Pp171-172
This was a January
morning and it was said by some thermometers to be 30 below zero. Not being
dismayed by the extreme cold, I saddled my steed and started for Joes Run.
I, like many others who boast and brag about what I can stand, I braved
the weather. I was warned by different examples of how cold it was. One
was the report that Tom Barnharts well froze over, water well, not gas
well. I knew within myself I would not be bothered with sweat bees or my
horse with horseflies.
I went up Trace
Fork and then up Bucket Run. The trip from there I had planned to go down
Joes Run up the other branch of the ridge in the low gap, near Mt. Hope
Church, go through Mr. Hawk’s field to the Trace Fork road and down this
creek and over the hill by John Ayers and then to Sandyville.
This trip I did make but may I
never have such an experience and such a close call. The weather
was bearable and I did not suffer so awful much with the cold until a blizzard
came up in the afternoon, about two o’clock. The blizzard hit me with its
full fury when I was going up the Benton Hinzman hill. The snow fell so
fast and the clouds hung low and black. It appeared to be dark. My horse
wanted to turn around and go home. I knew if we did we would not get off
of Joes Run. I continued up the hill. Here I got off my horse, laid down
the fence and it was so dark I could hardly see. Some one had gone this
way ahead of me and I could see their trail. But in a few minutes there
was no trail to guide me. There was no North Star nor the Dipper to guide
me. I was lost but I kept the horse going down the hill. I began about
this time to get real cold. I finally was on the creek and crossed at the
Pyatts house.
I was now cold
enough to go to any man’s house but as I didn’t see any one at the Pyatt
home, I decided to go on and stop some where else. So few people were stirring
that I decided I would go ahead to Duskey’s. Well by the time I got to
Duskey’s I did not feel so awful cold. It must have been the numbness that
caused me to not know how cold I was and lulled me into thinking I was
better off than I was. I only had two more boxes to serve and then I could
fold up in my big heavy coats and over the Jont Ayers hill home I would
go and didn’t need any one’s fire to warm me and again have to enter the
cold.
The colder I got the less I felt
it and the further down the road I got the less need I thought I had for
a fire. My horse well knew the road and was then pointed homeward too,
seemed to be fine.
It had got too
cold for me to smoke my pipe from the time the blizzard struck me. At Ted
Shepherd’s I saw Mr. Shephard at the barn and he called to me to get off
and warm by a good big fire. I laughed at him and told him I had been very
cold but wasn’t now and that I would go ahead over the hill. Mr. Shepherd
then approached my horse and said, you are colder than you think and it
is 29 below zero and you just can’t stand it to cross the hill in this
blizzard.
Ted being such
a nice, sociable fellow and giving such a warm invitation to his fireside,
I decided to go in for a short time and warm, but still thinking I was
not very cold. Here is where and when I found out I was in great danger
of freezing to death. I could not move. I was so numb and weak I could
not get off the horse at all.
Mr. Shepherd
is a large, strong man and my size being of the lesser size, he picked
me up and carried me to the house, put my horse in the barn and then he
went to work to bring me back to my natural feeling. As I began to warm
up, I began to realize how cold I was and how near I came to freezing to
death. I now know that to freeze to death would not cause much suffering
and none at all after you have reached certain stages. I had passed the
pain condition and was so drowsy I did not care what happened.
It took the family to remove my
shoes and to place me up close to the fire and then Mrs. Shepherd said,
I am going to give you some whiskey. She got a spoon and dished out one
spoonful to me. I wanted more, but said nothing. She probably saw the longing
eye I kept on the whiskey. She cared for this by saying if I give you more
and you went out in the cold you may freeze to death.
Probably Mrs.
Shepherd thought of what happened to Rip VanWinkle and his dog, Wolfe.
Rip, if you remember took his dog Wolfe, after listening to one of the
many tirades of Dame VanWinkle, and went into the mountains and then rolled
at Nine Pins and often took drinks from a little brown jug that sat in
the corner and woke up 20 years later. I too was going into the moun-tains
and Mrs. Shepherd didn’t want me to take a 20-year nap. If I had taken
the sleep I came so near doing I would not have awakened in 20 years.
Pp 178-179
WA. Hinzman now
lives on the Parsons farm, after we passed Box No. 35, and just a short
distance up the road was the home of Mr. Ed Pyatt (father of Elmer Pyatt),
who died in 1923. At this time I will ask for the indulgence of the readers
to relate an experience Ed Crow and I had in a mud hole several years ago,
which was about half way between the Parsons and Pyatt homes.
It was like this. The time was
just a few days prior to Christmas and there was a skiff of snow on the
ground when we left the Post Office in my car. We clipped along very nicely
over the frozen ground, covered by snow, until about noon, then it began
to thaw some.
The car began
to break through the snow and ice. This day we went up Mud Run, revers-ing
our route. The number of times that day we got stuck in the mud I will
not try to relate, but it was several. Hegemen Faber pulled us out one
time with his team. Further up Joes Run and the next serious encounter
with too much mud was on Trace Fork. This mud hole was about two or three
feet deep and about 200 feet long, the creek on one side of the road and
a wire fence on the other and no way to detour. Other cars had been stalled
in this mudhole recently, we learned.
By the time
we arrived there, about 3 o’clock, the snow was all gone. The roads were
very muddy and we were some 8 miles from home.
And that mud
hole was between us and the end of our journey. First we served the Pyatt
Box and then loaded our pipes with Prince Albert, started the smoke to
rolling and proceeded on our way. We navigated some 20 feet of this mud
hole and then we bogged down. Try as we would there was no more going forward
or backward.
Ed suggested
that he get out and see how bad we were stuck. When he looked the situation
over, he said all four wheels are off the ground and the body is dragging.
Our next step
was to get some rocks, pry the car up and put the rocks under it. But we
failed at this and there we were to stay unless there was assistance to
be had. Ed was off to C.D. Miller’s to get a team of horses. Charley had
a good team. This seemed to be the only logical thing to do.
When Ed got
to the Parsons place, where George Richards lived at the time, Mr. Richards
was crossing the road with a load of fodder. He had a sorrel horse, about
15 years old and blind in both eyes, weighing about 900 to 1000 lbs., and
not any too fat. Mr. Crow told him his trouble, then Mr. Richards told
him that he would pull him out as soon as he took the fodder to the barn.
Mr. Crow doubted
the ability of one small horse, blind and poor, to pull the car out. Oh
yes, replied the owner, I have pulled bigger cars than that one out of
that mud hole. We both had no faith in the one small horse, but as Mr.
Richards was confident and was so king, we sat back and awaited results.
All hitched
and with me at the wheel to do the steering, Mr. Richards tightened up
on his reins and said “get up” which was good horse language. I can yet
to this day see the confidence that horse had in himself He straightened
out his hind legs, slowly and steady he leaned closer to the ground and
me without proper faith, thought it was all off. But the horse never faltered
and at last the car began to move, slowly, but yet moving. You never can
tell what there is in a lousy calf or what some horses are able to do.
He put that car in the clear on the other side of the mud hole. We were
grateful and wanted to show our appreciation in the proper way, but Mr.
Richards would have nothing.
We again were
on our way. I am glad to relate that later the Pyatts and Mr. Miller hauled
stone and gravel and fixed that place.
Back to Box
36 - the Pyatts home. The family at this time consisted of Mrs. Amy, her
son, Elmer, Francis and younger daughters. Some of the elder children were
married and had homes of their own, and her mother, Mrs. Nancy Wilcox Throgmorton
who is still living and is the oldest person on Sandyville Route 3. She
will be 91 years old on July 27. Of the many old people who were my patrons
18 years ago, many have passed on. Some of those still living are Mr. and
Mrs. RE. Lupardus, Rev. Hinzman, Mrs. M.C. Carmichael, Mrs. G.E. Crow,
T.A. Wilcox and Mrs. Emma Perry. They are still patrons of my route.
It was the custom of Mrs. Throgmorton
several years ago to come to the mail box. But her 90 years have changed
all that. Elmer is now married and has children. He gets his mail in Box
36. We are glad to say that he now has a good position with one of
the gas companies. Many a cold day I have warmed by their fire. One reason
I used their home and fire for a place to warm, was my assistant from Joes
Run and we did not always get to this point at the same time. John and
Mary Pyatt came to Trace Fork many years ago, being a part of the early
settlers on the creek. Mr. Pyatt died about 1889 and Mrs. Pyatt in 1930.
Many times when I passed their
home Mrs. Pyatt would be sitting on the front porch, but like many of my
patrons, she has passed on.
After Harry
and I passed the Pyatt home we let our horses walk up a small grade, out
a flat for a short distance and then down a small hill where we came in
sight of a pioneer home, a log house well kept for its age, a large plank
barn and a large farm of over 300 acres. Harry said in answer to my inquiry
as to who lived there that it was George W Hawk and wife, Analyza Parsons
Hawk. Her father was one of the early settlers of this county (more about
them later). Harry advised that here was a good place for us to stop, eat
our dinners and feed our horses.
We had our own
lunches and horse feed. We rode in and put our horses in the large wagon
shed and here were two good feed boxes to feed our horses in. Some of my
predecessors had stopped here and taken dinner with the Hawks and fed their
horses. As horses and men were caring for the want of hunger and fatigue,
a man short in stature and well up in years came from the house to the
barn. He spoke to Mr. Riggs and asked him who the stranger was. He then
gave me a hearty handshake and from that time on we were the best of friends.
He, like Bill Archer, knew my people, but it was the first time he and
I had met. He was a great talker and stayed until we were off on
our journey, all the time telling stories about my ancestors.
At this time
his two sons were married and he and his wife were all alone to manage
the large farm. From that time on we usually saw each other every day.
I would stop to feed and lunch. He took a great delight in living in the
past and told many stories of what happened long before I was born. Many
of his stories were about Civil War days. Mr. Hawk’s father, Absolom Hawk,
lived on Turkey Fork, and owned a large tract of several hundred acres
of land there.
Pp 185-186
Cemeteries On Trace Fork
There is a cemetery,
a very old one on the farm where Eugene Fisher now lives.
It is on the lower side of the
road on the opposite side of the ravine from the Fisher home.
Old timers remembered when many
graves were plainly visible.
A family by the name of Parsons
owned this farm and some of them were buried there.
Many years ago John Rockhold, who
married Mary Morehead in 1831, lived on the bank above where Hank Kerns
now lives, his son Wesley who married a Miss Dunbar with his family lived
there also. Last fall I talked to one of his sons, Reuben Rockhold now
86 years of age, told me of one incident he well remembered and he at the
time being only 5 or 6 years of age.
The children
were playin blind fold out in the yard. And they had a spring some 5 or
6 feet deep walled up with rock like a well.
His little brother
Jeff was the blind man and in his effort to catch his brothers and sisters
in this game he fell through the boards which covered up the spring and
splash went litde Jeff. Mr. Rockhold said he gave the alarm and his father
who was in the woodyard close by came at once and fished his brother out,
and they played blind man no more.
The family all
got sick. They called the sickness the sandy fever (was typhoid) several
of them died while living there. The mother of Reuben Rockhold and several
of his brothers and sisters. He was quite young but the loss of his mother
was a sad event. He never forgot. He told me of neighbors making her coffin
and how he missed her and his brothers and sisters.
She and the
children were buried in the cemetery on the Fisher farm, and shortly after
this the Rockholds sold out and went back to Wirt County where they lived
before coming to Trace Fork.
On the hill above lower Trace Fork
School house is a cemetery with a few graves. Neal Vannoy had a child buried
there.
On the D.M.
McGrew farm across on the bank from the church is a very old cemetery where
some of the old settlers of Trace Fork were buried. John Pyatt grandfather
of Lawrence Pyatt is buried there.
The Shepherd cemetery on the Ted
Shepherd farm. Adams and the Shepherd family are interred there. It is
fenced and has some nice grave markers. The farm now owned by Hoyt Barnett
was at one time the property of John Murphy. He had a son who died with
fever and he was buried across the road from Mr. Barnett’s farm near where
he stacks feed each year.
When Mr. Murphy
sold the farm he had his son’s body exhumed and taken to Ravenswood.
The Hughes Post Office was established
April 1, 1902. Okey J. Weekley, Postmaster, was in residence where Tom
Weekley’s house now stands.
March 11, 1903,
John Murphy became the Postmaster. It was in a store building on the Hoyt
Barnett farm. This office was discontinued on January 31, 1907, when Sandyville
Route 3 was established.
On Bucket Run a cemetery that was
known as the Richard cemetery which is a very old one. Mr. Parsons and
his wife, old settlers previously mentioned in a former article, are buried
on the Hawk farm. The Mt. Hope cemetery by the church is a beautiful cemetery.
Kept in good shape.
Trace Fork is
a stream of 5 1-2 miles in length, and let me say right here there were
no more patriotic citizens lived in Jackson County than the good citizens
who lived there during World War I. And in this serious conflict
at the present time (World War II) many of the local boys have gone to
fight for our freedom.
Soldiers of
World War I from Trace Fork were 16 and three of those boys lost their
lives in the service. Emerson Williams and John and Tom Shepherd the others
in service were: Charles Dillon, Homer Nelson, Fred Carmichael, Elza Archer,
WH. Shepherd, Oscar Spears, Denny Myers, Fred Duskey, Dock Keenan, Otho
Hawk, Clate Hawk, Floyd Richard and Andy Keenan.
Early Schools On Trace Fork
The first temple
of learning on this creek was in a log cabin which stood near the spring
on the opposite side of the road from Ted Shepherds house.
This was a subscription
school. This building had a huge fireplace to heat the room, and probably
greased paper to admit the light, as glass windows was a luxury in those
days.
Another old-time
school was located where lower Trace School House now stands. It was built
of round logs and known as the free trade school. Jack Roliff gave the
ground. Bantos Curry and the Shepherds were some of the pupils. This building
was discarded in 1888, when the present one was erected. Sell Hutchinson
was the President of the Board of Education. George Kermel and George Flesher
had the contract of building it.
There was school
for a time in an old log house on the George Hawk farm.
The Middle Trace
(Brown School) was erected yet in use and later Upper Trace School but
this building has been torn down for several years.
Another old time school while not
located on the waters of Trace Fork many of the children who lived on the
head of the creek attended this school.
It was on the
ridge between the two prongs of Joes Run on the farm now owned by Curb
Patterson.
Tom Murray, C.A. Hess, WJ. Parrish
and the Hinzman’s were some who went to school there.
To order the
three volumes please contact:
Pauline Somerville Smith
Rt 1 Box 135
Ravenswood, WV 26164