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Bristol, Va. or Tenn. August 5, 1919
Hello, Mr. Messenger! Here we are again with some more of our bombast.
Since I was a small boy and heard my great uncles and aunts speak of Old Virginia with so much ancestral pride, I have always wanted to make this ideal tour and keep close to nature, but our trouble is that we got a little to close, most of the nature being bare rocks. When we landed in Richmond out of the mountains we felt much relief as we found it to be on the level and a quiet, fine old religious and pious place. We got in about 3 p.m. with a broken rear spring, but after driving to every garage in town trying to get repairs we found there was nothing doing, not even the sale of a bottle of soda pop nor a puncture patch. The town was so dead we were afraid to sleep in it lest we should never wake up, so we drove out and camped on the roadside. Next morning we went back and got repairs and beat it west toward Kentucky. We found very good farms with average crops (no tobacco) for 20 miles out, but pretty soon we ran into mountains and when we asked how to get over to Kentucky, they laughed at us and said you don't get over, you go around either by Harrisburg, Pa. or Chattanooga, Tenn. Well, either one was four or five hundred miles out of the way, and it was here that we got too close to nature.
We decided to go to Chattanooga, Tenn. via Farmville, Lynchburg, Bedford, Roanoke and many other good little towns under the hill or mountain as it was. This was mostly a thin land and small pine timber and about two-thirds of the settlements being negroes with small clearings around very old houses. I asked them if that pine land was any good and they said, "Oh, yes, just needs clearing up." I asked them why they did not clear it up and they said, "Well, we just haven't got to it yet." I am sure that some of those places were 150 years old. I could tell by the old seedling apple trees 17 inches through.
Up to Farmville (so named on account of there being a few farms around it) we had not encountered much mountainous roads, but from there on we smelt the patchin. The way we did wind and twist many miles up one stream and down another was a fright. Lynchburg was our next town and it was full of business; had a foundry, box factory, tannery and giant works. It was a very rugged place, but it looked as if it was self-supporting.
Our next town was Bedford. You remember we were in quest of kin folks so here we found them by the score. We passed [ a man] and asked him if he knew of any Nances. "Yes, sah! Country full of them. Go right through Bedford till you come to two big warehouses, They are run by Nance boys." We did as directed. Stopped our car and asked a man if he knew of anyone by name of Nance and he said go with him and he would show us one. He took me in and introduced me to a man of 30. I told him my name was Nance, too, and some 150 years ago my great-grandfather, Reuben Nance, moved to Kentucky and left 23 brothers and three sisters in Virginia and if they did not all die old maids and bachelors I should have some kinsmen in Virginia. He took me by the hand and said, "They did not all die that way. You are kin to me and a host of others." He took us out to an uncle, who informed me that they had a book of genealogy of the Nance family dated back to the year 1000, beginning in England and that my own father's name was registered in that book as the stoutest, best runner and best chopper in western Kentucky, and not only my father's, but my name too, is registered in it. This did me a barrel of good, for I was beginning to feel like a Rip V. Winkle lost in the mountains.
We found our kin to be well fixed financially, had the best farms in the community and splendid houses. They told me all about the country and its products and their way of doing things. They took me to Bedford and showed me those two big tobacco houses, as they called them. And let me tell you that Mayfield could take the roof off of them and bulk them full in one day off of the farmers' wagons. Their tobacco barns were 16 feet square with one little door on one end, would hold 800 to 1,000 sticks. They said they hauled the tobacco to the barn on slides. One man passed it through the door to another man on the inside, but I soon learned why. A wagon would not be safe. It would turn over, the land being so one-sided, but they could go to the top, have a down pull without brakes and be safe with a slide. They said that was a great tobacco country, but I think Graves county can raise more tobacco than the whole state of Virginia. Their tobacco was very small, ?? and irregular and averaged ?? 800 per acre. When I told them how large our barns were and ?? we drove through and some times turned round inside with ?? and teams, the wife exclaimed, "well, that beats us." We ?? ?? ?? two acres in ?? ( can't tell which column - am starting at top of second) a patch in the whole state and it was always drilled and worked but one way, taking advantage of the hill. The basements of these warehouses were arranged like a livery stable and when I asked what for they said it was to accommodate the farmers, not only that but they had bunk rooms and kitchens and cook (unreadable line) coffee, cream and sugar, all free of charge, and they said if a farmer wanted a steak they sent out, got it and cooked it free. This all sounded very good to me, but I would not haul my tobacco there for the difference. The farmers there make seven to eight grades of their to-?????handler did that here they were surprised.
We never received better treatment in our lives. They wanted us to stay all summer, said it would take that long to see all the kin, but after three days of their hospitality we hit the trail of the lonesome pine (it was here this song originated) along the Blue Ridge mountains. We left next morning for Roanoke. This was a southwest course, but we made so many figure 8's and 3's you could never tell where you were going. We passed through Bonsach and saw the old woolen mill where the boy rolled the first cigarette and then we came to Radford where a genuine old-fashioned farmers' union was in progress. It was 11:30 and I had the speaker announce that I was there from Kentucky and if there was anyone present by the name of Nance, I would be glad to meet him at adjournment. As soon as the announcement was made two men came to me, one a Nance and the other a Wade and one said he had a brother near Mayfield, Ky. and was a tobacco raiser and his name was Jack. Both men were kin to me and sent hello and best wishes to Jack. So we bumped on toward Roanoke. We stopped our car for oil and water and a big stout, husky Virginian noticing our tag came up and said, "I see you are from Kentucky!" "Yes," said I." "Well, what is your impression of Virginia?" "Well, I will tell you, like I told my wife this morning; I told her if Virginia could market her red clay for barn paint and her scrubby pines for Christmas trees, she would be the richest state in the Union." But I saw at a glance by the twinkle of his eye that I had made a mistake as he said: "And what can Kentucky do?" And he looked as though he could pitch me over the Cumberland mountains (and after I had bumped the rocks for 400 miles to get around I wished he had). I saw that I would have to square myself with him and do it quick. So I said, "Oh , Kentucky compares favorably with Virginia. If she could market her yellow clay for brick, her sassafras bushes through a billy goat for mutton and their roots for tea, we could beat you a city block." When I said this he smiled. We shook hands, made friends and discussed the products of our respective states. I told him our's consisted principally of tobacco, corn, wheat, pigs, patches and potatoes. He said his was tobacco, corn cabbage cordwood and tan bark, so we quit on good terms.
After another day of rocky calamities we ran into Roanoke, a real city full of fine people all dressed up and on the streets. How it came to be here or what for I never did learn, but it was sitting flat on the ground. This was very unusual in Virginia for most of the towns are hanging on the side of the mountain. Fredericksburg, for instance, a small old town, but what it lacks in size it makes up in age. It looks like it was an unwelcome visitor between a little river and a big mountain. The mountain wants to push it in and the river wants to wash it away. It is built along on one street into the mountain with steps leading up to the houses. I looked up the mountain and said to a citizen; "I would be afraid to live in your town." He asked why. I told him I would be afraid one of those boulders up there would come down and make sausage of the whole town. "Oh, well," said he, "they were put up there a long time ago by good masonry and hardly ever turn loose." From Roanoke we went to Bristol and on the way we saw many sheep and lots of fine hereford and durham cattle, the best I ever saw and on splendid mountain pastures with everlasting spring water. It sure was some fine sight to look up those long steep slopes and see such fine stock in great abundance. There was also some as fine land as I ever saw along the little creek or river. There were fine houses and every thing that goes to make an ideal home. This bottom land was about 150 yards wide, planted to corn and looked like it would make 60 bushels to the acre. These houses were about a quarter mile apart and I said to my wife this land is high (several lines unreadable - going to 3rd column)sold for $500, making $7,500 per acre. Now we have been through Virginia the short way and the long way. It is a good state and full (unreadable line) watered state in the Union. Many places the pipes come down the mountain flowing with the finest water you ever tasted. Many of the houses are watered the same way. But as a rule and not the exception, Virginia is poorly housed, with bad barns and common stock. Now I will not say that Virginia is slow, but I will give it to you just like the speaker gave it to the Bedford county people at the farmers' union meeting at Radford. They were a little slow with their organization, and he said he did not want them to be like Leechburg (this is said to be the slowest town in the state). He said a man from that town went to New York City to see the sights. He went up on a 40 story building, lost his balance, fell to the stone pavement below.. As he was scamping (unreadable line) ers walked up and asked him if he was hurt. He drawled out; "Wait" (??) Now if you should ask me what I would want to make Virginia a farming country I would say just two things; Texas alongside of it to lay the rock on and enough dynamite to blow those mountains into the valleys. I can now better understand why the Virginians are so proud of their ancestry - There is not much else to be proud of. If some reader should take this letter for a joke and wants to go and see for himself, if he will come by I will donate his tank full of gas free of charge. Yours for Kentucky,
Article copied from the Mayfield Messenger Newspaper by Wayne Youngblood, transcribed by Nancy Greer e-mail: ngreer@wk.net