Buried Treasure in Pendleton County

Riverton Gap. This is in the vicinity of the treasure.

Mysterious Strangers Do Strange Things in Riverton
The Pendleton Times, January 8, 1932.

For several months a party of three mysterious strangers with a Maryland license on their automobile have been noticed by the inhabitants of Riverton. On the week of Christmas the party was around the hills near Riverton and seemed to be avoiding the local people. Then on Sunday during the Christmas holidays they stopped for the day on the road that leads up Roots Run across the river from Riverton. They seemed to be working on the car. In fact they told one boy the car was broken down and that they had sent to Franklin for a mechanic.

That night while the people of Riverton were at preaching, the three strangers began to dig a place in the ground and by the time the service was over they were starting away. Some of the citizens went over to investigate and found the hole they had dug partially filled. Later in the night it seems the strangers came back and filled the hole and made a couple of marks as though someone had been buried.

Later an investigation showed that a hole had been started in the shape of a grave and that at the bottom of the hole, three feet down, it seemed that some round object like a stone jar had been removed.

Old residents declare that the spot, which is on Elmer Lambert's farm, was once covered by a very large flat, thin rock. This was beaten up as a part of the foundation of a nearby bridge.

Naturally such happenings set people to wondering and the prevailing theory is that they were fortune hunters. It reminds one of the tales of the pirates or gold holders of the Spanish Main.

Old residents declare that after the Civil War a large quantity of gold was stolen in Virginia and brought to this country; that later the two brothers who were supposed to be guilty were apprehended and a party went to arrest them, which resulted in a fight in which one of the brothers was killed. It happened to be the one who had hidden the hold the night before in a new place.

The other brother fled from the county and has not been seen since. Inasmuch as one of the three strangers who was in the party of last week appeared to be between ninety and a hundred years old, many people believe he was the brother who fled.

Naturally this is news of great interest. If the gold was hidden and found we hope that the truth may be discovered and some one found who will divulge the secret. The only clue to the strangers is the fact that the car had a Maryland license. Any further clues as to the identity of these strangers would be much appreciated.

Another View of the Riverton Gap, where this treasure is supposed to be buried.

Hidden Gold at Riverton
The Pendleton Times, January 15, 1932
Editor Times;

This is a reply to the article of last week in regard to the legend of the lost or hidden gold in the gap along Root's Run east of Riverton.

This legend is strong and I have heard it ever since I can remember and I heard it from different old people, some yet living--people who had heard it from older ones who were nearly grown when the incident took place.

The legend as I have heard it is this; During the War of 1812, twelve men came one evening, traveling from no one knew where and camped at or near where J.E. Lambert now lives. I do not know that there was any house then built there.

The descendants of old John Justice Hinkle had scattered and built over most of the Germany Valley section and farther up Root's Run. Anyway, there were dwellings, and dwellers lived on the Stringtown Run where Claude Nelson now lives.

The twelve men camped for the night at the spring where the two runs fork, and they had with them a half-bushel camp pot or kettle, level full of gold coins, and they told the local people who saw them that they were getting away from the war and taking their gold so that it would not be taken from them.

The people supposed they were robbers or pirates; my guess would be the latter, for this was about the time when the American colonists got a navy strong enough to make the pirates along the Atlantic coast think about scattering. As these men stated, they divided up and carried the gold with them during the day, but being afraid to keep it with them during the night it was their custom for one of them to slip out from camp after dark and hide it away. At this they took turn about, one hid it one night, another one the next night.

On this particular night one of them shouldered up the kettle and went down Root's Run, which at that time was almost covered with timber and underbrush. I presume there was some kind of trail there at that time for it was the natural outlet for the settlers to go down to North Fork river.

This man disappeared and came back in a short time, and he alone knew where he had hidden the kettle full of gold, And now the sad part of the story comes in. Before the time to get the gold next morning this man was a corpse. Probably a row started and he got in the way of a long knife or stopped a slug from a flint-lock pistol.

When the remaining eleven men went out to get the gold, they were unable to find it. A month's search with the help of the settlers who lived in the section failed to disclose the hiding place, and finally the travelers had to abandon the search and left for parts unknown. So far as anyone knows this gold has been hidden there for 120 years, and is still there unless the three mysterious strangers mentioned last week who did the digging during Christmas week did really locate it with a divining rod, magic needle, or whatever dinkus is called that they locate buried treasure with. For my part, I did not see the hole that was dug by the strangers until it was so trampled up by people that I could not tell anything about it.

Now, if this legend about the gold was really true, according to my judgment the digging was done at a very favorable place, for the trail that was there 120 years ago was probably right where the road is today, for the reason that there is no other place for it to have been, this man, loaded down with 200 pounds or more of gold did not leave that path very far, or he would have had to up into the rocky bars along the cliffs on either side where the old settlers for many years did most of their hunting for the gold.

About 15 years ago, or about the time of the advent of the Model T Ford in this section, I was going through the gap one evening and saw three men wandering up and down through the rocks on the opposite side of the Run. One had some sort of dinkus in his hand,"sorter" carrying on like Calvin Ruddle does when he is witching for water. The men were strangers to me and had their old Ford parked down where the school house was then.

I also saw, last summer, a party of men in the gap who were probably on the same business. So it looks like the search has been carried on at intervals all down through the years. W.L. Warner.

Alice Veach

The old farmhouse where we used to live. Alice Veach's house was built like this.

Stories of supernatural beings and witches abound in the hills of Pendleton County. One of them that sticks with me is that of a witch named Alice Veach. People told of how she could make sewing needles dance around in the middle of a frying pan just by saying some words over them, and how she could make people sick, or even kill livestock, just by looking at them a certain way.

My grandmaw told of how one time ole Alice Veach came by her house when my aunt Barb was a little girl and Alice looked in the window at her. Barb immediately started to cry, and she cried for three days solid. My grandmaw, knowing that Barb had to have been witched, went to an old woman in the area who was known to help fight the powers of evil spells. The old woman immediately recognized the signs of an evil spell and confirmed my grandmaw’s suspicions that Barb had been witched. The old woman took Barb in her arms and whispered a few words in her ear, reputed as being something from the Bible, and then handed her back to grandmaw. The old woman told grandmaw that whoever had put this hex on Barb would come down deathly sick within three days. Sure enough, three days later Alice Veach lay on her deathbed.

The story continued when a preacher was called upon to come and pray with Alice Veach. Alice was by then laid up in an upstairs bedroom of her house. When the preacher came to the house, the family was grateful that he had come and, of course, invited him in. He then proceeded upstairs to see Alice. When he opened the bedroom door, Alice sat straight up in the bed and looked at him square in the eye and told him to get out, she didn’t want to hear any of his lies.

The preacher immediately recognized that Alice was possessed by a demon so he started praying out loud. Upon hearing this, they say Alice started to scream and holler and carry on, and when the praying continued, by this time the preacher was screaming out his prayer, Alice Veach let out a loud moan and rolled over and died. At once the entire house began to shake violently, and everyone thought the house was going to fly apart, and many of the family ran outside to escape what seemed like sure death. Then the preacher hollered, “Open a window and let the spirit out before she tears the house apart.” They did and after a couple of minutes the house quieted down and all was still.

People say even to this day, you can’t stay in that house, it is still haunted by Alice Veach. It now sits vacant down in a side holler out in the middle of nowhere. I remember when we were teenagers, my brother Jason and I walked down in the holler where the house sits. We were walking our dogs and had them on leashes. About the time we got within site of the house, both dogs took to carrying on and trying to run back up out of the holler, but since they were on leashes they were held there by me and Jason. We kept walking closer to the house, and you know how dogs will usually walk ahead of you, well this time, the dogs were trying to run back the way we had came. It was so bad, the dogs sat down to where Jason and I were practically dragging them.

When we finally got to the porch of the house,the dogs took to whining and moaning, and me and Jason felt something all around us that was just oppressive, kind of like an unnatural pressure bearing down on us. We kind of got afraid and started to leave, but we soon found that every step we took seemed like a hundred steps. We thought we were never going to get out of that holler. If it hadn’t been for the dogs pulling us out of the holler, I’m convinced we’d be there still. That was my first and last trip to the haunted house of Alice Veach.

Much Ado About Nuttin'

My cousin Bub picking up hickory nuts.

Every fall on the mountain, my family used to get together and we’d go on a nuttin’ trip. We’d gather hickory nuts, which are by far my favorite nut, and black walnuts. We knew which trees would be good bearers and we went to those trees. We sought out the nuts with the best kernals and with the thinnest hulls. Over the years, the best nut trees were left alone and the poor producers were cut for other uses. Along the way, we’d just have a pleasant afternoon and look at the land and changes on the old Burns homeplace.


The foundation of the old Burns Homeplace.

A couple of years ago, we walked all the way up the mountain to the site of the old Burns Homestead, and picked nuts all along the way, and left them in sacks to pick up on the return trip. We walked up around the mountain, and up through the Burns Family Cemetery, which is situated on top of a narrow ridge line. If you’ve ever wondered why old family cemeteries are built high on ridges and on hilltops, it all goes back to those are the area’s that proved to be marginal farmland. In the old days, especially in the mountains, you had to maximize the potential of your good flat land in order to make a living, and putting a cemetery on your best land would certainly not be the wisest decision.


The narrow ridge path leading to the homeplace.

After passing through the cemetery, and visiting the graves of loved ones, we continued on up the narrow ridge, which has a trail that meanders right on top. The land itself exudes a sense of timelessness, the trees are old and gnarled, and you can feel it in your soul that this is home. If you’ve never experienced this phenomenon, then I really can’t adequately convey it to you but suffice it to say, it is quite palpable. No wonder Appalachian people never want to leave the land, and even in death, they want to be buried on the land from which they sprung. The old Appalachian sense of place is very real, we are part of the land and the land is part of us. We are inseparable. We may leave from time to time, but the old homeplace keeps calling us back.



Homeplace Ruins.

Soon, the ridge cut out around the hill and you could see the meadow that contained the old homeplace. I believe it was the first time the younger kids had ever been to the old homeplace, and they were excited and ran ahead to “discover” the site of the house before the rest of us got there. It really was funny to me, I remembered doing this very thing when I was their age, and I’m sure my Dad did the same when he was that age too. While the remnants of the past are rapidly fading, you can still see the old foundation, and a few farm implements, like an old plow that sits in what used to be the yard. The old homeplace is situated right under the North Mountain rocks, and it is quite high up on the mountain, right at the frost line. Above the frost line, the growing season is too short to grow any crops so all throughout the fringes of Germany Valley, that land was left forested. Even to this day, you can pretty much discern the frost line by looking at where the farmland stops and the timber begins. I can’t help but think it must have been very cold living this high up on the mountain, even on that pleasant autmn day, the air had a bite to it. From the site of the old house, which is all gone except for the foundation, you have a remarkable view of Germany Valley. I can certainly see why my ancestors chose this spot to build their home.


The old plow at the homeplace.

Old family stories maintain that my Grandpaw George Burns owned the land for as far as the eye could see. They say he was rich in land but not in money, and he would sell entire sections of land dirt cheap. For example, there are tales of him selling North Mountain for a bottle of whiskey, and he sold the North Fork Flats for a wagon and a team of horses. It never fails to hearten the family to recount these old stories, and for a few moments we hold out heads up higher than usual, but then someone inevitably asks, “Why, if our family owned all of this beautiful land, did we sell all the good land off and keep the rock pile?” Everyone gets a good laugh out of it, and we again tell stories of family members who have passed away. I wonder how many generations have taken part in nuttin’ trips just like this.



Bub, Me and Mernie showing off our hickory nuts.


There’s just something about a nuttin’ trip that triggers that walk down memory lane.


Me, my aunt Six and her daughter Mernie, pose in front of a hickory tree.

The Erl-King

This is one of my very favorite poems. I can just imagine my German ancestors living in fear of the Erl-king. What better way to begin October than with a German folktale/song/poem, The Erl-King?




Der Elrkonig (The Erl-king) by Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

Who's riding so late through th' endless wild?
The father 't is with his infant child;
He thinks the boy 's well off in his arm,
He grasps him tightly, he keeps him warm.

My son, say why are you hiding your face ?
Oh father, the Erlking 's coming apace,
The Erlking 's here with his train and crown!
My son, the fog moves up and down.

Be good, my child, come, go with me!
I know nice games, will play them with thee,
And flowers thou 'It find near by where I live,
pretty dress my mother will give.

Dear father, oh father, and do you not hear
What th' Erlking whispers so close to my ear?
Be quiet, do be quiet, my son,
Through leaves the wind is rustling anon.

Do come, my darling, oh come with me!
Good care my daughters will take of thee,
My daughters will dance about thee in a ring,
Will rock thee to sleep and will prettily sing.

Dear father, oh father, and do you not see
The Erlking's daughters so near to me?
My son, my son, no one 's in our way,
The willows are looking unusually gray.

I love thee, thy beauty I covet and choose,
Be willing, my darling, or force I shall use!
Dear father, oh father, he seizes my arm!
The Erlking, father, has done me harm.

The father shudders, he darts through the wild;
With agony fill him the groans of his child.
He reached his farm with fear and dread;
The infant son in his arms was dead.

The Ballad of Alfred & Attie

Today I am reminded of my great-great grandparents, Alfred and Attie Kile. They were the parents of my sainted and oft-mentioned Grandmaw Mary. I have no picture of Alfred or Attie but I know that at least two photos exist of them; I just have never been able to track them down. Several of my family have seen them, though.

Theirs truly was a story of love and loss, and I rank them at the top of people whom I wish I could meet.

Grandpaw Alfred was a poor man all his life. His father, Thomas Kile, had been hurt in a farming accident when Alfred was just a child, so Alfred and his siblings were “farmed out” to neighboring families. Basically, this was just a way for the children to be fed and the neighboring families to have free labor. Alfred grew up working, and working hard, too. He soon grew into a very large man. My Grandmaw Mary says her father was at least 6 and a half feet tall, wore a size 15 EEE shoe and used a mule shoe as a heel tap. Grandpaw Alfred also was a large man, and is widely contributed for giving all of us our size. He had raging red hair and a full beard.

Grandmaw Attie was, by all accounts, one of the most beautiful women in Germany Valley. She was courted by men of the most prominent families, and she came from a respected family as well. As the story goes, one summer afternoon, Attie went visiting some neighbors with her step-mother and on the way there the wheel on the wagon she was riding in somehow messed up. It just so happened that about that same time, my Grandpaw Alfred came along on the same road, returning from Riverton with a load of feed for the farmer he was working for at the time. Of course, seeing two ladies in distress, Grandpaw Alfred stopped to see if he could help. Soon, Alfred had repaired the wheel well enough to get Attie and her step-mother to the farm, where it could be further repaired. My grandmaw Mary said that Attie fell in love with Alfred right there along that road and thought there was no other man that could even compare with him.


Remnants of Fiddler's Green, home of Alfred & Attie.

In the weeks following the wagon wheel incident, Grandmaw Attie refused to see any of the suitors who came to court her; and when asked why, she told her father that she was in love with Alfred Kile. Well, Grandpaw Cullom just about had a fit. Alfred was a hired man, for God’s sake, and didn’t have two nickels to rub against each other, let alone have any land. Attie remained adamant in this, and after some time had passed, Grandpaw Cullom allowed Alfred to court Attie.

The two fell deeply in love. Attie thought she had the most wonderful man that ever drew a breath, and Alfred was still in shock that such a beautiful and well-bred girl would even look his way. They were soon married, but all was not well. You see, the jealous, rejected suitors got together and devised a plan to put Alfred in his place. On their wedding night, just as Grandpaw Alfred and Grandmaw Attie were going to their marital bed, the raucous sounds of a Shivaree were heard. Knowing this to be the custom, Alfred and Attie were not alarmed; however, instead of just pulling Alfred out of bed and tying him to a greased rail as was typical, these men forcibly tied Alfred’s hands behind his back and talked amongst themselves about hanging him. They did too. They took Grandpaw Alfred to the old oak tree out from the house and tried to hang him. However, Grandpaw Alfred was such a large man that the rope stretched although Alfred was scarred by the rope burns around his neck for the rest of his life. Somehow, Alfred got his hands freed and fought off the men. After warning those men that they’d better never bother him or his wife ever again, Alfred returned to the house and his bride, whom had been bolted inside during the melee.

The men didn’t physically attack Alfred again, but they did put the word out to all the neighboring farms that they were not to hire Alfred to work for them. So, the newlyweds were faced with the dilemma of not having money, work or a place to live, so they decided all they could do was leave Germany Valley. They moved to Rockingham County, Virginia, for a few years and Alfred sharecropped some land over there, but it soon became obvious that they couldn’t make a living doing that, and Attie was so far from her family, so they moved back to Pendleton County, only this time on the Smith Creek section of the county.

Uncle Vern Kile, son of Alfred & Attie.

By this time, Alfred and Attie were blessed with my Grandmaw Mary and my Uncle Okey. They lived and worked on Smith Creek for several years, and several more children were born, but they were never able to afford a place of their own. Word came from across the mountain that Grandpaw Cullom had died and had left Attie a small cabin locally known as “Fiddler’s Green”. Well, they knew well the trouble that faced them back in Germany Valley but not being able to pass up a home of their own, Alfred and Attie moved back to Germany Valley.


They found that times had changed, and there were even a few families now that would hire Grandpaw Alfred to work for them because he was known all over the county as a very hard worker and an extremely strong man. In fact, Grandpaw Alfred had become somewhat of a local legend for his strength after he saw a mean bull charging a woman and her three kids. Alfred knew he had to do something of else the woman and/or the kids would likely be killed, so he picked up a slab of wood and chased alongside of the bull, and hit the bull across the neck and killed the charging bull just as it was almost on the woman and kids. The woman’s husband was so grateful, that he paid the farmer for the bull and spread the tale of Alfred’s great strength countywide. Then a few months later, Grandpaw Alfred was working in the stock pen and another mean bull had pinned a man against the fence and was killing him, the man was screaming for help and several men had ropes around the bull and was trying to pull the bull away. Grandpaw Alfred again came to the rescue by walking up and hitting the mad bull with his fist and knocking it unconscious, and the man was saved! Nobody had ever heard of that happening before.


Fiddler's Green

So now, Grandpaw Alfred and Grandmaw Attie were back home in Germany Valley and all seemed to be going good for them. Even some of the old, jealous suitors had let go of some of the animosity towards Alfred and even hired him for some odd jobs. Then, one bad winter, Grandpaw Alfred came down with pneumonia. Then it was even more dangerous than now, but somehow Grandpaw Alfred beat it, and was able to go back to work. But, the thing about pneumonia is that once you’ve had it, you can catch it again really easy. It seemed that every winter after that, Grandpaw Alfred caught pneumonia. There were many outbreaks of flu after the Great Flu of 1918. One of these bouts occurred in 1922. Alfred and Attie’s son Okey died that year. He was only 19 years old. He was Alfred’s pride and joy and they say that Alfred lost a little piece of himself when Okey succumbed to the pneumonia that set in after a bout of the flu. By this time, there were several other children who depended on Alfred, so he carried his grief around with him and went back to work, they say he worked twice as hard and was known to be able to cut a field of corn by hand in just one afternoon. This was supposed to be work for several men but Alfred done it alone.


My grandmaw Mary, daughter of Alfred & Attie.

A few years later, Grandpaw Alfred seemed to be returning to his old self, and my Grandmaw Mary (Alfred’s daughter) got married to Don Burns and had children of her own. At this time, my Granddaddy Don was a timberman and he worked out in Cass at Pocahontas County. He would send Grandmaw Mary money every now and then, but certainly not on a regular basis. During this time, my Grandmaw Mary moved in with her parents, Alfred and Attie. The arrangement worked well, Grandmaw Mary was the oldest child and some said she was Alfred’s favorite after Okey died. This worked a couple of years until 1931 when Grandpaw Alfred caught pneumonia again. This time, he forced himself to work in inclement weather knowing it would be bad on him but also knowing that his grandchildren relied on him to provide for them. This went on a few weeks until Grandpaw Alfred was too weak to work and then he was forced to stay at home. With no work, there was no money coming in so the family was running out of food, and Grandpaw Alfred went so far as to refuse his helpings and insisted that the grandchildren eat before he did to make sure they had enough. After a week or so, Alfred was so weak he couldn’t even get out of bed, and by this time, he was unable to eat much of anything. He died on February 13, 1931 at the age of 54 years. The community news in the local newspaper read:

“Alfred Kile was buried Saturday. He died of pneumonia. Not being able to get any work, he and his family suffered for lack of food. He was a strong man. On account of not getting enough nourishment his body was weakened and he wasn’t able to stand an attack of pneumonia.”

After Grandpaw Alfred’s death, my Granddaddy Don felt so guilty over his part in this that he returned home and built a house for Grandmaw Mary and his children. Grandmaw Attie did what she had to do to provide for her family, she was too proud to move in with her daughter, so she sold “Fiddler’s Green” and moved to Circleville and got a job at the new switchboard for the telephone company. She worked there for a couple of years, until she got an infection of some sort and the local doctor told her she should consult the new hospital that had been built down in Petersburg. She did and they gave her a shot of penicillin. Grandmaw Attie had never before been to a hospital or even knew what penicillin was, all she knew was the doctor said it would clear up the infection. Sadly, she died from an allergic reaction to the penicillin shot that night after returning home. Grandmaw Attie was buried beside of Grandpaw Alfred in the old family cemetery near where their honeymoon cabin was located.


Little cemetery where Alfred & Attie are buried.

A few years later, Alfred & Attie's daughter Eva planted a snowball bush at the heads of their graves, but it has long since been removed, and there were no tombstones. Those who knew of the locations of their graves have all passed, so in death as in life, it appears that Alfred and Attie are being slighted. I firmly believe this is not the case, I can just see Alfred and Attie looking over their own prosperous farm with all of their family around them. As the scriptures say, “In my Father’s house there are many mansions….” I feel certain that Grandpaw Alfred and Grandmaw Attie are now living in one of them.

My wife Shirley, upon hearing the story of Alfred and Attie, wrote a song about their lives titled, "The Ballad of Alfred & Attie". You can find it on her upcoming release, "Been to the Mountaintop". I will post more about the CD once it is released.

First Frost

Well Folks, Just a quick post to let you know the old saying still hold true. After you hear the first fall cricket, it will be Six weeks until the first frost.

As you can see in my post from August 13, 2008 that was titled "Fall Crickets"
http://appalachianlifestyles.blogspot.com/2008/08/fall-crickets.html
that using my Grandmaw Mary's time-honored tradition of utilizing fall crickets to determine weather, I estimated the first frost on the mountain to be September 24, 2008 (give or take a few days). Well, this morning the prophecy was fulfilled when it frosted. Today is the 27th of September, so it is still within the margin of error.

Sure, the frost was wimpy, and it was light, but it was the first frost none-the-less. It was also unexpected, since it has been raining for the past day or so, and last night was really foggy. Apparently, the fog lifted just long enough for it to frost. It was a balmy 29 degrees early this morning, and the smell of wood smoke from morning fires to keep the dampness at bay still hangs in the air.

My Grandmaw Mary sure knew her stuff.

Eva Lena, This Here is My House!

For some reason, today I was reminded of a story about my Dad’s childhood that he still talks about. It starts when he was about 6 years old and lived with Grandmaw and Granddad Thompson in Bennett Gap near Riverton. Dad lived with them until Granddad died in 1966, at which time, Dad moved up on the mountain with Grandmaw Mary and Grandaddy Don. You see, Dad was the oldest grandson, and it is a family custom for the oldest grandson to live with his grandparents.

Dad, Age 6

Anyway, when Dad started to school, he went to the Old Dixie Schoolhouse in Riverton. It was an old school that had served the area since right after the War. Sadly the school was destroyed in the Great Flood of 1985. One day Dad’s older sister, Barb, was put in charge of getting him off to school, and Dad was being cantankerous. Well, when they got to school, Dad was wearing one of Barb’s dresses! Of course, Dad was always raw-boned and much larger than the other boys, so he didn’t get picked on about it!

Dad and Barb in Bennett Gap.

Thinking back on Dad’s stories, he tells of how he and Barb played in the holler road going up Bennett Gap. He said they used to love to go out on hot summer day and let the road tar squish up between their toes. Also, he said that they used to chew the road tar and pretend it was bubble gum.

Dad also tells of a giant grapevine that hung over the holler that the kids used to swing from one side or the other. It was a big drop and was between two cliffs. Well, it come to be Dad’s turn to swing and he was a little afraid, so Barb hollered “Grab ahold” and give him a big shove. Dad said he was trying for all he had to cling to the grapevine but sure enough, he lost his grip and fell. All the kids were sure he was dead and took off running for home. Dad said he took to cussing them and calling them “chickenshits” for running off like that. They then knew he was okay and came back to play, but as they got closer they could see that Dads arm was badly broken. Dad said that was the only broken bone he had in all his years, and he still says that Barb caused it.

Barb standing in the road in Bennett Gap.

Dad also tells of his first swimming lesson, which happened when he lived up Bennett Gap. He said someone hollered, “Let’s Go Swimming” and they all took off for Bland Hole, which was the deepest nearby swimming hole. This was before the big Flood and you could dive off the river cliffs into the water, after the flood, it is still deep enough to swim in but not deep enough to dive off the cliffs, which are now around 20 feet above the water. Well, at this time, Dad couldn’t swim at all, and he was planning on just wading around in the water to cool off. That is until his Uncle Dave grabbed him and threw him off the cliff into the water, and hollered “Swim or Drown”. This may sound cruel, but that is the way most kids learned to swim. Interestingly enough, Dad didn’t swim, he flailed around in the water and after a while, started to go under. It was quite apparent he chose the latter of the “Swim or Drown” scenario. Well, his uncle saw this and dived in to save him. After they pulled Dad out of the river, they couldn’t get him even close to the river after that. It wasn’t until Jason and I were in our early teens that we were able to convince Dad to get back in the water. He still won’t venture in over about chest deep, and never puts his head under the water.

Dad and Barb after being in the road tar!

I think the one of the best stories of Dads childhood was when he and Grandmaw Eva (pronounced Ehv-uh) were gathering eggs one morning. Grandmaw Eva’s full name was Evalena. Well, that morning just as they got to the chickenhouse, the great big ole rooster jumped up on the roost and crowed. This wasn’t an ordinary crowing though, Dad says to this day that the rooster talked as clear as anything. He said the rooster looked at Grandmaw Eva and said, “Eva Lena, this here is my house.” Nothing or nobody can convince Dad otherwise, he knows that that rooster talked that morning.