The Riches of Madison County
As we headed into the historic seat of Madison County—a winding descent that passed through thick trees, old vehicles, farmhouses, and a lone blue “Bernie” sign—the murmur of three centuries was almost audible.
The road leveled out onto the town’s main street, and seemingly all at once, the French Broad River, an 1880s railway line, the island-bound brick schoolhouse, and a row of retail storefronts appeared.
The waft of fresh coffee and bacon beckoned from Zuma Coffee, a combination bistro, diner, and bakery that is clearly a local’s favorite. Known throughout the region for its weekly bluegrass jam—led by none other than Grammy-winning fiddler Bobby Hicks—Zuma turned out, for us, to be an unofficial chamber of commerce.
Represented at Zuma were young and old, workers and farmers; they wore a wide range of hairstyles, tattoos, piercings, and John Deere hats. One bearded young farmer, with a distinctly non-Appalachian accent, noticed us admiring Marshall’s historic, neo-Classical Revival courthouse. He shared with us the local lore that the statue of Lady Justice atop the courthouse cupola is a rare “unbound” variant—that is, her justice was “not blind.” That, combined with the exclamation, “There ain’t never been a lie told in that courthouse,” harkened back memories of Marshall’s lively past: full of violent raiders, political dynasties, and locals who enjoyed voting so much, they did it over and over again, sometimes even after they had passed through Heaven’s pearly gates.
Wanting to enjoy the day’s brilliant sunshine and blue skies, we drove across the short bridge to Blannahassett Island, a small tract of earth surrounded completely by the French Broad but still squarely downtown. Once the home of Marshall High School, built on the island in 1925, the stately brick building has moved beyond its pedagogical roots. These days, refurbished artists’ studios house many regional artists. With its studios nestled among winding pedestrian paths, picnic tables, riverside benches, an outdoor stage, and a fishing pier, Blannahassett Island is just one part of Marshall’s unique geographical footprint. Its position beneath steep cliffs alongside Main Street, the French Broad River, and the Western North Carolina Railroad gives Marshall the feeling of being “tucked in.”
Leaving the island for the “mainland,” we pulled into a parking lot identified by a nondescript “Drover’s Rest” sign. I mused aloud that Marshall’s Main Street was the Dixie Highway a hundred years ago, and going back another hundred years to the early 1800s, it was the Buncombe Turnpike. The sidewalks we were strolling were once trails filled with geese, pigs, sheep, and other livestock making their way from mountain farms to South Carolina markets and beyond. The arrival of the railroad in the 1880s eventually rendered these Drover’s Roads obsolete. Later, in the early 1900s, part of the National Auto Trail system was paved right through downtown Marshall. What eventually became today’s Highway 25 was originally intended to connect the South with the Midwest.
Through the open doors of the Marshall Junk Shop, owner Jamey Smith greeted us, alongside Frieda, his aging dog, whose friendly attention added to the charm of the shop’s eclectic collection of books. Next we headed for the highly recommended Madison Pot Pie. Although we were disappointed to find it closed on Saturday, the kind proprietor had listed on the door the directions to nearby Madison Natural Foods, which carries “Comfort-in-a-Crust”—a succulent chicken-pesto pie as well as a roasted vegetable version.
The sunny sidewalk took us by the former home of Civil War Col. Lawrence Allen. On this early spring day, Colonel Allen’s home was peaceful, with daffodils blooming and curtains moving in a slight breeze on the upstairs porch. But it was not always this way. Late in 1862, an assortment of Union sympathizers and Confederate deserters raided their way through Madison County and into Marshall. Eventually, they entered Allen’s home. His wife and two children, ill with scarlet fever, were the only ones present. The raiding band of marauders terrorized the small family. When both children died several days later, blame was directed towards the now-dubbed Shelton Laurel Gang.
A local militia, bent on both justice and vengeance, swarmed the nearby Shelton Valley. On the morning of January 19, 1963, a firing squad executed 13 men in a secluded mountain cove, without trial. It was later determined that only five of them were involved in the Marshall raid. Today, descendants of both sides live together in Madison County. The Allen House in downtown Marshall remains a symbol of that brutality and the division of the Civil War.
Bringing us back into the present of our lovely spring day, a pack of 15 cyclists passed by and called out a cheery “good morning.” As the long shadows signaled that afternoon was winding down, we decided to take the scenic route home. Historically, the land along the French Broad from Marshall to Asheville was the natural passage for native animals, Native Americans, and, later, drovers. Today it is Highway 251, or as it is known locally, the River Road. On most warm days, drivers can look for whitewater rafters and paddlers as they trek south. It is a beautiful drive, with the French Broad on one side and sheer rock cliffs on the other, and its terminus landed us right in the center of Asheville’s River Arts District.
The best part about living in Southern Appalachia is its interesting mix of people, all gathered together in one of nature’s most splendid settings. Newcomers blend with natives; community guests chat with locals; strangers become friends. We found all of this in Marshall.
About the authors: Husband-and-wife team Tim Osment and Dawn Gilchrist explore small towns in Southern Appalachia in search of fresh coffee, smart books, and good eating.