Echoes from the Valley

Sarah Ransom has been working with a local Junior Appalachian Musicians group, which introduced her to Appalachian storytelling and the history of her region of Appalachia. She was asked to write a fictional story based on historic events in Johnson County, Tennessee. She wrote this about a father recalling stories of his childhood and the changes that occurred in his valley.

July 1955

Dwight laid his head back against the rocker as a cool breeze swept through the valley, chilling him after a long day’s work.

Finished for the evening, he had laid his ax next to the log pile. His old border collie sat against his feet as the birds, frogs and crickets warmed up for an evening performance. He thought he could imagine what it was like as a young boy, back when the sound of the train broke the hush of the night. The echo of the whistle had once rolled through the valley, and he could almost hear the clank of the steel, the creaking of the tracks and the steady chug of the engine. 

Then the door behind him opened and out came his four children and their beautiful mother. She smiled as she laid a hand on his shoulder and passed him a cup of cool water. The children ran barefoot into the yard, dancing through the grass chasing lightning bugs. The smiles that lit their faces warmed his heart. He was thankful for moments like these. Life was not always this easy, but nights like tonight were perfect reminders of why these Appalachian mountains were the best place on earth. 

“It’s a beautiful night, dear,” his wife said, breaking through his daydream. He smiled and tugged her hand; she came around and sat next to him. With a slight nudge of her foot, Anne’s chair matched his easy movements. Within a few moments the children had clambered onto the porch and were begging for a story. 

“Settle down, young’uns,” he said, his voice deep and slow in the evening air. The three oldest quickly settled on porch steps or the railing as the youngest curled up in her Mama’s lap. She would be asleep long before the story ended. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, seeking his voice and letting his mind wander back to the stories he had been told not too many years before.

He quietly began.

“When Papaw, my Pa, was young, life as he knew it began changing. In 1866, deals were being made by the East Tennessee and Western North Carolina Railroad and the legislators in Tennessee. People had mixed feelings about the railways, but progress has a way of sneaking up on a body. By the time Pa was in his 30s, they began operating a 32-mile rail service that took iron from Cranberry, North Carolina, all the way up to the foundries in Johnson County. Through the next several years, more track were added, extendin’ the rails up into Boone, North Carolina.” 

Trina, his second eldest, interrupted by raising her hand in the air. She seemed to wriggle in delight with what she knew was coming next.

“Yes, Trina?” 

“Are you gonna tell us ‘bout the name?” She grinned, showing a gap in her front teeth. He nodded slowly, his smile growing to match hers. 

“This railroad that reached to Boone was given a special nickname by the locals, because as it moved iron, lumber and even people through the mountains, the train would let out a shrill whistle. ‘Tweet-tweet!’” He mimicked the shrill whistle that his Pa had taught him. 

The children erupted into giggles. “Again, Papa, again,” Elsie, the youngest girl, said from her Mama’s lap. As he caught her eye she smiled and stuck her thumb back in her mouth. 

“Tweet-tweet!” His eyes danced in merriment. “Well, the nickname stuck and from that moment on the Tweetsie Railroad had come into existence.” 

“Pa married Mamaw in 1895. They had a big weddin’ in the community. Lots of dancin’, music and visitin’. They were happy and they settled down right here in our neck of the woods. But life was not easy. They worked in lumber, and it was hard and dangerous. They started their family and that is where all your aunts and uncles came from. 

“Many loggers clear-cut the land, leavin’ it barren and empty. Then, in the early 1900s, the Pea Vine Railroad made its way from Damascus to Mountain City. This rail and the other hauled timber and iron and manganese ore they’d found back in the mountains. 

“Pa watched as the mountainsides were laid bare. He used to tell Ma that the loss of trees was gonna be bad for the land, but they had to do what they could to make a livin’.” 

Dwight looked out over his children, knowing each of them would face the same battle. Living in the mountains was not always the easiest life, but he had yet to see anyone show him one that was more enjoyable. 

“Trains changed everything. They made it so people could travel, because as the two railways hauled goods and lumber, they also allowed passengers to board. It allowed people to visit family or friends way over in Elizabethton. It was quite the experience, traveling that far in just a few hours. Pa often told about the day the train first came into Johnson County. July 25, 1900, it was. They’d been married five years and had Aunt Sally and Uncle Joe. The day the train came into Old Butler, everyone gathered to see it. It was quite the celebration. People traveled from all over the county just to come see. Everyone enjoyed the excuse to clean themselves up, pull out their instruments and spend the day celebratin’ - eatin’, dancin’ and makin’ music.” 

“Did they wear fancy dresses, Papa?” Trina asked. 

“Why, of course they did! Everyone put on their fanciest Sunday wear and made it a day to remember. Many had never even seen a train before. But the day did not end there, and neither did the train. There was several folks that wanted the train go further than Butler, so they added all those rails to get it up to Mountain City. Once it was finished the train ran trips seven days a week for anyone to travel. Of course, the rails didn’t move any freight on Sundays, but that gave everyone a chance to spend a day restin’, worshippin’ God and spendin’ time with their families.” 

William, the oldest boy, jumped in. “Papaw used to say that the women folk always wanted to travel on the passenger trips. They had to go meet for quiltin’ and gosspin’.”

“Why yes, indeed,” Dwight said. “The women in his days loved to get together and quilt, share stories and recipes and solve all the problems of the world.” 

Anne smiled softly and ran her hand through Elsie’s hair, though the baby was fast asleep. “I don’t suppose much has changed in that regard. We still love to get together, work on projects and catch up.” Just that day she had been down to the neighbors for the local sewing group. They’d been making baby clothes for the new little ones.

Dwight nodded. “Let me finish my story now.” The children settled back down. 

“As time went on the hills were ravished of their lumber. Pa was right: The removal of all those trees became a problem. Not hardly 10 years after the rails were put in, much of the lumber was runnin’ out and mills were slowin’ down. Floodin’ kept washin’ out the track and it was gettin’ harder to make a profit. 

“Many landowners found themselves with a lot of land but not much use for it. So they began sellin’ it to the government, and the government began combinin’ together the property and land they already had to form the Cherokee National Forest.

“The Pea Vine railroad made its last trip in 1919. Just a few years later, all the tracks were removed. Pa was 64 when they removed the last of the Pea Vine in 1924. I was 17, just a young fellow myself.” 

Jackson, the five-year-old, piped up. “But Papa! You forgot about the big hole! That’s my favorite part of the story.” 

Dwight’s deep, infectious laugh seemed to bounce off the trees and echo through the valley. Anne, William and Trina joined in delight, the sweet sound filling the night. 

“I could never forget about the big hole. That’s my favorite part of the story, too.” 

Dwight paused, letting his mind sort through the stories he had heard while growing up. “Let’s see; so while the rails were being put in on the lower part of the county, the northern part did not want to be forgotten. The Pea Vine was coming through Damascus, but they ran into a problem of massive size.

“They could have ran the rails around the mountain, but that would have cost a lot more money, and in Appalachia, money can sometimes be hard to come by. So it was decided that the cheapest way of finishin’ the tracks was to just blast right through the mountain. Pa took us over so we could watch them work on it.

“That was one of the most exciting things we had seen. When they tried to get the train through the first time, they realized they hadn’t thought about the height of the smokestack, and the train would not fit through the tunnel!  They had to go back by hand and carve out more rock.

“By then, Pa and others were switching from cutting lumber to farmin’. The rails had taken away all the trees, but also opened up a way to move produce to the city. Farmin’ and crops was startin’ to be the backbone of our economy,” Dwight said.

“Can we go visit the hole?” Trina asked. She knew the answer; they must have heard this story a hundred times but still she asked. 

“Of course. It’s known as the shortest tunnel; it is only 20 feet long. Once the train fit through, it stayed busy. The Beaver Dam Railroad hauled as many as 100,000 sawed boards every day for the Tennessee Lumber and Manufacturin’ Company. Pa had stayed real busy. All the saw mills did. But like I said, eventually the loggin’ caught up with the area. 

“Eventually the Forest Service just used the old rail lines for trucks and delivery. I was in my mid-20s when it became a part of the State Route 133. The spot became a popular place for outsiders to visit and explore. They made changes across the border and cleaned up another set of tracks to create the Virginia Creeper Trail. It’s the very place on Backbone Rock where I met your mother,” Dwight said, smiling at his wife.

Trina’s eyes sparkled. She was just starting to be interested in boys and loved hearing stories of love and romance. “Tell us about that night, Pa.” 

Anne jumped in. “Sweetie, it is getting late and y’all have school in the mornin’. We will save that story for another night. Go ahead and finish up the trains, love.” 

Dwight nodded. “Trina, I will tell you that story another night. It is my favorite story, but your Ma is right, it is late. Elsie is already asleep and Jackson is not far behind. So where was I…?” 

Dwight thought for just a moment longer and snapped his fingers. “The state route. So all the floodin’ of the 1940s, back when William was just a baby, took out most of the train tracks. Pa and I switched to beans and tobacco just to make some money. That’s where the money was, and that’s why we’re still growin’ it today.

“The rails helped the region’s economy and improved our quality of life. But listen closely, children: Just because we may not have as much as the rest of the world…” Dwight paused, looking at his beloved wife and their precious children. How he loved them. 

“When you have beautiful land, a good family and fresh foods to eat, you are living the life of a blessed man.”

Anne smiled in the dim light. “You are exactly right. Children, change will always come to the mountains, but you must cling to the things that are precious: God, family, friends, freedom and the ability to enjoy life in its most simple form. Nights like this, where we can still hear the crickets and frogs, listen to stories, sing songs and play our instruments; It is a simple life, but one I would not trade for the world.”

Dwight let her words drift into the night before patting his knees. “Time for bed, children.” 

They got up, kissed their Mama and Papa on the cheeks and entered the house. Dwight bent over and scooped up Elsie. She stirred in his arms before settling with a heavy sigh. Anne touched his arm. “You are a good man, love. Thank you for keepin’ us in these beautiful mountains.” 

As they went inside Dwight could have sworn he heard the slow whistle of the train as it made way up up the valley. He glanced over his shoulder into the darkness. It must have been his imagination. 

Check out these historical places in Johnson County, Tennessee: 

• The Pea Vine Railroad train station was where Lois’ Café currently sits. 
• The other rail line had its station where Tri-State Growers is located. 
• The Laurel-Creek Trail is where the old Pea Vine Railroad ran. Enjoy nature as you walk along the creek’s bank, and imagine what it may have been like not so many years ago.