THROUGH
MOUNTAIN MISTS
Early Settlers of
Their
Descendants...Their Stories...Their Achievements
Lifting the
Mists of History on Their Way of Life
By: Ethelene Dyer Jones
I met
Mr. Frank Bradley, publisher of The Sentinel newspapers on
Before he left our large gathering that day, he invited me to
write a weekly column for The Union Sentinel.
Having been told that I have a penchant for historical writing,
he requested that I tell about significant people and events that have
had a bearing in county and area history.
Considering an overriding title for the series, I thought about
how quickly the mountain customs, stories and ways of our forebears are
slipping away, buried in the mists of time. I
thought, too, about how the heavy mists of fogs of early morning in the
mountains shroud our views of the majestic peaks of the
Then comes the bright sunshine of
mid-morning and the mists lift, burned away by the sun’s penetration. That little bit of philosophizing gave me my
on-going title: “Through Mountain Mists.”
We have all heard stories from our grandparents of how these
valleys were settled in the early 1830s, and how our ancestors pursued
their visions of a better way of life. With
characteristic courage, they set out with meager possessions loaded in
covered wagons and moved from the counties of Wilkes and Buncombe in
No doubt they drove through dual mists: the
literal mists of mornings laden with fog, but the more invasive mists
of the unknown. And now, out of the mists
of time, their stories are begging to be told.
They knew, to carve out a living for their families, they would
have to undergird their dreams and
determination with hard, back-breaking labor to clear the land, build
cabins, raise crops, tame the wilderness, be self-sufficient in their
own right, and help their neighbors across the nearest creek or over
the next ridge.
When my ancestors came into
Can we blame our ancestors for this plight?
I’ve thought much about the situation. We
often dismiss actions by blaming any infractions of justice on “the
times” in which we lived then. And so it
was in the 1830s. The greed for gold and
government intervention caused a general displacement of the native Americans and a rush of white settlers to
claim the lands the Cherokee had cleared and tilled and which for so
long had been their hunting grounds.
The mists of that hurt still linger, sometimes reechoed in
long-muted tom-toms, seen in ancient and undecipherable carvings as
those at Trackrock Gap, and falling like
silken sounds in places named Choestoe, Arkaquah, Kiutuestia,
Nottely and Enotah. The mists are there, blocking our
understanding, rising over our beloved mountains like a dense shroud.
I invite you to explore with me some of these mists, to find in
them the moisture for thought, the light of understanding.
Perhaps we can all come to a greater appreciation of the forces
that shaped our ancestors into solid, dependable, hard-working citizens
who carved out a new way of life in the valleys and on the hillsides of
our beloved mountains.
The threads of these characteristics have been passed to us
through blood lines and by example. What
was good and noble we can emulate. What
was questionable, we can ponder and avoid. Journey with me.
By way of introduction of the author: Ethelene Dyer Jones was born in
c2003 by Ethelene Dyer Jones; published
[Ethelene
Dyer Jones is a retired educator, freelance writer, poet, and historian.
She may be reached at e-mail edj0513@windstream.net;
phone 478-453-8751; or mail
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