 0.19 27.58 1.35 7.80 0.00 (South 1977) 18th-Cent. Slave (Wheaton 0.49 0.05 77.39 0.07 0.17 17.81 0.51 3.53 0.00 et al. 1983) 19th-Cent. Slave (Resnick 1.00 0.10 24.30 0.00 0.00 70.80 0.30 0.00 0.00 1984; Drucker et al. 1984) 19th-Century SC Piedmont Tenant 1.50 0.30 72.30 . 0.00 0.00 22.10 3.80 0.00 0.00 (Trinkley and Caballero.1983) J9th-Cent. Piedmont Yeoman 1.80 0.40 45.10 0.40 0.00 50.00 1.80 0.00 0.00 (Drucker et al. 1984) 19th/20th-Cent. Piedmont Yeoman 1.00 0.50 60.70 0.00 0.00 36.70 1.00 0.00 0.00 (Resnick 1984) 20th-Cent. Tenant (Stine 3.08 0.00 40.07 0.69 0.69 54.11 3.77 0.00 0.00 et al. 1987) 19th/20th-Cent. Piedmont Yeoman 26.05 0.00 32.77 0.00 0.63 34.24 5.88 4.00 0.00 (Wheaton and Reed 1987)

Hughes Total Artifacts 2.73 4.82 23.92 3.53 1.12 ( 48.95 5.29 0.00 9.63

Richeson Total Artifacts 1.21 0.75 13.76 3.78 0.45 71.40 4.84 0.00 3.78

Table 4.7. Comparison of Artifact Patterns by Functional Group (Percentages). 130

Moses Richeson rented parcels of his 354 acres of land and a house to the Hughes family and potentially other families. Eli Hughes, born in 1865, was a share tenant who never experienced life as an enslaved laborer. Although stories of slavery were passed along, Hughes' experience differed from that of former enslaved laborers who sought land directly after emancipation. Hughes was able to secure a share tenancy arrangement, which differs from sharecropping. Sharecroppers were less independent than share tenants who paid a fourth of their crop and from cash tenants who only paid a flat rental sum for the use of a plot of land and house.

As share tenants, Eli Hughes and his family occupied a middle rung of the agricultural ladder or the rural class system. The middle rungs of the hierarchy consisted of tenants or renters that did not own the land they worked and hence possessed marginal control over the profits from the products they raised. In other words, as a landless household, the Hughes family was alienated from the means of production. Moses

Richeson, and later his sons, controlled the decision-making in regards to agricultural production and the land they worked.

Kayatekin (1996/1997) argues that tenant farming should be seen in its class constitution, since different processes of surplus labor appropriation and distribution characterize tenancy arrangements. Class analysis destabilizes the universal notions of sharecropping, sharecropper, landowner, and rent (Kayatekin 1996/1997: 32) and encourages the recognition of the varying historical, legal, and political conditions that define the relation of the tenant farmer to the means of production. Previous scholars have described various forms of tenancy arrangement such as cash tenancy, share tenancy

and sharecropping (See Table 2.5). It has been argued that sharecropping families were 131 both African- and Euro- American in descent, but in the South, African Americans were rarely able to obtain renting or share-renting arrangements (Conrad 1965; Wilkie 2000:

34). The Hughes family lived as share tenants, which differed from sharecroppers who only had their labor to offer. The Hughes family owned their work-animals and feed and seed, and paid the Richeson's one- quarter of the crop.

Although Taft Hughes told Dave Benavitch (1992) that the landowner didn't want the tenant farmers "to have too much because the landlord wanted to stay ahead, you know", the Hughes family were self sufficient and had a certain degree of independence since they owned their own work animals. The Richesons appropriated one-quarter of the crop produced by the Hughes family. Yet the Hughes also controlled the domestic and agricultural labor as well as their leisure. Eli Hughes raised hogs and horses and could sell them for a profit to supplement their income. The family also maintained a garden to supplement their diet.

Eli Hughes and his family lived on a narrow flood plain on the same side of

Brown Mountain Creek as Moses Richeson. A ridge of Long Mountain separated the houses from each other (See Figure 4.5). The ability to own would seem to signify a higher class positioning than a share tenancy arrangement, yet the material differences in the two farmsteads are minimal. Eli Hughes' house is similar to Moses Richeson's in size and construction -- small, two-story, log houses -- with a similar number of outbuildings. Yet the artifacts recovered at the Hughes farmstead -- the silverware, hairpins, and plow parts -- indicate a level of self-sufficiency and the ability to purchase items from local markets more than the Richesons. The Hughes family appears to take part in the mass marketing economy. Taft Hughes told Dave Benavitch (1992), 132

We would have old catalogs to look at. There was a company named Charles Williams Mail-order. Bell Hell, Montgomery Ward and Sears Roebuck. My mother did right much ordering if she could get some money.

The Hughes family participated in the market economy. When artifact patterns are considered (See Table 4.7), the artifact assemblages of the Hughes family resemble the patterns put forth for a 20th century tenant (Stine et al. 1987). As shown in Table 4.7, aside from architecture, personal items and clothing have the highest frequencies indicating that the family was working to improve their class position through their appearance.

The material culture from both the Richeson and the Hughes farmstead reflects similarities in occupational and economic factors, yet also historical differences in market economy. Changes brought forth at the tum of the century, particularly the spread of mass marketing, may indicate why there was a more diverse artifact assemblage at the

Hughes farmstead. The architecture and material culture from both the Richeson and the

Hughes farmstead reflects similarities in occupational and economic factors, yet also historical differences in the market economy.

Moses Richeson and Eli Hughes lived and worked upon the mountain land in

Amherst County, Virginia. The ways both men experienced race and class was connected to their relationship to the means of production as well as the legal, political and social conditions that shaped their relations with each other as well as people and institutions locally, regionally, and nationally. Moses Richeson and Eli Hughes' biographies provide lenses in which to examine the ways that struggles over the natural environment both create and express racial and classed ideologies and stereotypes in postbellum Appalachia, since both men use the Appalachian land as an instrument of 133

labor and as an object of self-improvement. The landscape is marked by their efforts to

improve their lives.

Yet the tenancy arrangement was one way that structured social relations and

everyday interactions along Brown Mountain Creek. Activities, such as crop harvestings, hog butcherings, com shuckings, house raisings, and log rollings, required that all

participants acknowledge the social ties that bound them. The similar racial position and

the spatial and practical activities that followed from blackness amid the powerful white

world most likely unified the African American families. But the same activities also

made clear class differences between those who could call upon a significant amount of

extra-household labor and those who could not. The landowners or persons with a

particular amount of wealth or status could call upon the most extra-household labor and

the tenants were more likely the ones to be called upon. Both the Richeson and the

Hughes families shared mixed race ancestry, but landownership and the ability to call

upon extra-household labor structured class differences among the African American

families along Brown Mountain Creek.

Spacing Segregation: Mapping Race and Class

At regional and national scales, the institutional landscape reflected racism and

inequality. One of the ways to understand race and class in the 19th century is to analyze

the U.S. Census data. The U.S. Census provides a map of racial and class designations

marking people as black, white, or other and provides information about economic status

by indicating property value and whether a person owns or rents land. The U.S. Slave

Schedules record the names of slaveholders, but generally do not provide personal names 134 for the enslaved laborers. Enslaved laborers were viewed as property rather than people with identities and individuals were simply numbered and distinguished by age, sex, and color.

Prior to 1870, the Census takers only marked race for people of color in the Pedlar

District of Amherst County. This indicates that unless someone was given 'race', the people living within the households surrounding the Pedlar River were considered

'White'. Whiteness is unmarked and only people of color -- 'Blacks,' 'Mulattos' or

'Indians' are considered to have 'race'. At this time, the term 'Mulatto' was used to identify anyone of mixed race. The one drop rule, or the law of hypodescent, denies black/white interracial persons a legitimate claim to whiteness and assigns them to a lower rung of the heritage hierarchy (Pabst 2003: 178).

Thus, mixed-ness and racial diversity are obscured in the U.S. census. For example, in the 1870 census, Moses Richeson is listed as 'Mulatto' and his wife and children are listed as 'Black'. In 1880, Moses Richeson and his entire family are considered 'Mulatto'. After 1880 the letter 'M' was supplanted with the letter 'B' in

Amherst County and the distinction of 'Mulatto' was no longer found in county records

(Rice 1991: 18; Cook 2002: 59). In all of the following census records the family was considered Black, since anyone of mixed race was identified as 'Black'. Therefore, at the turn of the 20th century, the diversity of racial experiences in the U.S. was replaced with a monolithic Black subject. The documentary changes seemed to reflect the fears of white elites and state officials concerning their own perceived loss of power if people of color were treated as equals (Cook 2000: 68). 135

With the purchase of land, Moses Richeson controlled the means of production and his leisure. Yet Richeson was still a part of a larger system of spatialized power shaped by Jim Crow racism and Black Codes that limited economic opportunities (as discussed in Chapter 2). Black Codes were enacted to limit the freedom of former enslaved laborers, determining where African Americans could attend school or church and which side of the creek they could live .

.. •=· Figure 4.13. Ruth Hughes's Grave Marker in an Unmarked Cemetery on Brown Mountain; James, Josephus and Clara Richeson's Grave Markers at Piney Mountain Church Cemetery

For example, Edward I. Davis, the son of a Euro-American and a Pee Dee Indian from South Carolina, was a wealthy plantation owner in Amherst County. Edward Davis donated money to fund Asbury School and Church. Upon his death in 1888, Edward I. was buried in the church cemetery, but some time later the community forced the family to remove his remains from the cemetery because of his mixed-race heritage (Philip

Davis, personal communication 2008). The cemetery was reserved for 'white' people

and although Edward Davis' family had helped fund the church, people of mixed race 136 were not allowed in this space deemed white. During this time of segregation, the white families of Amherst County were firming up the 'race' lines marking people of color as

'not white' and delineating the spatial boundaries of whiteness.

Prior to 1929, African Americans were buried in family cemeteries on mountain land. The Hughes family buried a daughter in a small, unmarked cemetery on Brown

Mountain. At this cemetery, the graves are marked with stones or in few cases with carved stones (see Figure 4.12). After 1929, the Hughes and the Richeson families were buried at Piney Hill Baptist Church cemetery.20 The African American church was founded in 1857 and Joseph Richeson, Moses Richeson's son, was the preacher at the church. The church provided space for internal definition as church member created a sense of "blackness" as a place to worship and a place to socialize with friends and neighbors. At the same time, the church was also a space for people to externally differentiate themselves, by generating a belief in difference from their neighbors -- through their dress and appearance.

Prior to 1919, there were no schools for African American students along Brown

Mountain Creek. Instead of gathering with other children to learn how to read, write and do math, the children, such as Taft Hughes, who lived along Brown Mountain Creek helped their families with chores around the farm. The fact that these children did not travel to and from school on a daily basis or learn about history or geography shaped their . social and spatial experiences. Yet despite the lack of infrastructure for African

20 The location of the church has moved three times. With the acquisition of land by the National Forest Service, the church moved to its current location on Slapp Creek Road. The Hughes family and Moses Richeson's children, Joseph, James and Clara, are buried at the church. 137

American families in rural Amherst County, according to the census, these families learned to read and write.

The spatiality of race and class changed over time, yet segregation marked the mountain landscape. In rural settings, the effects of Jim Crow are not marked as blatantly with signs designating where Blacks are welcome. The signs of Jim Crow are more subtle with African Americans living on one side and Euro-Americans living on the other.

Segregation and racism were a part of everyday life, yet race and class were nuanced. Social relations were shaped and transformed through individual experiences.

Taft Hughes recounts a story, saying,

I remember my mother and father telling me another story about Jim Richardson.21 He was a slaveholder. My mother and father had two children at the time. She said after she had lunch, she fixed a lunch up and sent it up by my dad to Jim Richardson. He lived down near the Pedlar ... My dad said that when he got there with the lunch, he was sitting there grating him some com. My dad said that here was some lunch that Lucy sent you. He said that he dropped his head and commenced crying. Tears run down in his com. He just laid his grater aside.

Dave Benavitch asked Taft why he thought Jim Richeson was crying. Taft responded,

I reckon it was his conscience. He had been their marsa. They was his slaves, and here they was doing that for him. You couldn't hold it against them because them days black people owned slaves too. They bought and sold slaves too, until I believe, 1831. It ain't no difference in people slaving you, what race they are. They brought white people here and slaved them too.

Lucy and Eli Hughes's relationship with Jim Richeson demonstrates the complexity of social relations in everyday life. The institutional landscape brought forth by Black Codes and Jim Crow did not dictate relationships across race and class lines.

21 In the 1860 slave schedules and the 1860 census, Jim Richardson is not located in Amherst County. This is James Richeson. See Chapter 3 for a discussion of the name Richeson/Richardson. 138

Class is relational -- it develops meaning through these everyday actions within historical contexts.

As individuals, Jesse Richeson, Moses Richeson and Eli Hughes shaped and modified the landscape to provide housing, accommodate the systems of production and reproduction, facilitate communication and transportation, mark social inequalities and express aesthetics. Through these everyday actions, these individuals and the landscape gather time, movement and change. The families making a living on the land and the land itself are constantly transformed, and these transformations of person and the landscape are tied up with each other (Gosden and Marshall 1999: 169). As Jesse

Richeson, Moses Richeson and Eli Hughes negotiated the landscape, race may not have played an important role in the procurement, use and reuse of material items, yet the history of struggles over land and labor shaped classed relations and the social construction of race. By examining individuals, such as Moses Richeson and Eli Hughes, living and working in the mountains of Amherst County, Virginia, one can see how local developments articulate with the regional and national changes taking place. It shows how ideologies of racial difference were used to mitigate struggles over natural resources.

The racialization that occurred as white elites and state officials attempted to fortify the color line and distance Whites from Blacks and European immigrants and evade the immense class tensions within the U.S replaced the diversity ofracial and classed experiences with a monolithic Black subject (Mullins 1996: 538). Class rarely figured in popular discourses after the Civil War. Instead, those discourses fixated on race and recast pervasive class turmoil as the inevitable product of various non-white racial groups, especially blacks (Mullins 1999: 24). 139

In Appalachia, enslaved laborers have remained a people without history because too many researchers have claimed that 'the peculiar institution' never influenced mountain culture and society (Dunaway 2003b: 5). Few studies have traced African

American descendants living in the mountains after the Civil War to specific plantations.

The stereotypes of Appalachia -- as white, poor, and peculiar emerge from a specific time in Appalachia's history -- during industrialization -- when the mountains were commodified for mining and timber and color writers and scholars re-discover the region.

In Amherst County, the farm and forest economy was changing as a result of industrialization by 1900. With the construction of the Norfolk and Western railroad and the growth of nearby cities, the land owned by Moses Richeson and his sons was re­ valued as the city of Lynchburg, grew and looked toward the Blue Ridge Mountains as a

source of water and recreation. As Appalachia's economy shifted from farming to

industry, including timber, mining and the railroad, farm families who had made a living

from the land found it more difficult to support themselves. The shift away from the

farm economy left many Appalachian families in poverty. Ironically, as people of color

were being classified as monolithic black subjects, Appalachia was being represented as

the region of white poverty. The diversity of racial and class experiences in the region

were obscured by the focus on poor white families at the tum of the century rather than

the economic changes that placed those families in poverty. CHAPTERS

CLEARANCE: FROM FARMS TO FORESTS, 1890 TO 1920

Conservation is the foresighted utilization, preservation and ... renewal of forests, waters, lands and minerals, for the greatest good of the greatest number for the longest time - Gifford Pinchot, The Fight for Conservation

In 1890, land took on new meanings with the census declaration that the nation had reached the end of the frontier. The concept of resource exhaustibility became a source of mounting anxiety (Magoc 2002: 111; Turner 1920). The frontier which once promised inexhaustible resources was beginning to be recognized as finite as mining and timber companies controlled and exploited more and more of the land. The capital investment in the railroad and basic industries in the last decades of the 19th century lifted expansion to a crescendo and transformed much of Appalachia from a rural agricultural economy to one in which major sub-regions became dependent on industry

(Lewis 2004: 59). The extraordinary wastefulness that accompanied the extraction of natural resources fed the maturation of industrial capitalism between the Civil War and

World War I. The economic development from the industrial revolution and the

expansion of cities combined with factors such as population growth, the timber boom,

and the conservation movement to transform the farm and forest economy, dislocate farm

families, and recreate the Appalachian landscape.

At the same time, the land the Richeson family owned was revalued as people in

the city looked to the Blue Ridge Mountains as a source for their domestic water supply.

140 141

The land that had made the family a living, given them freedom from slavery, and provided sustenance and a means of production was increasingly coveted by the City of

Lynchburg. Clearance, or the removal 'of people from their homes and lands, marked the mountain landscape as farm families sold their land to city and federal governments. The lives of the African American families living along Brown Mountain Creek were transformed as visions of how to acquire and protect a water supply -- or conserve nature

-- favored some groups of people over others. As the federal and local governments moved in to manage natural resources, the people who had depended on such lands for food and livelihood found their interests disregarded. The clearance of the Appalachian landscape ruptured the sense of belonging, home, identity, and meaning (Smith 2008: 23) the African American families had built.

Archaeologists such as Audrey Homing (2000b, 2001) have used archaeology as a tool for recovering the forgotten histories of displaced peoples. Homing (2000a) used community-based archaeology as a way to identify displaced people and to reestablish their voices in the history of the Shenandoah National Park. Similar to Homing, this chapter considers race, class and clearance in the transformation of farms to forests as the government moved to manage natural resources in a more economically viable way. I trace the rise of the conservation movement, displacement and the creation of National forests and discuss how these changes affected people's lives.

Conservation is primarily viewed as a battle over ideas about nature with little consideration to how the establishment of national parks, forests, and wildlife preserves impacted farm families. To understand race, class and displacement, I rely heavily on 142 archival research. I will consider the discourses used to justify the land purchase by the

City of Lynchburg and the transfer ofland from the City of Lynchburg to the U.S. Forest

Service. I compare the rights -- including burial rights, land use, payment -- that were included in purchase agreements. I also examine the landscape itself with an emphasis on what people left behind.

Conservation as a National Agenda

In the U.S. during the colonial period, wilderness referred to desolate wild places untouched by civilization, which the first settlers set about improving, fencing and farming. For most of the 19th century, the federal government disposed of the nation's natural wealth to railroad, mining, and timber groups, which claimed the land as private property and exploited it for what it was worth (Steinberg 2002: 154). By the late 19th century, however, the meaning of 'wilderness' had undergone a change. In the 1870s, as industrialization was changing lives in more populated areas, there was a growing need to take refuge from it (Magoc 2002: 56). Wilderness areas were increasingly viewed as places of natural beauty in need of the most zealous of care (Steinberg 2002: 148).

According to historian Ted Steinberg, the story generally told about conservation goes something like this.

President Roosevelt, an avid outdoor enthusiast, believed the government needed to intervene to save the nation's forests, streams and other natural resources from rapacious loggers, ranchers, and market hunters alike. To carry out this mission, Roosevelt named Gifford Pinchot to head the newly formed U.S. Forest Service in 1905. Pinchot and his colleagues in the conservation movement, many drawn from fields such as forestry, geology, and hydrology, felt that a rational plan for organizing the nation's use of its natural resources was in order. Business leaders driven by unrestrained competition for timber, water, and grass, they held, would 143

have to cede authority to expert government planners, with their scientific background, who would see to the most efficient use of the country's wealth (Steinberg 2002: 138-9).

Theodore Roosevelt became president as the country faced growing urban poverty, poor working class conditions, and high accident rates. The rich were getting richer as big business consolidation increased. As President, Roosevelt held the ideal that the government should be the great arbiter of the conflicting economic forces in the

Nation, especially between capital and labor, guaranteeing justice to each and dispensing favors to none. The creation of the Forest Service was one of the ways in which

Roosevelt sought to establish the national government as experts to oversee the national economy. With the creation of the Forest Service, Roosevelt shifted the economic power from the hands of industry -- the wealthy timber and mining companies -- to the US government.

Thus Roosevelt, Pinchot, and other conservationists were not interested in preserving nature untouched, rather they wanted to stand guard to ensure that nature was used in the wisest, most efficient way possible. Conservation "sought to bend nature to conform to the desires of humankind" (Steinberg 2002: 141) without necessarily considering ecological complexity, 1 and favoring some groups of people over others.

Gifford Pinchot was born in 1865 in Simsbury, Connecticut. His family included well-to-do upper-class merchants, politicians, and land owners. He entered Yale in 1885, and after graduation he went to study Forestry in France (Forest History Society 2005).

After studying scientific methods of timber management, Pinchot returned to the US and

1 This resulted in devastating wildfires, game explosions and insect outbreaks. 144 became a leading proponent of managing American forests in the same way -- for long- term 'sustained yield'. In 1891, the Forest Organic Act was passed establishing the nation's first Forest Reserves. This law permitted the President to create Forest Reserves out of unappropriated, timber portions of the public domain -- land which was already in

Federal ownership and not dedicated to any specific purpose or use. Virtually all of this land was in the West, most of it in or beyond the Great Plains (Anonymous n.d.: 9). The subsequent 1897 Forest Management Act made clear Pinchot's philosophy and the overriding purpose of the National Forests: 'to furnish a continuous supply of timber for the use and necessities of citizens of the United States'. In his tenure with the Forest

Service, Pinchot vigorously implemented the national forests and reshaped the American landscape by determining which trees could be cut and when, depending upon the varying regenerative growth rates of forests in particular regions of the country. To ensure a continuous supply of expert personnel to do the job, Pinchot's family money helped to establish the first school of forestry at Yale University. Its philosophy was that smartly managed timber could be extracted forever, much like com (Magoc 2002: 111).2

The Roosevelt administration withdrew 53 million acres from the public domain to create 23 new national forests. Additional millions were placed off limits to mining and electric power development. Competitive bidding and permitting now regulated timber cutting and cattle grazing on the expanded public domain. Charged by industrialists with imposing a socialistic regime, conservationists in fact shaped a future that would be defined in the decades to come largely by a close association of expert

2 The transfer of the National Forest Reserves to the U.S. Department of Agriculture during President Theodore Roosevelt's administration symbolized this approach (Magoc 2002: 111). 145 government managers and large, organized (and presumably efficient) timber, cattle, and agricultural interests. Progressive conservationists aimed not to prohibit but to regulate and manage private use of greatly expanded government lands (Magoc 2002: 112).

Pinc hot' s ( 1910) management approach -- to provide indefinitely 'the greatest good for the greatest number of people' -- became the guiding principle for managing the nation's other public lands for most of the 20th century, although not without contention

(Magoc 2002: 112). With the birth of conservation, the federal government shifted roles from gift giver to expert overseer, assuming control over large sections of the continent and seeking to manage them, as Pinchot (1910) noted, in the interests of the American people. Theodore Roosevelt's conservation movement reshaped the Appalachian landscape as farmland became forest. As the land became property of the federal government, white, upper class men such as Pinchot and a new professional class of foresters took control of the land. In many ways, these new forests were a gift to the

American people. Yet the interests of forestry -- managing nature in economically viable ways -- cleared the histories of the people who once lived on the land.

Timber in Appalachia

When timber cutters had cleared most of the pristine forests from the northeastern

United States, vast areas of southern Appalachia remained almost untouched by industrial logging. Virgin timber covered hundreds of thousands of acres partly because railroads had not reached the inaccessible terrain preventing large-scale commercial lumbering operations. This delayed exploitation contributed to the subsequent intensive logging 146 which began in the 1870s and 1880s. Speculators traveled with or in advance of the railroads. They purchased ridge land, timber rights, and mineral rights from farmers who rarely knew the true value of their property or the impact that mining and lumber would have on their land. Wit the sale of these rights, many mountain farmers, white and black, lost their agricultural productivity and became dependent on wage labor in mines and sawmills (Yarnell 1998: 18).

By 1900, southern Appalachian timber accounted for 30 percent of the nation's hardwood lumber production. Lumber production in the mountains of Virginia reached its peak in 1909, at the climax of Appalachian logging. That year Virginia sawmills cut more than two billion board feet of lumber and ranked sixth nationally in production; the entire Appalachian region produced 40 percent of the nation's lumber in that same year

(Sarvis 1993: 170).

The large companies in the timber industry that were positioned in the market with established sources of capital survived over the long term. Their size allowed them to benefit from economies of scale, and their access to capital enabled them to weather the booms and busts of the business cycle but also eventually to drive the multitude of small to mid-sized competitors from the field. These large absentee companies also acquired a disproportionate influence over Appalachia's economy and with legislators

and jurists eager to secure their investments in the law, they also acquired an inordinate

political influence as well. The financial benefits derived from the forest industry accrued to a select few over the short term, whereas the costs of the widespread destruction were

borne by the taxpayers (Lewis 1998: 264). 147

By the turn of the century, the timber industry in Virginia was booming and the consequences of clear-cutting the Appalachian Mountains were momentous, since the rivers that flowed down into the heavily populated industrialized regions of the eastern

United States found their headwaters there (Lewis 1998: 286). This resulted in increased concern about the conservation of mountain land. The national forests that Pinchot organized after he became chief in 1898 were located in the Western parts of the United

States, because they were created from land already owned by the federal government.

Nothing authorized the purchase of private lands for reserves, as was necessary in the

Appalachians. Yet agitation for the purchase of public land in southern Appalachia had begun soon after the 1891 law that established reserves in the public domain (Bolgiano

1998: 90).

In Asheville, NC in November 1899, the Appalachian National Park Association, which later became the Appalachian National Forest Reserve Association, was founded.

The group prepared a memorial urging congress to establish a National Park in the southern Appalachians.3 The result was an appropriation of $5,000 to be used by the

Department of Agriculture to investigate forest conditions in the Appalachians

(Anonymous n.d.: 17). In 1901, the Secretary of Agriculture submitted a report concerning the Appalachian Region. Among his conclusions were:

The rivers which originate in the Southern Appalachians flow into or along the edges of every State from Ohio to the Gulf and from the Atlantic to the Mississippi. Along their courses are agricultural, water-power, and navigation interests whose preservation is absolutely essential to the well-being of the

3 The memorial was presented to Congress by Senator Jeter C. Pritchard of North Carolina on January 4, 1900. 148

nation .... The regulation of the flow of these rivers can be accomplished only by the conservation of the forests (USDA 1902: 39-40).

Following the investigation, it was determined that a forest reservation should be established in the Appalachian region and that economically a Forest Reserve was better suited to the region than a National Park (Anonymous n.d.: 18). The Senate approved ten million dollars for land purchases in the Appalachian region (Sarvis 1993: 169). Yet there was no legislation or policy for purchasing land.

The national focus on watershed protection in the eastern United States culminated in the 1911 Weeks law. It provided for the acquisition of National Forest areas in the East and created the National Forest Reservation Commission which was charged with the purchase of land on the headwaters of navigable streams (American

Tree Association 1924 ). In 1924, the Clarke-McNary Law modified the land acquisition feature of the Weeks Act by providing that land could be purchased on the watershed as well as on the headwaters of streams, and it added timber production to the purposes of the acquisition (Anonymous n.d.: 23).

The Weeks Act ( 1911) enabled the National Fore st Reserve Commission to buy

260,000 acres of Virginia lands in five 'purchase units' (Sarvis 1993: 170). In

Appalachia, thirteen areas were defined. In Virginia these purchase units consisted of:

Potomac (478,717 acres), Massanutten Mountain (152,946 acres), Natural Bridge

(106,564 acres) and White Top (also parts in TN, 255,027 acres).4 The George

Washington National Forest and the Thomas Jefferson National Forest emerged from

these purchase units between 1911 and 1935. The Natural Bridge National Forest was

4 The Potomac also consisted of land in West Virginia and White Top also consisted ofland in Tennessee. 149 formed in 1919 as part of. Around 1935, the Natural Bridge National Forest was incorporated into the George Washington National Forest. In 1995 the George

Washington National forest was combined with the Jefferson National Forest. I refer to the forest as the George Washington and Jefferson National Forests, but the area I discuss is located in the Pedlar District of the George Washington National Forest.

11'0rr-"''~, t ~ ...'1i I R Gl'N· ···&.. wline . I"",.,~ ?;I 15--- . .,,_ .. ay ~ Figure 5.1. George Washington National Forest.

The Weeks Act transformed the system of land distribution in the United States,

particularly Appalachia. Following the pillage of mountain land by timber and mining

interests, the white upper class forestry interest groups advocated for the government

purchase of mountain land, the use value of the land changed from family farm to

scientifically managed forests. The people who made their livelihoods on the land 150 coveted by the National Forests were pressured to sell their property. With the sale of the land, families moved to neighboring cities or farther away to northern cities such as

Baltimore and Philadelphia where they had family or friends with the hope of getting a job.

Clearing Landscapes: Abandoned, Expelled and Depopulated

The purchase of land to conserve water and forests required the displacement of families who relied upon the land for food and livelihood. Conservation -- whatever its merits -- did not function in the interests of all Americans. At the core of the movement stood the clash over class and racial politics (e.g., Perdue and Martin-Perdue 1979-1980;

Spence 2000; Walker 1998). As Steinberg notes, as the federal government moved in to try its hand at managing forests in the name of tourism and logging, "Native Americans and poor whites, who had depended on such lands for food, found their interests shoved to the side" (2002: 141).

For landscapes to be 'preserved', cultures and ways of living had to be dispersed

(Powell 2002). Numerous scholars have studied the displacement of people in the building ofNational Parks and Forests (e.g., Horning 2000a, 2000b, 2001; Powell 2002; Spence 2000;

Walker 1998) and this continues to be a critical issue globally (e.g., Cernea and Schmidt-

Soltau 2003; Chatty and Colchester 2002). For example, Spence (2000) places national park history within the context of the early reservation era; he details the connections between the development of national parks and the policies of Indian removal. In a study of the building of the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA), Walker (1998) argues that thriving African 151

American communities were disrupted by the dislocation process, since the TV A programs, shaped by a policy to remove marginal farmers from the land, were structured to favor prosperous landowning families over poorer owners and tenants of both races. In all cases, for the land and the water to be conserved, families, cultures, and ways of living had to be dispersed.

In Appalachia, the narratives used to justify displacement were often based on stereotypes. For example, Ellen Churchill Semple wrote:

In one of the most progressive and productive countries in the world, and in that section of the country which has had its civilization and wealth longest, we find an area where the people are still living the frontier life of the backwoods, where the civilization is that of the eighteenth century ... where the large majority of the inhabitants have never seen a steamboat or a railroad, where money is as scarce as in Colonial days, and all trade is barter. These conditions are to be found throughout the broad belt of the Southern Appalachians ( 1910: 561 ).

The emphasis on poverty ignored the multiple levels of self-sufficiency, wealth, and education of the population as a whole. Some mountain residents lived in poverty, but as recent research shows, many of them had only recently become destitute because of the

1890s depression (Powell 2002: 4).

Homing (2000a, 2000b, 2001) argues that the views and histories of the Appalachian people living in the Shenandoah Valley were intentionally forgotten by the federal government in order to build the Shenandoah National Park. In the 1930s, the federal government condemned lands, displaced communities, and created a history of the lands as pristine. Homing argues that the establishment of the Shenandoah National Park imposed the

'boundaries and the physical isolation that did not exist when the hollows were plowed,

planted, and awash with the daily activities of a thriving historic population' (2001: 211 ). Her 152 research (2000a, 2001) demonstrated that archaeology can shatter stereotypes about

Appalachian people and ask hard questions such as why hundreds of people were evicted from their homes and their farms destroyed.

The Forest Service, influenced by Pinchot's conviction that the people living closest to national forests should be happy with them, decided at the beginning to purchase land only from willing sellers. The Forest Service advertised in local papers for willing sellers of land within areas it designated as purchase units (Bolgiano 1998: 91 ). Historian Will Sarvis ( 1993:

171) argues that the settling land disputes and clearing titles through 'friendly condemnation' was not the same as the forced displacement of Appalachian residents that took place during the 1930s in places like Cade's Cove, Shenandoah National Park and the Norris Basin area.

In these areas a massive, concentrated and aggressive acquisition of a consolidated area was characterized by incidents of forced physical displacement -- even to the extent of burning residents' houses -- unfair land value assessments, and unscrupulous legal proceedings

(Sarvis 1993: 171 ). In contrast, acquisitions for the Jefferson National Forest during this

period involved fragmented tracts, willing sellers, and legal proceedings to establish clear titles. Sarvis (1993) argues that in part the difference arose from the Forest Service mission,

which dictated that national forests should satisfy as many different groups interested in the

various forest resources as possible.

Different methods have been used to displace peoples in the name of conservation. In

the following section, I discuss the clearance of the land owned by Moses Richeson and his

sons and the building of a National Forest. I use Gazin-Schwartz's (2008) variables, cause, 153 response, and locus of decision making, to understand the environmental and cultural changes that took place.

From Farms to Forests: Depopulation in the Blue Ridge Mountains

At the tum of the 20th century, the land that Moses Richeson and his sons plowed, planted and harvested along Brown Mountain in the Blue Ridge Mountains gained value as part of a plan to protect the city of Lynchburg's water supply. As more manufacturing plants were built above the City's intake on the James River, the dumping of industrial waste eventually caused the James to become unfit for use domestically

(Wingfield 1974: 3). Surveys revealed that the Pedlar River in Amherst County was of sufficient height to furnish a flow of water to Lynchburg by gravity (Wingfield 1974: 3-

4). The city of Lynchburg wanted the land on the Pedlar tributaries, Brown Mountain and Swapping Camp Creeks, to protect the new water supply. The mountain land that provided a livelihood for farm families took on new meaning as the City of Lynchburg, and later the Forest Service, began to acquire it. The clearance of families transformed the social relations and ruptured the sense of belonging, home and identity that were a part of that mountain landscape. 154

Figure 5.2. The Blue Ridge Mountains

The Pedlar Reservoir

There was considerable opposition to the project since it was estimated to cost approximately $700,000.00. However, a bond issue was passed in a general election in

1903 (Washington Post 1903: 4; Wingfield 1974: 4). The plan was approved and pronounced practicable by the city engineer and a prominent New York engineer

(Washington Post 1903: 4). (See Figure 4.5. for location of the Pedlar Reservoir).

Of the budget for the proposed reservoir, $60,000 was allotted for land and right­ of-ways (Fuertes 1903). Land in the immediate vicinity of the dam and reservoir on the

Pedlar River was purchased from landowners. For instance, in 1903, Joseph and Laura E.

Cunningham sold their 130- acre tract of land for $2,500 and Samuel B. and Ollie 155

Higginbotham sold 385 acres of land for $2,500. Construction operations consisted of the construction of a concrete dam 90 feet high and 415 feet long and the installation of wood, steel, and cast iron pipeline, 30 inches in diameter and 21 miles long (Wingfield

1974: 4). Water from the new source was delivered to the City in September of 1907.

To protect the water supply, H. L. Shaner, the City Water Commissioner, proposed buying all of the land lying in the watershed of the Pedlar River between the dam site and Oronoco (Fuertes 1903: 5). The 1903 report stated:

It would be as good, from all points of view, as any surface water supply, and safer than the supplies of Boston, New York, Liverpool and Glasgow, for the reason that the sources of Pedlar river are in an almost uninhabited mountainous district, and for the further reason that the entire watershed above the dam is to be depopulated as a protective measure" (Fuertes 1903: 6).

Water protection required a depopulated mountain landscape and the land became valuable as forest rather than its potential for agricultural production. The people who lived on this land were seen as detriments to clean water and their livelihoods were overlooked.

At the same time, farmers were intensifying agricultural production by cultivating more land. From 1890 to 1920, farm sizes decreased, but an increased number of farmers were cultivating the same amount or more acres of land. For example, in 1920, 47 people owned farms with 100 to 499 acres. In 1930, the number had decreased to 30. Yet the number of smaller farms (consisting of less than 100 acres) increased as farm families were displaced and tenancy expanded creating increased pressure on the land as more acreage was being farmed (U.S. Census 1890-1930). This change in farming practices could be seen in the Pedlar watershed with erosion and sedimentation. The 1903 report continues:

On some of the hill slopes and in wider valleys the soil has been cultivated to a certain extent for the raising of tobacco and com and other farming products, 156

while the steeper hill sides and mountains are valueless except for timber. .. Brown's Mountain creek and Sw(a]pping Camp creek, however, bring in red clay from the cultivated fields along their valleys. It is the intention of the city ... to purchase the land along all these creeks, and the character of the water from Brown's Mountain and Sw(a]pping Creeks can then be greatly improved (Fuertes 1903: 7).

The purchase of land along Brown Mountain Creek was an important part of protecting

Lynchburg's water supply and was discussed and debated for several years.

The passage of the Weeks Act in 1911 aided the acquisition of land. Around

1914, the U.S. Forest Service added land in Amherst County, Virginia-- land west of

Otter Creek, north of Piney Mountain and the Forks of Buffalo -- to the proposed purchase area in the Southern Appalachians under the Weeks Act (Graves 1914: 8). The

City of Lynchburg and the US Forest Service signed an agreement to purchase land within the Pedlar River watershed. The two had mutual interests in watershed protection although the Forest Service increased its acreage and timber. In 1915, Lynchburg owned about 8,000 acres ofland of the total 25,000 acres on the drainage area of the Pedlar

River above Pedlar Lake (Fuller 1915). The City proposed to buy about 2,000 acres more (Fuller 1915: 9). The Forest Service and the City of Lynchburg sought land along

Brown Mountain Creek changing the mountain land's use value from agricultural production and subsistence to "preservation of the purity and regularity of flow of mountain streams, with a view to their use for the water supply of towns and cities; preservation of a timber supply to meet the needs of national industries; and preservation of the beauty and attractiveness of the uplands for recreation and pleasure" (Graves 1911:

1). 157

Land Acquisition in the Pedlar Watershed.

In 1917, Joseph and James Richeson begin negotiating with the Forest Service for the sale of their land located about two miles above the Pedlar Reservoir. The brothers agreed to sell the 500 acres they had purchased and inherited from their father, Moses Richeson. In the original discussion of the purchase of the land, the Fore st Service discussed a price of $11.50 an acre (Sears 1917: 1). Yet upon receiving offers to sell, Forest Service employees were required to complete several steps before they could finalize the sale. First, the land was surveyed and, if found suitable, it was recommended to the National Forest Commission which met twice a year. Once approval was obtained, the task of clearing the legal title began (Bolgiano 1998: 91-92). A common stereotype during the course of land acquisition was that the settlers were Scotch-Irish squatters and that land titles and other official documents would be non-existent (Wilhelm 1968: 14), yet the documentary record indicates this was not the case and the lands were acquired and settled through accepted legal channels

(Homing 2000a: 218).

The Forest Service was interested in this land because of its location and the value of its land and timber. According to Forest Examiner, H. M. Sears (1917: 1), the Richesons' land was located 12 miles from Buena Vista, VA, the nearest railroad point and five miles east of the Lynchburg-Al[l]wood Road. The road provided an opportunity for the use of motor trucks to haul timber and products to the Norfolk and Western railroad and had an important bearing on the accessibility of the land.

Land was given different monetary val uc depending upon its location and its use (See

Table 5.1 and Figure 5.3). The land was divided into types depending upon the slope of the 158 land and timber coverage with open agricultural land being the most valuable. In addition, timber and products on the land gave each acre an additional value of $0.70 and $0.26 value per acre respectively (Sears 1917: 4). The Forest Service agreed to paying the Richesons

$7.50 per acre with the City of Lynchburg paying an additional $3 per acre (Sears 1917: 4).

Land types Land subtypes Area by subtypes Area bv types Value per acre Total Lower slope Culled 149 acres 149 acres $3.50 $521.50 Unner slope Culled 196 acres 196 acres $2.50 $490.00 Open Agricultural 119 acres 155 acres $15.00 $1,785.00 Open Grazing 16 acres " $10.00 $160.00 Open Restocking 20 acres II $5.00 $200.00 500 acres 500 acres $3,156.50

Timber $0.70 per acre $350.00 Products $0.48 per acre $130.00

Total value $3,636.00 Table 5.1. Joseph and James Richesons' Land Value

The sale of the land was delayed because the surveyor ran into a problem of unclear deeds. This was a common issue with Forest Service land acquisition, and it often made it easier to convince mountain families that they were wise to take whatever money they could get for land or timber rights since they might not be legally entitled to sell (Bolgiano 1998:

92). It took a number of years to clear the deed of the land. After Moses Richeson's death, the land was divided between his wife and his three children, but the official partition of the land was questioned and in 1910, Clara, Moses Richeson's daughter and her husband Alfred

Rucker conveyed her land (135 acres) to James and Joseph (Amherst County Land Records

1910: 84-85). Yet the Ruckers had put a lien on the deed of trust which was also called into question (McNeilly 1920: 5-8). If the Richesons did not produce a clear deed in the time 159 allotted, usually 60 days, then the government procured the title for the vendor, but the fee was deducted from the amount the government was going to pay for the land (U.S.

Department of Agriculture ·1919: 5).

NA7'1/R,.,,i. (jR/DtSe ARt:A lAND ON BROWN /'701/NTAIN CRe£X

.SWAPPING C/\/'?P CRE[f(

dO 80 CHAINS

NO 2S'I. J.S 4- ../. H· l=i/c/·-fESoN e97 o .... .v~et.. l-

Figure 5.3. Map of the Richeson's Property (252 and 252-1) Marked with Land Types and Sub-Types. U.S. Forest Service Land Acquisition Map, 1919. 160

Joseph Richeson hired J.M. Updike, a lawyer, from the nearby city of Buena

Vista to help clear the deeds and to "receive and endorse our names on, and collect money due on checks drawn in our favor by any disbursing office in the United States in payment for those certain tracts of land sold by us to the United States as part of its

National Forest ... " (Massie 1921: 1). In attempt to clear the deeds, the attorney wrote to the Forest Service Commission. He describes Joseph Richeson as "a very intelligent and respectable colored man, and I have been informed by John H. White, and a number citizens, who have known him all of their lives, that he is thoroughly reliable" (Title

Attorney 1920: 4). Here both the author, the attorney and John White are assumed to be white, since they point out the Joseph isn't. It demonstrates how blackness and race are created as not white and the ways outsiders -- here the attorney and the Forest Service -­ shape interactions and events in the lives of mountain peoples.

Finally, in 1921, James and Joseph Richeson received $7.50 per acre for 353.96 acres from the Forest Service totaling $2654.70 (U.S. Department of Agriculture 1921). The City of Lynchburg paid $3.00 per acre for a total of$1,074.27 (Title Attorney 1921: 1), although the official payment voucher was not located. One of the stipulations in the land purchase agreement was that structures would be removed and the family agreed not to settle elsewhere within the Pedlar watershed (Tolley 1995: 1). Joseph Richeson requested an extension of time (until 31 May 1922) to remove the buildings on the land that he and his brother sold to 'the government'. He agreed to clean up the site by burning or removing all debris resulting from the tearing down of the buildings. If the buildings were not torn down by the said date, J. S. Richeson agreed to pay $10.00 for any material removed after the date 161

(Fahrenbach 1922). The landscape that was once populated with farm families -- with houses, outbuildings, crops of com and tobacco, gardens, and a country road linking neighbors and homes to the church, mill and post office -- became a depopulated mountain landscape with stone foundations marking where people had once lived.

Gazin-Schwartz (2008: 29-32) provides three ways in which inhabited landscapes are often cleared; they may be abandoned, avoided or expelled. The clearance of the Richeson's land was a combination of abandonment and expulsion. Abandoned is the "leaving of home, a known landscape invested in meaning, for somewhere else" (Gazin-Schwartz 2008: 29).

The people themselves undertake the act of abandonment, rather than the relocation being

imposed on them by others (Gazin-Schwartz 2008: 30). Since the Richeson's sold their land to the Forest Service, it could be argued that they abandoned their home. Yet they faced

increasing pressure to sell their land. By 1917, most of the farmers in the surrounding area

had sold their land. In addition, during this time, the mountain area was starting to feel the

effects of the depression. The Richeson's did not respond to changes autonomously, rather

they were constrained by forces both internal and external to their lives and the community.

Chris Bolgiano (1998: 12) argues that mountaineers had no reference point by which

to understand that the sums offered for their land were infinitesimal payments for their value.

To many it seemed like wealth and most of them spent it quickly. The lack of sources

discussing the inhabitants of the Pedlar watershed during the building of the Pedlar Reservoir

and the acquisition of land in the watershed makes it difficult to determine how people were

characterized. The acquisition of land through title clearance and condemnation differed

from the eviction of people in the Shenandoah National Fore st. Yet it seems that the easier it 162 was to clear the landowners' title the more money the landowner would receive. This favored wealthy, educated landowners over poorer, illiterate ones. The clearance of the

Richeson's land was not an isolated event. Farm families across Appalachia faced relocation and the clearance from their homes in the building of parks and forests. The transformation of farms to forests reflects changes in land use shaped by race and class in Appalachia.

Transition and Change: Forests in the Blue Ridge Mountains

As we have seen, the expansion of cities and industrialization created new demands for water and partnerships between city and federal governments to protect watersheds while scientifically managing forests. With the purchase of land by the Forest

Service, timber took precedence over agriculture in the lives of people living in the Blue

Ridge Mountains. Through an unprecedented occurrence of legislation, American lawmakers radically redefined what constituted legitimate uses of the environment.3 We still live amid the legacy of those years '"'which has bequeathed to us many of the institutions -- parks, forest reserves, game laws, wardens, rangers, and the like -- that govern our relations with the natural world (Jacoby 2001: 1). The people who lived along Brown Mountain Creek learned first hand about these changes. The Forest Service put rangers, most of whom were outsiders, in district offices and encouraged them to

3 A few examples include: Timber Culture Act, 1873; Forest Reserve Act, 1891; National Park Protective Act, 1894; Organic Act 1897; Lacey Act 1900; Right of Way Act, 1901; Newlands Reclamation Act, 1902; Antiquities Act of 1906, Agricultural Appropriations Act, 1907; Withdrawal Act, 1910; Weeks Act 1911; Federal Tariff Act, 1913; National Park Service Act, 1916; Federal Water Power Act, 1920. The Library of Congress (2002) provides a comprehensive overview of conservation legislation. 163 participate in community life. To help improve relations, local people were hired as assistants, office workers and field laborers (Bolgiano 1998: 94). For Taft Hughes,

The first money I ever earned was Ranger Wilson5 hired us to plant walnuts on Brown Mountain Creek. I believe it was the fall of 1919 or 1920. It was after the government bought it. They planted it in walnuts, planted a lot of walnuts down there. The walnuts were already hulled. They got the walnuts from Houston Staton; they come from out on this mountain here. We would put the walnuts in an old army pouch. Me and my brother Henry, he hired us two, and my dad and my older brother Russell. They would take a sharp stick and make a hole in the ground, and we would put the walnut in the hole and cover it with our foot (Taft Hughes in Benavitch 1992).

The conservation movement also restructured people's relationship with the natural world. As Ronald Lewis (1998: 280) notes,

There was a definite class bias in the conservation laws, which many mountain residents recognized and resented. Backcounty citizens demonstrated little respect for laws that imposed heavy penalties on individuals for comparatively minor violations when industrialists polluted the streams and set fire to the woods with little fear of reprisal.

The transition from farms to forests changed the lives of people who once lived along

Brown Mountain Creek. As in other parts of Appalachia, people living in the mountains migrated to cities for jobs. The children of these families tended to move to nearby cities, such as Buena Vista or Lynchburg or even further away to Baltimore or Philadelphia.

Taft's brothers and sisters moved to Philadelphia. Taft recalled,

I thought if I could get big enough, old enough to go to Philadelphia, I'd be tickled to death. I made my first trip there in 1927. When I landed up there, I would have given anything to be back down here. I stayed up there part of seven years. I didn't like it up there and still don't (Benavitch 1992).

Some landowners were able to purchase land surrounding the new National Forest. By 1930,

James Richeson had purchased land south of the forest (and this land is still owned by his

5 Thomas A. Wilson was the second district ranger on the Pedlar District, 1917-1927. 164 descendants at the time of this research although there were "For Sale" signs posted on my last visit). Eli Hughes, a tenant of the Richeson family, was able to purchase land in Oronoco at the forest boundary. Taft Hughes inherited this land and it has been in the hands of his wife Dora since his death in 1999. These families moved to the periphery of the forest, sometimes working on the forest planting and cutting trees, but essentially becoming invisible since forests are places without people.

With the purchase of the land by the federal government, Brown Mountain Creek became part of the supra-regional systems that governed most of Appalachia. Seen as obstacles to progress, the people of Appalachia were stereotyped as 'white trash' and

'hillbillies' to justify the economic and environmental exploitation that occurred as control of land and labor moved out of the region. With the focus on poor whites, the

African American residents of Appalachia became invisible. The history of the African

American families, former enslaved laborers, tenant farmers and landowners was forgotten.

Today, the George Washington National Forest is popularly referred to as the

'land nobody wanted' (GORP 2008; Healy and Shands 1977). This is a myth that focuses attention on the present use of the land as forest and obscures the process in which the forest was built. The story of environmental protection in Appalachia during the years before the Great Depression is a story of heroic dedication of individuals whose commitment to public service was met with a profound lack of appreciation and even outright scorn. Yet this story of environmental protection is often overlooked. The ideology of wilderness was at the heart of land clearances (Guernsey 2008) in Appalachia 165 and that ideology of pristine nature tends to be erase the region's history and culture. By referring to the land as the land that nobody wanted, the forest becomes devoid of history

-- particularly the history of clearance -- and human culture is seen as "an intrusion, perhaps an intrusion to be eliminated or, at least, recast to fit the contours of the

Appalachian landscape" (Speer 1992: 24). The clearance of Appalachian landscapes is about the "politics ofremembering and the politics of forgetting" (Smith 2008: 23)

The systematic management of public lands established under the leadership of

Gifford Pinchot and the U.S. Forest Service was seen as a means to manage the economy for the common good. Who benefited from this change in economy is still up for debate, yet it did create a managerial class who attained new status. In order to maintain this status, the managers turned increasingly to recreational land uses (Foresta 1987: 83), such as the Appalachian Trail. This will be discussed in the next chapter. CHAPTER6

LABOR AND LEISURE:

THE APPALACHIAN TRAIL, 1920 - THE PRESENT

Can we develop opportunities for leisure as an aid in solving the problem of labor? - Benton MacKaye, An Appalachian Trail: A Project in Regional Planning

Here we return to the starting place, a hike along the Appalachian Trail (the AT).

The narrow footpath wanders the ridges and valleys for 2,175 miles from Springer

Mountain in Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine through eight National Forests and six

National Parks. The AT, as a place, has a history and a present that is interwoven through time and space with the history of the Appalachia. It winds through land that people --

American Indians, fur traders, farmers, enslaved laborers, tenant farmers, miners, and loggers -- worked to make their livelihoods. The Trail is a place created through volunteer labor and cooperation between federal agencies and individuals. It is a place people visit to hike and camp in the Appalachian Mountains. The AT is an artifact of

Appalachian history.

I started thinking about the history of the Trail as an intern for the Appalachian

Trail Conservancy (ATC) in July 2003. Don Owen, the Environmental Protection

Specialist for the AT, hired me to develop cultural resources training workshops for A TC and Appalachian Trail Park Office (A TPO) staff and Trail Club volunteers. Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act required ATC and ATPO to consider the effects of their Trail efforts on historic properties. The goal was to develop workshops that

166 167 prepared volunteers and staff to begin implementing programs to recognize archaeological sites, signs of looting, whom to contact, and why this was an important endeavor. 1 As an intern, I participated in Trail events such as the Appalachian Trail

Conservancy's Biennial Conference held in New Hampshire. At the conference there were sessions on exotic species monitoring, chain saw handling, women and the Trail and archaeology. At these events, I learned a lot about the Trail, (hiked sections of it), and learned how important people are to the narrow footpath.2

The internship with the Appalachian Trail Conservancy inspired me to conduct dissertation research along a section of the Trail. I was interested in the material life of

Brown Mountain Creek and I wanted to continue to work with people involved with the

Appalachian Trail. The more I thought about the lives of the people who once lived along Brown Mountain Creek, the more obvious the whiteness of the Appalachian Trail community became. While attending A TC events as an intern, I became aware of the demographics of the people involved with the Trail. The majority of ATC and Trail Club members are white and middle to upper class. 3 There is a stark contrast between the lives of African American farmers at the turn of the century and the whiteness of hikers

1 We conducted two workshops, one at the National Conservation Training Center in Shepherdstown, WV and another at the ATC Regional Headquarters in Boiling Springs, Pennsylvania. The workshops were designed to be held at different locations along the Trail with local experts. For these two workshops, the speakers included Joe Baker, archaeologist, Pennsylvania Department of Transportation, Nick Bellatoni, the Connecticut State Archaeologist, and archaeologists and historians from the National Park Service, Lloyd Chapman, archaeologist, Laura Feller, historian, Margie Coffin Brown, historical landscape architecture, and Bill Bolger, architecture historian. Attendees included A TC and ATPO staff, A TC officers, and Trail Club members.

2 The Trail is protected with approximately 10 feet of land on each side.

3 Although there has not been a systematic study of the demography of AT involvement, this statement is based on my experience hiking on the Trail, working with the A TC and A TPO staff, and attending A TC events such as the biennial conference which is attended by Trail Clubs and hikers. 168 and Trail Club members today. In this chapter, I build on critical whiteness studies -- the analyses of how white skin both signifies and underwrites various kinds of social, political and economic advantages in the United States (Rasmussen et al. 2002) -- to understand the changes to this Appalachian landscape.

APPALACHIAN TRAIL: NATIONAL FORESTS

Figure 6.1. Map of the Appalachian Trail; Cultural Resources Training Workshop, Iron Furnace, Boiling Springs, PA

The Appalachian Trail, as a place of recreation, becomes the optic for understanding race, history and changing political economies in Appalachia from 1920 to the present. The contributions of Trail builders, such as Benton Mac Kaye and Myron

Avery, provide a lens for understanding the connections between race, class and the 169 changing meanings of the land in Appalachia.4 I use documents, Trail guides, and the materiality of the Trail itself to consider the raced and classed meanings of the Trail. My discussion of the Trail starts from a national perspective and moves to a specific section of the Trail along Brown Mountain Creek to show the links between the history of the

Trail, whiteness and Appalachia. In the final section, I discuss the ways race and class affected community archaeology on the Trail.

The Appalachian Trail from Concept to Management

With the rise of industrialization and urbanization, nature was recreated as something you view or visit -- with the building of parks and forests and natural history museums. A dose of nature was a way to "heal the over-wrought or decadent city dweller" (Haraway 1984/1985: 20). In the 1920's and 1930s, "nature came to be seen as a separate and faraway locale packaged up for human consumption" (Steinberg 2002:

242) and the automobile delivered rising numbers of people to visit it. After 1910, automobile touring became an American middle-class institution with the widespread adoption of the moderately priced, reliable car, exemplified by the Ford Model T. As people traveled by car, they stopped on the roadside to cook simple meals over campfires and sleep in tents. Free campgrounds were established along major travel routes around

1920 from pressure from local merchants to draw in auto tourists to downtown stores.

Motel industry was born in 1925 when some campgrounds began to provide cabins which were upgraded in the 1920s and 1930s to attract a higher class of patronage (Belasco

4 Although I focus on these two Trail builders, the AT project did not happen in isolation. It is the result the work of numerous individuals and partnerships. I focus on MacKaye and A very because they demonstrate a tension between the purpose and meaning of the Trail. 170

1979). According to Warren Belasco (1979), the great depression, rather than harming the business of these enterprises, only improved it by drawing to the campgrounds many of the erstwhile well-to-do now willing to forego their grand hotel life.

During the 1930s, the packaging of the natural world as a recreation resource gained momentum, as the New Deal, through organizations such as the Civilian

Conservation Corps (CCC), added roads and campgrounds to the country's national parks and forests. As the forest transitioned from single use for logging to a multi-use model that promoted tourism, hunting, hiking and other outdoor activities the life of the landscape changed. Increasingly, nature was seen as wilderness or areas "where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled" by people, where people are visitors who do not remain (Wilderness Act 1964).

The AT emerged with this context, yet the AT was not a place for all people.

Hikers, Trail Club and Appalachian Trail Conference members tended to be white and middle to upper class and visiting the Appalachian wilderness became white leisure. In this chapter, I draw from the numerous scholars who have written about the history of the

AT (e.g., Foster 1987; King 2000; Sutter 1997; Waterman and Waterman 1989) and the hikers and Trail Club members who have written about their experiences hiking and working along it (e.g., Brill 2003; Wadness 2001; Winters 2001) to outline a history of the Appalachian Trail. 171

Benton MacKaye and the Idea of the Appalachian Trail

In the first two decades of the 20th century, a strong hiking or 'tramping' movement emerged in New England and New York from the desire to get out of the city and experience nature. Benton MacKaye, a hiker, a forester and a regional planner, envisioned the Trail as part of a plan to offset what he saw as the harm of rapid mechanization and urbanization (King 2000: 5). 5 MacKaye, born in Stamford in 1879,

Connecticut, envisioned a plan to save as much of the vanishing Appalachian wilderness as possible. At the same time he also saw the Trail as a way to provide jobs for workers

5 MacKaye worked for the Forest Service under Gifford Pinchot. He surveyed timberlands, laying the foundation for New Hampshire's White Mountain National Forest. He also taught forestry at Harvard, worked for the U.S. Labor Department (Ness 2003: 42) and was the regional planner for the Tennessee Valley Authority (King 2000: 11). In 1935, MacKaye turned much of his intellectual energy toward founding The Wilderness Society with Harvey Broome, Larry Anderson and others from the AT project. In 1945, he retired from the federal government and became the president of the Wilderness Society (King 2000: 11). 172 displaced by World War I by establishing small, government supported agricultural and light industrial communities that would be connected by a footpath called the

Appalachian Trail (DeMott 1934). MacKaye, white and upper class, proposed the idea of the Trail in 1921 in the Journal ofthe American Institute ofArchitects, as a reform project that promised to weave new connections between American society and the land through a working knowledge of nature (Turner 2002: 467).

MacKaye's writing was a call to action to address the crisis that resulted from

World War I and the domestic strife that followed. He argued that regional planning needed to provide not only for people's work but also for their leisure (Mac Kaye 1921 ).

An official goal of regional planning, MacKay argued was "to facilitate outdoor activities, such as camping, hunting, fishing, and hiking -- forms of recreation that required land planning on a regional scale" (Sutter 1999: 563). The Appalachian Project proposed by MacKaye was to consist of four elements: (1) a 'long trail' over the full length of the Appalachian skyline from Mount Washington in New Hampshire to Mount

Mitchell in North Carolina, with 'each section to be in the charge of a local group of people'; (2) a series of 'shelter camps' for users, built by volunteers; (3) scattered

'community camps'; and (4) largely self-sustaining 'food and farm camps' (Foster 1987:

11). MacKaye was interested in large-scale approaches to landscape and community

(King 2000: 6) and interested in combining sustainable resource development, which was based on Gifford Pinchot's concept of the scientific management of natural resources, with ways to address unemployment and labor problems (MacKaye 1932).

MacKaye garnered support for his idea. In 1925, a meeting was held in

Washington, D.C. with people from the Forest Service, National Park Service, U.S. 173

Geological Survey, Scout Leaders Association, and recently formed hiking and trail clubs, such as the New York-New Jersey Trail Club and the Appalachian Mountain Club attending. At the meeting, the Appalachian Trail Conference (ATC)6 was formed "for the purpose of organizing a body of workers (representative of outdoor living and of the regions adjacent to the Appalachian range) to complete the building of the Appalachian

Trail" (MacKaye cited in King 2000: 3). An executive committee was formed with the positions of chairman, treasurer, secretary, and field organizer and seats on the committee were allocated to the Chief of the Forest Service, the National Park Service director, the

Regional Planning Association and the National Conference on Outdoor Recreation. The

Appalachian Trail Conference in 1925 marked the beginning of the footpath from Maine to Georgia as well as the Trail's collaborative management system.

For MacKaye, the AT proposal was the beginning of an intellectual process that led him to the wilderness idea and a long career as a wilderness advocate, yet during his early conservation career, MacKaye seldom spoke of wilderness preservation. Instead, he focused on the connections between labor and natural resources (which is discussed in more detail on page 142), charting a more radical course for progressive conservation policy (Sutter 1999: 553). Yet as the idea of the Appalachian Trail caught on, it took on

different meanings and directions as new leaders and clubs developed.

6 ATC was renamed the Appalachian Trail Conservancy in 2006. 174

Myron Avery and the Building of the Appalachian Trail

Where Benton MacKaye is recognized for conceptualizing the AT, Myron Avery is credited with the Trail's construction. Avery, like MacKaye, was white and from an upper class family. Avery, born in Lubec, Maine in 1899, graduated from Harvard Law

School and worked as a Washington, D.C. maritime lawyer. He was an avid hiker and a strong organizer and leader who led numerous hikes and work trips. In 1927, Avery organized the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club and was elected its first president (King

2000: 8), holding the position through 1940. He also became chairman of the recently formed A TC in 1930. In addition, as a native of Maine, A very helped organize the

Maine Appalachian Trail Club and was its supervisor of trails from 1935 to 1949 and its president from 1949 to 1952.

Avery clashed often with MacKaye and others over the Trail. Avery volunteered his time and advocated for a totally volunteer AT effort (King 2000: 8). A very wanted to make the mountains accessible for outdoor recreation (King 2000: 11 ); this differed from

MacKaye's philosophical notions of the Trail as a reform project to address unemployment and labor problems. Avery dismissed MacKaye's philosophy but built the Trail using his spatial and organizing blueprints (Ness 2003: 42). MacKaye and

Avery differed over how the Trail should deal with the Blue Ridge Parkway, a 469-mile scenic highway connecting Virginia's new Shenandoah National Park (see Figure 5.1) with the Great Smoky Mountains National Park then being proposed. The debates over the Blue Ridge Parkway during its formative period (1933-1942) were highly contested and political, since the project promised significant benefits to some while extracting 175 steep costs from the people who made their livelihoods on the mountain land (Mitchell

1997). Skyline Drive in Virginia would cover the Trail's route through the Shenandoah

National Park and force the Trail to relocate. MacKaye thought wilderness should not include roads and automobiles while A very wanted to cooperate with the state and federal road builders recognizing that a complete Trail from Maine to Georgia would need government support (Ness 2003: 42).

Figure 6.3. Building the Appalachian Trail. Images courtesy of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy

At the second ATC meeting in 1928, under Avery's influence, the purpose of the

A TC was reworded to "promote, establish and maintain a continuous trail for walkers, with a system of shelters and other necessary equipment ... as a means for stimulating

public interest in the protection, conservation and best use of the natural resources within

the mountains and wilderness areas of the East" (King 2000: 8). The purpose of the Trail

as a place to access to the mountains for "tramping, camping, and outdoor recreation"

(Avery 1930) differed from MacKaye's vision of the Trail as a reform project. The

efforts of both Avery and MacKaye changed the meaning of Appalachian land as new 176 partnerships were built to build and manage the Trail. Trail Clubs, such as the New

York-New Jersey Trail Club (NYNJTC), the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club (PATC) and the Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club (NBATC), were vital to the completion of the AT. Trail Clubs consist of people from the local area who volunteer their time and labor for Trail efforts. Myron Avery was influential in several Trail Clubs including the

NBATC in southwest Virginia, which was ultimately responsible for the AT section along Brown Mountain Creek.

The Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club

In central Virginia, around 1929, outdoor enthusiasts learned of PATC trail activities and a proposed trail along the nearby Blue Ridge Mountains. Harold M. Sears,

Supervisor of the Natural Bridge National Forest, wrote an article on the Appalachian

Trail for the Lynchburg News in May 1929 and garnered the support of his white, professional friends, Dr. Ruskin Freer, Professor of Biology at Lynchburg College, and

Charles L. DeMott, a civil engineer, both of whom had hiked with the P ATC; and two members of the Lions Club in Lynchburg, Fred M. Davis, an attorney, and Elmer L.

Ayers, a life insurance agent (DeMott 1934).

In 1930, Davis and Ayres suggested that the Lions Club sponsor a Trail Club in

Lynchburg, and Freer contacted Myron Avery, who came with five other PATC officers to speak at a Lions Club meeting in October of 1930. The Natural Bridge Appalachian

Trail Club was organized and consisted of about 50 people with Ruskin Freer as the first president. The new club was assigned the Rockfish Gap to Hotel Mons (Peaks of Otter) section of the trail, on which the Forest Service had done considerable work already. In 177

September 1931, the entire section from Rockfish Gap to Mons had been surveyed, marked and measured.

Figure 6.4. 1931 Hike from Robinson's Gaps to Whites Gap. Fourth from the left is Ruskin Freer. Photograph by Sam Bremmer. Image courtesy of the Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club.

In 1933, the Natural Bridge National Forest became part of the expanded George

Washington National Forest. At the same time, the construction of the new Blue Ridge

Parkway obliterated much of the club's section of the Trail. The relocation of the Trail became the major focus of club work trips for the next 13 years. Surveying and planning in cooperation with the National Park Service and the Forest Service began on sections of the trail both north and south of the James River, and the City of Lynchburg approved AT right of way through the Pedlar River watershed. This was the same land the Forest 178

Service and the City of Lynchburg had acquired from African American farming families.

Managing the Appalachian Trail

In 1937, the Trail was completed Maine to Georgia mostly on private lands but included a significant amount ofroad walk (King 2000: 12). With the completion of the

AT, the focus turned to managing and protecting the footpath. In 193 8, Myron A very and Edward Ballard proposed a plan to protect the Trail (King 2000: 12). The plan included a corridor of permanently protected Trailway on public lands and the prohibition of timber-cutting within two hundred feet of the footpath (King 2000: 12). This was followed by a 1939 agreement between the Forest Service, the National Park Service, and the Appalachian Trail Conference to recognize the Appalachian Trail concept and a pledge to protect the Trail (Satterthwaite 1993: 38). The passage of the National Trails

System Act in 1968 designated the footpath the Appalachian National Scenic Trail; the new designation included increased protection of the Trail. The Act included the purchase ofland to create the Trail corridor, which generally consists of 10 feet ofland on each side of the footpath. Later agreements established the roles of the National Park

Service, the U.S. Forest Service, the ATC and its member clubs in developing and maintaining the trail.

Today, the National Park Service, the U.S. Forest Service, and the Trail States have acquired more than 3,400 tracts of land totaling more than 182,000 acres. The management of the Trail is unique. It is carried out through the Cooperative

Management System, which can be compared to a 4-legged stool with one leg being the 179

31 ATC-affiliated Trail Clubs, one leg the ATC, a volunteer-based, private nonprofit organization, one leg the National Park Service Appalachian Trail Park Office (ATPO) and one leg the state and federal land-managing agencies, such as the Forest Service

(Don Owen, personal communication, 2004). The NBATC, one of the 31 Trail Clubs takes care of a 90-mile section of the Trail through Central Virginia. NB ATC volunteers conduct Trail maintenance, such as clearing fallen trees and lead hikes on the AT and adjoining trails. In cooperation with the ATC, the NBATC also monitors the Trail's boundaries and its rare and endangered species. The preservation of the history and culture of the land along the Appalachian Trail is also becoming part of the stewardship of the Trail. About 60 miles of the Trail wind through the Pedlar Ranger District of the

George Washington National Forest.

Although the CCC played a role in the building of Trails and shelters, the

Appalachian Trail Conference and Trail Clubs are credited with building, maintaining and managing the Trail. The activities of white, upper to middle class urban peoples transformed the Appalachian landscape and furthered Appalachia's place in the supra­ regional systems as more land came under control of the federal government.

Race, Class, and the Appalachian Trail

While the growth of modem industrialism between 1880 and 1920 caused the problems with urban expansion and rural decay that disturbed MacKaye and fellow reformers, it also created a secure, privileged group of professionals (Foresta 1987: 80).

New professions like forestry and social work emerged. New rigor in training and practices spread through established professions such as medicine, journalism, and law to 180 raise both effectiveness and esteem. According to geographer Ronald Foresta (1987: 80-

81), the new professionals were courted by industry, whose operation was being reordered in accordance with principles of scientific management, and by government, whose activity was expanding into new spheres of social welfare and resource use. The daily functioning of an increasingly technology-based, educated, litigious society depended upon professional services.

Foresta (1987: 81) argues that these professionals did not directly experience many of the negative consequences of industrialization that were so worrisome to

MacKaye and his fellow reformers. The new professionals had a desire to improve the world for themselves and society in general, yet they also wanted to leave it recognizable and within the bounds of the established order. For professionals with an avocational interest in the outdoors, the Appalachian Trail as a recreational facility was the ideal project. The eastern cities and their lowland environs became the places to work, while the Appalachian highlands, looming above them, became a wilderness made accessible by the Trail.

An enlarged middle class, newly mobile with the automobile as well as increased discretionary income and time for leisure activities, created a vast demand for outdoor recreation (Foresta 1987: 84). Growth of the middle-class corresponded with more leisure time; and a greater distinction between work and leisure (Chambers 2000: 5 and

7). A growing number of Americans now had time to look at scenery -- mountain ranges, forests, streams -- rather than work nature through agricultural production. Leisure was a demonstration of wealth that needed to be lavish or noble. 181

Working class involvement in the construction and shaping of the Trail was minimal. Foresta (1987: 82) argues that this was because of two factors. First, organized interests of the working class as expressed in the union movement narrowed to an emphasis on the workplace in the early 20th century. Broad issues of social and economic reform were beyond the articulated concerns for all except the most radical activists, who were so embattled that a project like the Trail must have seemed unworthy of their attention. The Trail as an agent ofreform thus was not on the agenda of the organized working class. Second, when the project was appropriated by the professional group, participation by the urban working class was likely discouraged purposively or the gaps of values and outlooks separated the working class from the professionals. African

Americans and other peoples of color were also not included in the construction, management or use of the AT. At this time of Jim Crow, few Blacks were a part of the professional class. Working class blacks as well as the African American families who lived and worked the land previously were probably further separated from the professional class of Trail enthusiasts.

In the 1920s and 1940s, an enlarged middle class, newly mobile with the automobile as well as increased discretionary income and time for leisure activities, created a vast demand for outdoor recreation (Foresta 1987: 84). From that demand, the public lands took on a new important role in American life and their managers rushed to meet it. They became the heirs to the escape-to-nature tradition of popular writers like

Henry Thoreau and John Muir. Cooperation in the construction of the Appalachian Trail

neatly fit the new role. Conflict arose between proponents of recreational uses and those

who thought of the public lands as sources of raw materials. The issue became how 182 rather than if the public lands should serve a society that was irrevocably urban, industrial, and consumer oriented (Foresta 1987: 84).

V olunteerism and the AT

Since the Trail's origin in 1921, volunteers have led the efforts to plan, design, construct, maintain, and manage the Trail, working with land-managing agencies, Trail neighbors, and the general public. Avery's advocacy for volunteer labor has remained an important aspect of the Trail. Thirty-one Trail Clubs have management responsibilities for designated sections of the Trail, and the success of the AT as a 'simple footpath' relies on the cooperative efforts of dedicated volunteers. AT volunteerism meant the state was increasingly working with the public -- the white middle and upper class public.

The failure of Mac Kaye's vision of the Trail as a place of recreation and a place with jobs with small work camps is partly a result of upper class notions ofresponsibility that encouraged them to give back to society.

Upper class concerns about nature and recreation supplanted those of natural resources and labor. Wilderness became a place people went to visit, but it did not include all people, particularly not poor or black people. At a time when people -­ particularly African Americans -- were moving to cities from the country, the AT reflects a movement of urban, white, middle to upper class peoples into the Appalachian

Mountains for recreation and leisure. With increasing urbanization, the Appalachian mountains became the playground of the wealthy. Here I tum to a particular section of the AT, a section of the Trail along Brown Mountain Creek that is maintained by the 183

Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club, to consider these changes from a local perspective.

Brown Mountain Creek, as a Section of the Appalachian Trail

The section of the Appalachian Trail along Brown Mountain Creek begins at

Route 60 and extends to Pedlar Lake Road (Forest Service Road 38). It winds through a hardwood forest between Long and Brown Mountains and follows Brown Mountain

Creek along an old country road that once provided the transportation needs of farming

families. The stone foundations -- which were once a conglomeration of households,

outbuildings, agricultural terraces, and fence lines -- give this section of the Trail its

distinct character. Yet it is a forest; it is difficult to imagine the tobacco fields, orchards,

and gardens that were once a part of life in Brown Mountain Creek. The Trail, marked

by white blazes, guides hikers along a north/south route through the mountain landscape.

The Trail constitutes not only the changes in control and ownership of Appalachian land,

but also how race and class were constructed through struggles over valued resources, the

mountain land.

This section of the Trail was built and maintained through the labor of people in

the surrounding area, specifically the Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club (NBATC)

in cooperation with the U.S. Forest Service. Trail Club members clear overgrowth,

remove blown-down trees, mitigate the effects of erosion on the trail, and build and repair

shelters, privies, and bridges. NBATC members and the Forest Service built a trail

shelter and privy to help provide the basic needs of hikers along the Trail. A hikers' log 184 is kept in the shelter for hikers to record their thoughts or leave notes to other hikers. The shelter has three log walls and is open on one side, a log plank floor, and a shingled roof

(see Figure 6.6). Small clearings and fire rings mark campsites (often near old house sites) for hikers who prefer to sleep in tents.

Figure 6.5. Map of the AT Along Brown Mountain Creek Figure 6.6. Appalachian Trail Along Brown Mountain Creek; Brown Mountain Creek Shelter; Journal from Brown Mountain Creek Shelter

Today, the materiality of the Appalachian Trail is ephemeral. It is marked by a few permanent structures such as bridges, signs and shelters. The Trail itself shapes the way people use the Appalachian Mountains. The footpath guides people along a particular route in which cars, bicycles and horses are prohibited, as the sign marking the location of the Trail notes (see Figure 6.1). The Trail has a material life that is created and recreated as hikers move along it. With Leave No Trace ethics and the transitory nature of the Trails' use, the signs of a common AT culture are only fleetingly marked by tent stakes and hiking poles.

166 186

The AT meets Taft Hughes

As A TC and A TPO sought to protect the AT corridor in cooperation with the

Forest Service in the 1990s, people involved with the Trail, the Forest Service, and the people who occupied the land prior to the Forest Service purchase of the land in 1917

were brought together. In the early 1990s, the Forest Service identified a further portion

of land for acquisition to protect the AT corridor. Taft Hughes, an African American

whose family had rented land along Brown Mountain Creek, owned this now desired

land. Hughes' land was located along Long Mountain near the intersection of Route 60

and Swapping Camp Road (See Figure 6.5). The Forest Service did not consider Taft

Hughes a "good neighbor". He did not keep his fences mended and his cows would

trespass on National Forest land. At one point, the Forest Service threatened to impound

the cattle if Mr. Hughes did not prevent the cows from trespassing and in the late 1980's,

the Forest Service law enforcement officer gave Hughes a ticket for $50 for trespassing.

The forest was a place for people to visit; domestic animals were not allowed.

When the Forest Service decided to approach Mr. Hughes regarding the

acquisition of his land, Dave Benavitch, a white, middle class, Forest Service employee

and NBATC volunteer, went with the Forest land appraiser to visit him. Mr. Hughes did

not want to sell his property, because he did not want to pay capital gains taxes, so the

Forest Service suggested trading property (Benavitch 2008, personal communication).

There was a parcel of National Forest land that interested Hughes, so the Forest Service

and Taft Hughes worked out a deal to acquire a parcel of land for the AT corridor

property. 187

During this process, Dave Benavitch, who had an interest in local history, found out that Taft Hughes was born along Brown Mountain Creek. Hughes and Benavitch hiked along the Trail with Hughes describing the various dwellings and who lived in them. Soon after the hike, Benavitch interviewed Hughes (Benavitch 1992). Benavitch shared the oral history with ATC and Forest Service personnel creating interest in providing interpretive signs along the Trail. The interpretive signs were installed in collaboration with the National Forest interpretative specialists and archaeologist and

NBATC who provided the labor of installation. The signs re-made the space building upon the rootedness of history and memory.

Figure 6.7. Joseph McCall and the Interpretive Sign Along Brown Mountain Creek

The interpretive signs include information from the Taft Hughes' oral history

(Benavitch 1992), providing a glimpse into what life may have been like for tenant farming families at the tum of the 20th century. The Trail leads you through the former community on a fixed route and the interpretive signs focus your attention on particular 188 aspects of life along Brown Mountain Creek, such as ash cakes, tenancy arrangements, and agricultural production. Race and African American landownership are not included on these signs.Taft Hughes' memories recorded on these signs bring the past into the present. The signs help hikers envision the landscape as more than just wilderness. This can be seen is hikers Trail Journals (trailjournals.com). Trail Journals have become a popular way for hikers to record their experiences and share them with their friends and family at home while hiking the Trail. Here are two examples about Brown Mountain

Creek.

Toward the end of the day the trail paralleled Brown Mountain Creek. A sign along the creek said the area was home to a black community in the mid 1800's. Ruins of their community were evident. It was fun looking for clues to the past. Horseradish, May 01, 2002

As I walked the trail you could see the debris, mostly rocks and old timbers both scattered and collected. They were at one time primitive houses. Former slaves farmed the area as sharecroppers ... The land was sold to the US Forest Service in the 1920's ... I don't know how voluntary the sale was, but I am curious to find out. -- Sage, July 01, 2003

These quotes demonstrate some of the ways hikers experience this section of the Trail.

It also leads to questions about the current state of wilderness with people keeping in contact with their friends on the internet.

The Trail follows an old country road leading people along a certain route through the former community. The oral history, interpretive signs, and hikes with Taft Hughes bring the past into the present and began conversations about people's changing uses of and relationships to Appalachian land. Yet Hughes and other African American families were relegated to the periphery and invisible until the Forests Service planned to build the 189

AT corridor. Anthropological research and community involvement helped locate the connections between Appalachia's raced and classed history as well as bring forth issues that matter to contemporary communities.

Communities that Matter and Mattering to Communities: Archaeology Along the Appalachian Trail

I wanted to do archaeological research that addressed issues of race and inequality and mattered to people with a stake in this particular place. I wanted to involve community members in anthropological methodology and practice. To develop an archaeology project that mattered to descendants, hikers, and Trail Club members, I conducted the archaeological heritage workshops and other methods that are discussed in

Chapter 2. The issues that emerged from these workshops -- the environment, indentured

servitude and tenant farming, race, and family history -- were incorporated into the research question -- how do race and class affect land use in Appalachia? -- and helped to

involve community members in aspects of the research.

Yet gaining community involvement -- descendants, hiker, and Trail Club

members --was more difficult than I thought. I was aware that my status an outsider and a

white, middle class woman positioned me in a way similar to outsiders who went into

Appalachia to gain information, such as the color writers of the 1890s. I had seen

examples of successful volunteer oriented archaeology projects on the Trail, such as Joe

Baker's project on South Mountain Battlefield in Maryland. I thought my position as a

hiker and an archaeologist who worked for A TC would help me to gain acceptance. Yet

this was not necessarily the case. Involvement of NB ATC and the local community was 190 a slow process; gaining trust and interest took time and work. It started with one or two site visitors and one or two volunteers and continues as a worthwhile endeavor.

Through community involvement, I learned about contemporary concerns affecting the community surrounding the forest and the Trail, such as development, deforestation, and water. One interviewee, Bob, asked, "Will this help protect the forest from logging?" as he showed me his amazing view with a large clear-cut area in the mountain in the distance. At a Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club meeting, one of the members asked, "How will this help protect the Trail?" Although the AT is protected by national legislation and supported by the National Park Service and the Forest Service, it

still requires protection. The Trail, as a narrow footpath that winds along the Appalachian

Mountain range, is a lens for viewing contemporary concerns in Appalachia. Yet in a

conversation with Don Owen, the Environmental Protection Specialist for the AT, he

asked "What is the relationship between the AT and Appalachia?" Don didn't see the

relationship. He thought the only relationship between the Appalachian Trail and

Appalachia, as a region, was the mountain range. The history of the Appalachian Trail is

interwoven through time and space with the history of Appalachia. Appalachia's

material history of slavery, tenancy, displacement and conservation is inscribed upon the

Appalachian Trail and the contemporary concerns of the Appalachian region affect the

Trail. Consulting communities with stakes in the research at Brown Mountain Creek, the

natural world -- and its racial and classed dynamics -- moved from the background to the

forefront of the research.

The Appalachian Trail can be seen as 'an optic for understanding race, history,

and changing political economy' (Williams 2006: 142) in Appalachia. Although the 191

Appalachian Trail is often constructed as 'wilderness' or 'natural', the Trail has a history in which states and citizens attach meanings. For many hikers and Trail Club members, the AT is a place of recreation, an escape from urban life. For the African American families who are descendants of the displaced African American landowners the land is the government's land. The Trail tells a story about the government's increasing involvement with Appalachian lands during the conservation movement and white, middle to upper class, back to nature movements. In an industrial economy plagued by labor instability, MacKaye saw the Appalachian Trail as an avenue "for 'alternative employment' that restored a direct working relationship between people and natural resources, provided wise use resource stewardship, and interjected the government to counter exploitive labor practices" (Sutter 1999: 559). Despite Benton MacKaye's idea about working class involvement, the footpath has become a place to which persons, usually white, retreat for briefrespites from their everyday lives (Foresta 1987). Yet today, the George Washington and Jefferson National Forests, in which the AT winds through, are classified as one of the top ten endangered forests in the United States

(National Forest Protection Alliance 2005) and increasingly, "civilization" or suburbia moves closer eroding away the edges of a wilderness that is supposed to be an escape. CHAPTER 7

CONCLUSIONS, THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF TEN MINUTES AGO:

RACE AND CLASS IN AN APPALACHIAN LANDSCAPE

The past is always carried into the present by small things - Michael Ondaatje, Divisadero.

Places such as national parks and hiking trails are often celebrated as wilderness and escapes from the problems of the modem world in the United States. Yet the wilderness we experience today when we hike along the Appalachian Trail is a product of the 20th century. As a section of the Appalachian Trail shows, wilderness is not 'natural' or without history. Wilderness is in part scenic views, mountain streams, wildflowers and trees, but it is also marked by the material lives of people who lived and worked upon the mountain land. It is created through the efforts of individuals and groups to conserve nature.

Since wilderness is created, it is also susceptible to change. The choices we make in the present impact upon the wilderness areas that people visit for a hike, a camping trip or a Sunday drive. The choices also impact people and the land that surround these areas.

For example, in discussing the problems of urban sprawl Don Owen, the Environmental

Protection Specialist for the Trail, describes the AT as "this little ribbon of wilderness, threatened pretty much along its entire length" (Don Owen in Ness 2003: 41). Pam

Underhill, the Park Manager adds, "We're in everybody's way who wants to get across

192 193 the Appalachians for a powerline, pipeline, road, telephone line, driveway" (Pam

Underhill in Ness 2003: 43.

Increasingly, the Trail and the National Forests are impacted by contemporary changes such as the encroachment of suburbia, timber and mining industries, and other development eroding away the edges of a wilderness that is supposed to be an escape.

In this dissertation, I have traced the history of struggles over the mountain land with an emphasis on a specific place, a section of the Appalachian Trail along Brown Mountain

Creek in Amherst County, Virginia. I have focused on how struggles over the natural environment have both created and expressed racial and classed ideologies and stereotypes in Appalachia over time. To conclude, I want to bring this anthropological research into the present to emphasize the value of archaeology for addressing contemporary concerns. As Leone and Potter (1998: 372) remind us, archaeology has the potential to help us "find significant meanings in the yesterdays that look so much like today".

Can Archaeology Address Contemporary Concerns?

Archaeologists are increasingly conducting research that addresses contemporary concerns (e.g., Buchli & Lucas 2001; Schofield & Johnson 2006). Archaeologists are looking to the management and interpretation of the more recent past with a focus on places that we have created ourselves, or whose creation is remembered, and whose form and character we continue to influence in our everyday lives (Bradley et al. 2004). This approach encourages community involvement and the move beyond the "false boundaries 194 between past and present" (Hicks 2004: 938) to understand the mutual histories of people in the past and people in the present. As John Schofield (2007: 2) states,

By recognising the historic environment as an artefact - a construct, the result of the action and interaction of natural and human factors - and by taking a long­ term perspective on future views of our own times, we can ensure that recent changes are recognised alongside those of antiquity; and we can begin to recognise their evidential value, their capacity to teach us about ourselves and about contemporary society.

For instance, Barbara Bender (1998) considers the present-day activism associated with

Stonehenge. Her spatially-focused landscape analyses includes archaeological analysis of the past, but also the management controversies surrounding the enclosure of

Stonehenge, which was bitterly protested by the interested public (Pauls 2006: 71).

By doing the archeology often minutes ago (Barnes and Gadsby 2008), or considering the significance of the material culture of the 20th century, I connect material culture and landscape to contemporary social conditions. Archaeology, as a 'phenomenon of our own present' (Beaudry 2008), is performative (Pearson and Shanks 2001) and the act of doing archaeology can help connect present concerns with past experiences.

The act of doing archaeology with students, hikers and local community members changed the landscape that was populated by plantation owners, enslaved laborers,

African American landowners and tenant farmers and depopulated to provide the City of

Lynchburg a water supply into an archaeological site. The place, considered wilderness, was given new meanings as the land was revalued for its historical and cultural significance. The process of archaeological research helped engage people in an exploration of the ways people interacted with each other and the environment in the past and in the present. Through discussions about material culture and the environment, the 195 interactions between local and national forces could be seen in the value and use of mountain land as it changed from homes and farmland to natural resources over time. As we look towards the future, it becomes increasingly important to consider the ways archaeology can help address contemporary concerns, such as water shortage, timber policies, watershed protection, and increasing suburbanization. Rather than viewing this section of the Appalachian Trail as merely an archaeological site, the practice of archaeology helped me and the communities who participated recognize some of the social and political issues that matter( ed) and how these issues impacted upon peoples lives.

Forests and Water: Issues that Matter

Forests and trails often occupy rural spaces and these spaces continue to be

occupied, abandoned, and re-configured as policy makers, developers and consumers

make economic and political decisions that impact upon on land use. The wilderness

landscape along Brown Mountain Creek has a history that tends to be erased by the

hegemonic view of the mountain landscape as scenic (Speer 1992) and a place that

people visit but do not stay. People may not live in forests, but the health of our forests

impacts people living and growing their food in the surrounding area as well as nearby

cities. Forests are the source of much of the nation's drinking water. Nearly 80 percent of

all rivers in the U.S. originate on National Forests, and more than 900 municipal

watersheds are within these boundaries. Protecting these sources of water has been one of

the Forest Service's most important missions (Sierra Club 2002). In addition, with

contemporary concerns about climate change, the importance of trees and forests for the 196 absorption of carbon is increasingly being recognized (Broadmeadow and Matthews

2003; Oregon Forest Resource Institute 2006).

The Pedlar River and Brown Mountain Creek were cleared of human habitation and the George Washington National Forest was built at the turn of the century to protect the City of Lynchburg's water supply. Today, the George Washington National Forest is considered one of the top ten endangered forests (National Forest Protection Alliance

2005) and the government is attempting to weaken regulations protecting national forests.

In 2002, George Bush introduced the Healthy Forests Initiative, a forest management policy that gave timber companies greater access to our protected lands -- under the guise of fire protection -- while stripping away public input into the management process. In

2005, the Bush administration repealed the Roadless Area Conservation Rule, opening acres of America's national forests to logging, road construction, mining, oil exploration and other forms of development. Of the 193 million acres that represent the U.S. Forest

System, half of it is available for logging, according to current management plans. And the Bush Administration and the U.S. Forest Service have been trying their best to get access to the other half (Averill 2008). They also proposed to fund budget shortfalls by selling nearly a billion dollars worth of National Forest land. I The George W. Bush public lands legacy can be seen in national forests with closed roads, washed out trails, and unkempt campgrounds (Egan 2007). The forest is open for drilling, or cutting trees or

1 There have also been positive initiatives. On April 28, US Representative Rick Boucher and US Senator John Warner introduced the Virginia Ridge and Valley Act of2005, a bill that would permanently protect 55,000 acres of National Forest land in Virginia as wilderness. The bill passed the House of Representatives on Tuesday, October 23, 2007. The Act is now in the Senate. Senator Coburn of Oklahoma has put a "hold" on much of the legislation - 87 bills at last count, one of which is the Virginia Ridge and Valley Act. This bill does not protect National Forests in Amherst County, VA. 197 opening a gas line for timber and mineral companies controlled by white, upper class industrialists.

Yet people living near the forest are protesting. In 1997, Bob Fener, who owns 95 acres surrounded by the George Washington National Forest, filed a lawsuit against the

U.S. Forest Service to prevent an impending timber sale. Several cutting units for a proposed timber sale surrounded his land. Fener argued that the sale of the timber violated the National Forest Management Act (NMF A) and the National Environmental

Policy Act (NEPA) and filed a motion for a preliminary injunction to prohibit the Forest

Service from executing the timber sale (Fener v. Hunt and Dombeck Civil Action No. 97-

0024-L 1997). Amid arguments about institutional bias, lack of cost benefit analysis and

below cost timber harvests, Fener justified his lawsuit with the argument that the Forest

Service had failed to properly address archeologically significant sites and failed to mark

off all identified cultural resource sites. The courts ruled in favor of the Fore st Service

and the timber was harvested.

With forest recreation on the rise, and suburban sprawl and global warming

becoming increasingly dangerous threats, it may be time for the Forest Service to

reorganize its timber policy (Averill 2008).2 Watershed protection and timber harvesting

were significant reasons why Gifford Pinchot and foresters, politicians and the public

worked to establish forests at the tum of the 20th century. Groups such as the Sierra Club

2 Currently, 38% of the George Washington National Forest is available to logging. Some of that land includes old growth as well as newer forests that are starting to show old growth characteristics. The George Washington National Forest is now considering its next management plan revision process. The plan that is established now will dictate forest policy for the next 15 years, and early indications show the new plan favors logging even more than the current plan. The rise in recreation-and population-has led to the political push to end commercial logging on public land over the last several years. 198 and the Native Forest Council advocate for a "zero cut" policy to prevent the U.S. Forest

Service from "allowing big timber companies to raze our natural heritage for corporate profit" (Tim Hermach quoted in Averill 2008). The concept of a zero cut policy

challenges the guiding principle of the U.S. Forest Service since its start. As Appalachia

faces increased population, water shortages, and drought like conditions, it becomes

increasingly important to consider the future of Appalachian land use.

In the fall of 2007, drought-like conditions depleted the water supplies of major

cities across the eastern United States (see Figure 7.1). Cities such as Atlanta, Georgia

and Durham, North Carolina were concerned about draining their water supply

(Goodman 2007). In Lynchburg, Virginia, the city usually receives 100 percent of their

water supply from the Pedlar Reservoir, yet in 2007 the Reservoir was 160 cm below its

normal level (Faulconer 2007). The Pedlar Reservoir, built in 1906 to provide water to

the city, was so low that the foundation of the former Richeson mill could be seen (see

Figure 7.2) and the City was forced to get 95 percent of their water from the James River

agam.

At the same time, families who relied on the water table for their well water were

afraid they would tum on a tap and find no water because of the lack of rain and

increased pressure on the water table from housing development in the area. Keith

Kendrick (2007, personal communication) was concerned that he would come home one

day and find that he no longer had running water. The pressure on domestic water

supplies in rural Virginia is increasing, since the suburbs of nearby cities such as

Lynchburg and Lexington are growing. People want to be near the forests and trails and

developers are fulfilling this demand without consideration to the water table or other 199 necessary infrastructure such as schools. Development near the national forest is creating a contradiction since many of the people who are now moving into Amherst County from the cities want to keep the area 'pristine' with the tree lines uncut, the electric lights low and a limit on the number of houses per acre. Yet as the value of Appalachian mountain land and development increases, the rural nature of the area decreases.

January 1, 2008 Valid 7a;n, EST

,,o

~ DroiH11!t /mpagt Tmi§ f::] DO Abnormally Ory ,w Dalrnaat:es dominp~onal

Tiie Drought Monitor focuses on broad-scale condilions. Local rondit1ons may vaiy. See IWIX!mpan)rlng text summaJy for farocast statements. Released Thursday, January 3, 2008 http:lfdroughtunl.e/$/NCl)C Figure 7.1. U.S. Drought Monitor 2008 200

Figure 7.2. Lynchburg Reservoir (2007). Photo by Bob Fener

Today, concern for deforestation and environmental degradation is left for the public at large. The government places the emphasis on the middle class to care for the national parks, forests, and trails while the government puts fewer funds into the efforts of conservation they started 100 years ago. Volunteerism can be seen as a corollary of the responsible citizen reconfiguring the relationship between the citizenry and the state

(Hyatt 2001: 206). From a different perspective, volunteers are the life of the

Appalachian Trail. Volunteers build and maintain Trails, lead hikes, care for the narrow footpath. The volunteers are part of what makes the Appalachian Trail what it is today.

Yet the emphasis on volunteerism "obscures the role that state action continues to play in reproducing inequalities" (Hyatt 2001: 206). Hyatt (2001: 213) argues further that in this age of neoliberalism, people seek self-fulfillment through their participation in activities such as volunteerism, as the government takes less responsibility for the care of poor 201 communities and I would add the environment. Big corporations profit, while the middle class takes the brunt of the responsibility for caring for the nations parks and forests.

Over the last two hundred years, the material life of the Appalachian landscape changed from farms to forests. As history moves on, change is inevitable, particularly if conservation policies are to be sustainable. The practice of archaeology helped locate multiple values and perspectives on the past and on present landscape. As this mountain landscape, considered wilderness today, is threatened by suburbanization and timber interests, decisions about what to lose, what to retain, and what to build anew will be better, if they are informed by careful understanding (Bradley et al. 2004).

Policy decision$ shape the Appalachian landscape past and present. These decisions rely on the voices of the public, yet so often the decisions about what happens along this section of the Appalachian Trail in which I have conducted research take place in Washington, D.C., Lynchburg, Virginia or Harper's Ferry, West Virginia with the

Appalachian Trail Conservancy. The appearance of democracy lends the policies

legitimacy, but the interests of those with the strongest narrative, or the most money are

usually privileged. For the African American descendants this land has become the

'government's land, rather than a place for recreation or leisure. This could be a

reflection of what Kimberly Smith (2007) describes as slavery's legacy, which created an

entirely different relationship to the land and environment for African Americans than

exists for white Americans. Smith argues that African American environmental thought is

based £n African Americans' desire to own their own land. Slavery and racial oppression

'put black Americans into a conflicted relationship to the land -- by coercing their labor, 202 restricting their ability to own land, and impairing their ability to interpret the landscape'

(Smith 2007: 7). For African American descendants in the area, the land, which was farmed by their ancestors, has taken on different meanings and policy decisions have not reflected their interests.

Race and Class in Appalachia

Appalachia's natural environment -- the rugged terrain, abundant water, temperate deciduous forests, rocky soil, narrow floodplains, and biotic diversity -- gives the region a distinct character. This natural environment has not determined the course of

Appalachia's cultural development, but it has played an important role. The resources of this mountain land -- whether it is farmland, coal, timber or scenic views -- and the struggles to control them have shaped the history of Appalachia. Many of the racial and classed stereotypes about the region's inhabitants were created through these struggles.

As the past was shaped by struggles over land, so is the present. In order to make informed decisions, it is important to remember that the raced and classed stereotypes about Appalachian people and land have historical trajectory -- although by no means linear -- and that many of the concerns are not new.

As discussed in previous chapters, American Indians made their livelihoods from the mountain resources and played a powerful role in shaping the Appalachian landscape.

Contact between Europeans and Native Americans was a turning point in struggles over

Appalachian land. Prior to the arrival of Europeans, the mountain land was inhabited by

various genealogies of native peoples with a diversity of cultural practices and territorialities. With European contact, American Indians were increasingly lumped into 203 a single group and denied an identity except in relationship to whites. European settlers saw American Indians as "lazy", "savage" and unable to tame the mountain wilderness and placed Indian peoples outside the rights and privileges of white society (McGuire

1997: 66). By grouping all American Indians together as not white and not productive land users, European settlers were able to justify the resettlement of the Appalachian

Mountains.

During the early European exploration and resettling of the Appalachian

Mountains, the pathways linking the routes of settlement and conquest to the colonies

bound Appalachia to the commercial and political lineaments of the nation (Dunaway

1996). During this time particular power relations and anxieties over race and class were

produced. "Work and whiteness joined in the argument for dispossession. Settlers,

whether or not they worked harder or more steadily than Native Americans, came to

consider themselves 'hardworking whites' in counterpoint to their imagination oflndian

styles of life" (Roediger 1999: 21 ). On the other hand, mountain society was class

differentiated and heterogeneous. Mountain elites modeled themselves after the coastal

elites and defined themselves as not "Indians" and "not Irish" and based their status and

privilege on control of land, labor, and resources.

At the tum of the 19th century African slavery increasingly became a significant

form of labor in the region. The existence of slave labor in pre-Civil War Appalachia is

seldom discussed since the mountains were thought to have inhibited a widespread

occurrence of large plantations. Yet the combination of slavery and indentured servitude

meant economic marginalization among Appalachia's white and African populations. 204

Poor whites defined their class positions by fashioning identities as "not slaves" and as

"not Blacks" and the term 'white trash' became a way for African enslaved laborers and elite whites to differentiate themselves from poor whites.

With the abolition of slavery in the wake of the Civil War, the original 'white trash' category expanded and diffused to embrace a variety of white groups and communities. These groups were mostly rural and became identified chiefly with the

'backwoods' yokels of the southern Appalachians; they became the 'hillbillies' of derisive folklore and, significantly, supposedly scientific studies undertaken at the end of the 19th century by the U.S. Eugenics Records Office. As scientists, color writers and scholars focused on poor whites, the African American residents of Appalachia became invisible. The focus on the poverty of Appalachia, particularly white poverty, was a social control tactic that justified the economic and environmental exploitation that occurred as control of land and labor moved out of the region.

The plantation economy and slave labor system shaped the mountain landscape in

Amherst County, Virginia. African American families seeking better lives after emancipation worked the mountain land as farm owner and tenants. For both black and white Appalachian farm families, land -- whether owned or rented -- provided a place to make a home, to control ones leisure, to live self-sufficiently. But the African American families also experienced the institutional racism and inequality brought forth by Jim

Crow and Black Codes. Moses Richeson and Eli Hughes were a part of a larger system of spatialized power shaped by Jim Crow racism and Black Codes that limited economic opportunities. Black Codes determined where African Americans could attend school or church and which side of the creek they could live. During this time of segregation, the 205 white families of Amherst County were firming up the 'race' lines marking people of color as 'not white' and delineating the spatial boundaries of whiteness.

At the same time, the economic development from the industrial revolution and the expansion of cities combined with factors such as population growth, the timber boom, and the conservation movement to transform the farm and forest economy, dislocate farm families, and recreate the Appalachian landscape. As the government sought to manage natural resources scientifically and watershed protection became increasingly important, the land in which these Appalachian families made their livelihoods was increasingly coveted.The land that was once marked with fields, outbuildings and the homes of African American families was cleared and replanted as foresters tried their hand at scientifically managing nature. The creation of forests and parks provided new jobs and helped create a burgeoning middle class with leisure time who saw the Appalachian land as a place of recreation. The building of the Appalachian

Trail combined the forest's scientific management of nature with recreation.

Today, new discussions of mixedness are emerging with Barack Obama, a mixed race Senator from Chicago running for president, a national news station talking about race in the United States (O'Brien 2008) and the U.S. Census allowing respondents to identify themselves as being two or more races. Today, 7.3 million Americans identify as mixed race (Navarro 2008). In Appalachia, more than 48,000 Appalachians (22 percent of the region's multiracial population) identified as both white and African

American (Pollard 2004: 5). Many people continue to select one-race label, even if they are of mixed descent, sometimes because of strong identification with one racial group, 206 and occasionally because of a conscious effort not to dilute the numbers of the group they most identify with.

In Appalachia, today, whites continue to be seen as the only significant group living. Other groups, such as African Americans or American Indians, living in

Appalachia are seen as so small that their presence is of little consequence. Thus, whiteness has become a defining factor of Appalachia with an unconsciously diminished depiction of African Americans and the other groups' place or contributions to the region

(Hayden 2002: 124). Archaeological research brought something unique to the study and understanding of the history of race and class in Appalachia, since the spatiality of racism and inequality was not only inscribed on the landscape, but was also 'buried' (Byrne

2003: 173). The story of plantations, African American landownership, displacement and the building of the Appalachian Trail is a reminder that race relations in Appalachia were no less complex, ambiguous or contradictory than anywhere else in the South or the nation. Appalachia's 'otherness' was constructed historically. The Appalachian

Mountains and the people who live in them function as sites for addressing national anxieties over economic and social concerns such as conflicts over land.

As we address contemporary concerns about timber and mining policies, water supplies, and suburbanization, it is necessary to move beyond the Appalachian Trail corridor to consider the impact of these changes to the landscape as well as the people who live in the surrounding area. Who benefits from the current timber policies? Who suffers? Are we listening to the voices of the people relocated to the margins of the forest? Are there possibilities for balancing the concerns of urban recreationists and rural families? What local, regional, and national actions need to be taken to protect our 207 forests and watersheds and address climate change? The connections between local actions and regional and national policies, such as timber harvesting and coal mining, have historically shaped the Appalachian landscape and continue to impact the lives of the people inhabiting the region. The choices we make about energy, land and water do not happen in isolation. Energy, land and water policies impact people's livelihoods, their health and their cultural identities.

The Appalachian landscape is given meaning through socio-spatial practices. The

Appalachian Trail is socially constructed as "wilderness" and "nature"; it was made and continues to be re-made through interactions between people and the environment over time. In this mountain landscape the meanings of race and class have developed and changed in group struggles that were rooted in particular historic time periods, such as slavery, emancipation, displacement and the building of the Appalachian Trail. The way

Taft Hughes experienced the mountain landscape differed from the way hikers experience the same landscape today. Yet history and archaeology brought the differing ways of seeing and experiencing the Appalachian land together. Archaeology was a tool for recovering the forgotten histories of displaced peoples and to reestablish their voices in the history of Appalachia. But for archaeology to have the potential to bring change it has continue to address contemporary concerns and brought to bear on contemporary environmental and social policy. 208

Figure 7.3. A Hike with Taft Hughes, Photo by Sandra Elder; Excavations 2005, Justin Golash, Jordan Leverett and Don Owen.

Future Research

In my dissertation research, I focused on men, such as Jesse Richeson, Moses

Richeson and Eli Hughes. In the future, I hope to locate the women -- Molly Richeson,

Lucy Hughes, and Ann Rucker -- for a more complete understanding of the material life

of the Appalachian landscape. I will continue excavations at the Richeson and Hughes

sites with a focus on locating root cellars and outbuildings, particularly the smokehouses.

I will also locate and excavate more house sites owned and rented by African Americans

for comparison. An examination of the landscape with a wider lens would provide

insight into patterns of occupation would provide insight into raced and classed relations

in the area. I would also determine the locations of stores or shops in the area to see how

the opportunities to purchase items may have changed over time.

I will also work to continue a dialogue with the descendants of the Richeson and

Hughes families. Upon the near completion of this dissertation, I was contacted by

Martha Richeson about information I posted on a family tree on a genealogy website,

ancestry.com. Her husband is the white, great grandson of Samuel Richeson, Jesse

Richeson's son. Martha Richeson was interested in the location of Jesse Richeson's grave 209 and the family connections between the white Richesons and the enslaved laborers. This was the first contact I had had with the white descendants of Jesse Richeson. The introduction provides an opportunity for the African American Richesons to meet the

Euro American Richesons. The introduction of the two families would be an opportunity to discuss race and the legacy of slavery. The introduction of the descendants of Moses

Richeson and the white descendants of Jesse Richeson would provide new insights into what it means to be white or black in the United States and in Appalachia today.

I will also develop a guide to hiking the Brown Mountain Creek section of the

Appalachian Trail with historical and archaeological information. I also plan to work with the Appalachian Trail Park Office project, "A Trail to Every Classroom" that connects the Appalachian Trail with local education programs. I will partner with an

Amherst County schoolteacher to develop a training program that connects the

Appalachian Trail, archaeology, local history and science. Archaeology will continue to be a way to address contemporary concerns about race, class and the environment.

Bringing the Past into the Future: Trowels, Buttons, and Blazes

On that hike along the Appalachian Trail, the past met the present when Taft

Hughes told members of the Natural Bridge Appalachian Trail Club (NBA TC) about growing up along Brown Mountain Creek. On that hike, Hughes told the hikers about life in that mountain hollow, getting water from the spring house and walking across the creek on a foot log and the hikers told him about filtering the creek water to prevent 210

Giardia and asked questions about farming, hunting and gathering plants (Fener 1992).

These conversations have continued through archaeological research along the Trail.

The small things left behind on Brown and Long Mountains bring the past and present together reminding us of the people who walked this land before us. The glass shards and cut nails, buttons and beads, stonewalls and chimney falls demonstrate a farming way of life that has been transformed through industry and conservation. The

Appalachian National Scenic Trail is an artifact that tells a story of 20th century

American industrialization, volunteerism, and conservation (Scherer 2000: 29). At the same time, the Trail tells a more local story of small farms, displacement and water conservation. The small things remind us that race and class are still bound with concerns about land and water in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. The material life of the Appalachian landscape extends from the past into the present reminding us that the 'natural world' has a history; a history built through group struggles to control the natural environment. Hiking along this 'little ribbon of wilderness' reflects more than getting out to nature, it tells a story about people and their relationship with the landscape today as well as in the past. Only by recognizing this story can we begin to take steps to consider future actions that will reshape the land use practices on this mountain landscape. APPENDIX

The following kinship charts were compiled from U.S. Census records, family bibles, oral histories, and personal communication. I have only included kinship information relevant to the discussion in the dissertation, particularly Jesse Richeson,

Moses Richeson and Eli Hughes. I include James Richeson because of the connection to

Eli Hughes. A blank space indicates that I was unable to locate the information.

211 212

Jesse Richeson Amelia Rucker Birth: 1779 in Amherst County, VA Death: 7 May 1855 in Amherst County, VA Death: about 1815 in Amherst County, VA Parents: John Richeson & Mary Johns Parents: Anthony Rucker & Rebecca Burgess

Marriage: 12 January 1801

Ch"ldI ren s ex B"rthI s po use Mamage Dea th Varland M 16 Nov 1801 Mary Peatross 21 Sept 1833 6 Sept 1840 Nancy (Ann) F 9 Oct 1803 John A. M 11 Mar1805 Susan Rucker 29 July 1874 Amelia F 16 Mar 1806 Lowry Gregory 9 Feb 1824 6 Aug 1875 Rice E. Graves 1833 Rebecca J. F 16 Dec 1807 Thomas Tucker 28 Apr 1828 22 Dec 1837 MaryT. F 11Dec1808

Varella F 19 Oct 1810 John A. Summerville William A. M 9 Oct 1812 Mary M. Douglass 2 Nov 1843 29 Oct 1874 Jesse M 5 July 1813 20 Sept 1834 Thomas M 5 Dec 1814 12 Jan 1815 213

J esse R"IC hes on Ka th erme Nags taff SI e dd Birth: 1779 in Amherst County, VA Birth: 1790 Death: 7 May 1855 in Amherst County, VA Death: 9 Sept 1854 in Amherst County, VA Parents: John Richeson & Mary Johns Parents: William Sledd & Lucy Hogg Sledd

Marriage: about 1816

Ch"ldI ren s ex e·1rt h s po use M amage D ea th James S. M 17 Jan 1817 Nancy Douglass 22 Sept 1842 21July1898 Josephine F 18 Apr 1819 James M. Milner 7 Sept 1852 15 Mar 1884 Thomas E. M 1Jan1820 Elizabeth Ruggles 6 Jan 1848 June 1902 Lucy F 17 Dec 1821 Charles H. Rucker 18 Oct 1847 Petticus S. M 12 Feb 1824 Virginia Douglass Katherine F 9 Feb 1826 1Mar1828 Samuel M 24 Sept 1830 Leanna Millner 8 Dec 1853 1904 Joseph M 24 Apr 1834 3 Jan 1836 214

Jesse Richeson Unnamed Enslaved Laborer Birth: 1779 in Amherst County, VA Birth: Death: 7 May 1855 in Amherst County, VA Death: Parents: John Richeson & Marv Johns Parents:

Marriage:

Chi"Id ren s ex e·1rt h s po use Mamage Dea th Moses M about 1828 Clara Rucker 1898 Mary (Mollie) Scruggs 215

Moses Richeson Clara Birth: about 1828 in Amherst County, VA Birth: Death: 1898 in Amherst County, VA Death: about 1860 Parents: Jesse Richeson & enslaved laborer Parents:

Marriage:

Ch"ldI ren s ex B"rthI s po use M arriage Dea th James H. M about 1857 MaryF. 6Apr1931 Josephus S. M about 1858 Annie 24 Oct 1940 216

Moses Richeson Mary (Mollie) Scruggs Birth: about 1828 in Amherst County, VA Birth: about 1845 Death: 1898 in Amherst County, VA Death: Parents: Jesse Richeson & enslaved laborer Parents:

Marriaqe:

Children Sex Birth Spouse Marria e Death Clara F about 1864 Alfred Rucker 28 Aug 1945 217

J a mes s . R"1c heson N ancy D oug ass Birth: 17 Jan 1817 in Amherst Co, VA Birth: 23 Dec 1821 in Rockbridge County, VA Death: 21July1898 Death: 2 Nov 1887 in Amherst County, VA Parents: Jesse Richeson & Katherine Sledd Parents: William Douglass & Mary McCluer

Marriage: 22 Sept 1842

Ch"ldI ren s ex e·•rt h s po use M arriage D eat h Ernest M 25 Sept 1843 Susan Rucker Jan 1844 Andrew J. M 17 Jan 1846 Carrie Minor Nov 1878 16 Nov 1896 Mary K. F 31 Dec 1847 Samuel B. Rucker 20 Oct 1869 Lucy Anna F 16 Jan 1851 George E. Cunningham 28 Sept 1877 4 Dec 1919 James D. M 13 Apr 1859 24 May 1877 218

James S. Richeson Unnamed Enslaved Laborer Birth: 17Jan1817 in Amherst County, VA Birth: Death: 21July1898 Death: Parents: Jesse Richeson & Katherine Sledd Parents:

MarriaQe:

Children Sex Birth Spouse Marria e Death Susan F about 1842 William (Douglass) Hughes 219 w·irI 1am (D oug ass ) H ug hes s us an R"IC hes on Birth: 1779 in Amherst County, VA Birth: about 1842 in Amherst County, VA Death: 7 May 1855 in Amherst County, VA Death: Parents: Parents: James Richeson & enslaved laborer

Marriaqe:

Ch"ldI ren s ex B"rthI s po use Mamage Dea th John M about 1863

Eli Abner M 22 Mar 1865 Lucy Hilton 1941

Nannie F about 1867

Kate F about 1869

Marie F about 1871

James M about 1875

Willie M about 1879 3 Jan 1836 220

El"I Ab ner H ug hes Lucy H"ltI on Birth: 22 Mar 1865 in Amherst County, VA Birth: 17 Mar 1865 in Amherst County, VA Death: 10 Mar 1941 in Amherst County, VA Death: 14 Apr 1957 in Amherst County, VA Parents: William Hughes and Susan Richeson Parents:

Marriaqe:

Ch"ldI ren s ex B"rthI s po use Mamage Dea th Fletcher M 14 May 1890 Mary Bessie F about 1893 1941 William M about 1895 Russel M about 1897 Leila Harry M about 1901 Henry M about 1904 Katie F about 1906 Alma Ruth F about 1906 Harry Ogden 1936 Taft M 28 June 1909 Dora Black 11Nov1999 REFERENCES

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