Searching for Corrells ~ Estatoe

We went up to Estatoe.

Estatoe is a tiny community just outside of Spruce Pine, before you reach Burnsville.

It is located along Hwy. 19E.

The name Estatoe has two different Indian legends surrounding it.

One legend relates that Estatoe, the daughter of one of two rival Cherokee Indian chiefs, fell in love with the son of the other; but her father refused his consent, which caused a bloody war between the two tribes.

But Estatoe had a "peace pipe" made with two stems, so that two people could smoke it at once. The two rival chiefs assembled their respective followers on the bank of the river, and smoked until peace was made and Estatoe married her lover.

Another legend states that around the area of Grandfather*s Mountain, Estatoe drowned herself because of her father's strong objections to her marrying her lover.

Whatever is actual truth, we do not know. But the fact remains that there was an Estatoe Cherokee maiden and the area was named after her.

The Toe River is named by a shortening of the word 'Estatoe'.


Country folks have a way of doing that.

We were searching for our Correll family.


I had been told that there were two Corrells buried in a church cemetery there in Estatoe.


Trying to link David Correll, father of Isabell Correll has proved difficult.

Some of the census records were sadly lost in fires through the years and I cannot locate David on a census record with his family , prior to marrying Nancy Harrington.

Locating his family would determine our Correll line back another generation and perhaps open the gate, so to speak, to finding our complete line.

There were, of course, no death certificates or birth certificates in the very early years of Tennessee, so census records and 'last wills and testaments' are just about all you have to go on.

There were several families of Corrells, one large branch in particular, that resided in Rowan County, North Carolina. The Corrells located in the cemetery there in Estatoe tie into this line of Corrells, so it was too interesting, not to try and find them.

We set out looking for a road off of 19E, called 'Rabbit Hop Road'. The directions did not include a turn BEFORE you met up with Rabbit Hop, but quite by accident we found ourself on the right road. The small country church set across the road from the cemetery and on a small rise. The cemetery was fenced in and quiet, with a lovely view of distant mountains.

I photographed many of the headstones in that cemetery, and some that I took were of the 'Boone' surname. I try to take as many pictures as I can, tombstones are being "swallowed" up by the earth quickly, and are in danger of being lost forever. So we need to take pictures!

I came home and uploaded the pictures and it turns out that I had fulfilled a request that a man in Florida had made. He is related to that same Boone family there in Estatoe, and is himself, a Boone. Yes, a direct descendant of the Daniel Boone! I was so glad to be able to give the man a glimpse of the tombstones of his ancestors, that he may otherwise never have seen.

I have yet to pinpoint the actual father of our David Correll, but the search will continue for sure.
The adventure of finding the small church was well worth the time and effort , and I was also able to make another person very happy. Big Smile on that one.


Who knows? Maybe one day, I will be able to link these Corrells into our family~



Until then, I just love a sunny, beautiful day up in the mountains.

Tombstone Tuesday ~

"Betrayed in Love
Then the rains came,
And things were never the same again."

Sure makes you wonder what this poor soul must have endured.....

Roan Valley ~ Final Resting Place

The Roan mountain is a place of magic on earth, for me . There are thorn-free roses growing, up high on the mountain. There are lots of botanical wonders that are normally seen in much more northern , and very high altitude, climes.

Rare and beautiful flowers and plants, growing wild and free on the Roan.

A hiker’s dream. A mountain lover’s paradise.

Just plain "heaven on earth" for this gal.

I had heard about a cemetery that is situated up high on a knoll, nestled between the rolling ridges that are called the Roan. Up in the Roan Valley, this is a place of pure beauty. I was captivated at my first glimpse. I am forever hooked.

When the world starts to close in on me and I need a quick moment of escape, I know just where to go.

I will let my mind wander, back to a place where the air is sweetened by wildflowers and the birds with wide wings soar effortlessly, silent and free, overhead.

This special place, where the only sounds are the crickets in the tall grass and the wind through high branches, is where my heart resides.

I will let my mind wander 'back to the Roan'.

The souls buried there are in a most beautiful place.

We drove up from the town of Bakersville and followed the directions onto a side road that looked more like a gravel drive than an actual road. We wound our way, around the houses and horse pastures. and onto a grassy lane, between the fences.

It sits high up on the knoll, surrounded by a split rail fence. The view just went on, and on. The beauty of the place will cause you to pause and slowly take it all in.

I think I know why the Arrowood’s homesteaded in this area.

The Roan area is just something else.

In this cemetery are souls long passed, Civil War soldiers, and more recently departed as well.

I could find no surnames that tie in directly to our line, but there just about has to be connections somehow, someway, to our family. I think I will adopt them all anyway. Grin.

There are benches on the top of the knoll, under a massive ancient shade tree, just inviting you to sit a spell and enjoy the view. We did just that.

House of Welcome & The Rock ~

We drove over 300 miles, looking for a rock.

Not just any rock, this was a very special rock.

It sits by a cool creek running down from a mountain.

The creek bank is this rock's resting place and has been, for who knows how many years.

It sits on the front lawn of a small country church. The area instantly instills pure serenity in you.

The fields lie nearby, with wildflowers in full bloom. The butterflies fly from one flower, and on to the next.

The sunshine underscores the deep green of the quiet valley community, the sun simply smiles down on the place.

The name of the church is the House of Welcome, Pigeon Roost Free Will Baptist Church.

The rock is the same one that a young Stevette, Bill, and Leonard, are sitting on top of , in a old picture that Hilda gave me.

We had found the rock.

I was elated to know, without a shadow of a doubt, this was the church named and pastored by our Uncle John Henry Arwood.

It sits in a quiet stretch of the community, with the cold creek running right past it. Those creek waters have flowed, all through these years, past all the seasons that this precious country church has seen.

I wish those creek waters could talk, what a story they would have to tell. Joyous weddings, somber funerals, and countless services have been held at this country church all through these years.

Sweet Mrs. Peterson from Poplar, had given me some of her plants while we visited. I stopped along that creek that flows in front of the church, and made my way down the bank, to get a cup full of that water for my plants. The water was clear and cold. The creek rocks were worn smooth from generations of water flowing over them.

Time has flowed on past, through the years, like water over those rocks and the world has moved on from

those simpler times.

You can feel that this place is from another era, but it remains as it was, still today.

A step back into time almost. A step back toward "home".

I wish I could close my eyes and travel back in time.

To the time that my grandfather's family lived here.

I can almost hear the piano music coming from the tiny church, as voices rise in unison, singing those old beloved hymns, that are so familiar and comforting. I hear the music fade away as Rev. John Henry rises to stand at the pulpit, ready to deliver his Sunday sermon, his Bible in his hand. I can almost see him standing there, smiling, his congregation looking up at him, with paper fans busily cooling themselves from the noontime heat .

I can see Nora sitting in the congregation, her gaze affixed to the man she has given her heart to, the father of her children. She sits there, straight-backed, and smiling, up at Uncle John. He smiles back at her.

In his later years, I was told by an Aunt, that his body would weaken during the course of his preaching, causing him to have to lie down in the pew to gather his strength. Once rested, he would stand back up, and continue delivering his sermon.

John Henry Arwood, goes on that particular day, to deliver a heartfelt sermon, that few will soon forget.

How I wish I could have been there to hear it.

In Search of Samuel Arrowood, Junior ~ Poplar NC

It is a beautiful place.

It is a peaceful place.

A place that makes you feel like you are stepping back into a forgotten time, with unbelievably clean, pure, air, with the scent of pine. It makes you want to draw the scent in and drink deep of the history there.

I want to go back there, as soon as I leave it.

This place is never very far from my thoughts.

This place, so special to me, has never really been my home, nor the home of my father, yet we both always thought of it as ‘home‘. It was where many trips were taken, first for my father and then, later, for me. Special memories were made there. Our mountain home.

I wanted to go, once more , "back toward home”.

We went one dreary and overcast morning and set our sights toward the high ridges off in the distance. Back toward those mountains that are the very source of our roots. This deep love has to have been passed down through the generations, just as surely as the Arrowood nose, grin. It is just ingrained deep within us. We are ‘Mountain Folk‘. Plain and simply, Mountain folk that find themselves living in the flat lands.

My excitement built with each passing mile. I found myself unconsciously leaning slightly forward with anticipation, as if this would hasten me to my destination .

We went straight in to the area of Poplar, near Green Mountain , NC., and there was a purpose for that.

There is a lady that lives in Poplar that has befriended me, we are adopted kin. She helped me locate several cemeteries in the area and we have bonded through the love of history and the special love of the pretty patch of flowers she grows in her yard. Her husband is a Peterson.

Those mountains are spotted with the numerous graves of Petersons and our families have mingled over the years, no doubt. She is just the sweetest thing. It was an instant adoption. The Petersons ran the little community grocery store that sold the “Hart’s Relief” , a medicinal cure- all at the time , the source of the community of Relief’s name.

We needed no re-introductions to one another, this visit. We drove into her drive and I got out and walked over and we both smiled big, at one another. I even got a hug.

I also was given beautiful day lilies!

She had located info for me, about the whereabouts of the old Arrowood Cemetery somewhere in the vicinity . She remembers our Uncle John Henry, the minister. She told us to trace our path, back the way we came in, up the highway, back to the Bailey Settlement area. We did just that, and found a path adjacent to an old building and made our way in to the shady undergrowth of the woods.

The tree limbs were fighting us all the way, but we kept on moving up the steep slope, and as we rounded a slight corner, Russ called out that he could see the gate to the cemetery.

Once more I had to resist that strong urge, to break into a run, or at least a ‘half-run’, since a half-run was just about all that was possible up the steep side of a mountain. Giggle.

I managed a half-gallop. We had found it!

I “saw” my Dad’s smiling face in my mind’s eye as I echoed that very same smile on my own face.

The elusive Arrowood Cemetery. There have been many posts on the internet about it. I had studied over many queries as to the possible location of it. It was mostly an abandoned cemetery until relatively recently. Not many, mostly only the locals to the area, even remembered vaguely where it was.

I had called several funeral homes in the area, hoping that they could help me locate it. Many told me that they had no info to give. I was so determined to locate this one, that I spent hours pondering, and wondering about it.

I was so hoping to find our Samuel Augustus Arrowood buried there. Welzia’s father. But it was not to be. Not this time. No pure white, marble marker emblazoned with his name, was found there, but our family was there.

There are also upwards of 30 field stone markers in that small cemetery and who knows, one of those stones could very well belong to our Samuel. Sarah Ellender knows well where her beloved lies. Sadly, she cannot tell me, I can only wonder and continue to search. She is long gone, bless her.

One stone stood out to me, and caused me to wonder. It is roughly hewn from a large rock, with deep carvings, that over time have been smoothed by weathering until they are no longer readable.

Could this be the marker for our Samuel? I do not know, but I ran my hand across it, just in case. Smile.
The earliest discernible date on the markers was 1912, but I am sure the rock markers may predate that.
Samuel A. Arrowood, Jr. is buried here, along with sons of his.

There is an area of intensely bright green ferns just beyond his grave and that of his wife, Anna.
Among the ferns, near a huge old mountain laurel, he rests. Deep in the woods under a canopy of old trees, rests the son of our Samuel Augustus Arrowood. Brother of our Welzia. About three years younger than Welzia.

Reverend Sam Arwood, Jr. date of birth: May 16, 1863, date of death, August 7, 1953. To the right of Sam lies his first wife, Anna “Annie” "Eller D" Griffith. Together they had at least 13 children. Annie died in 1919.

Samuel later remarried to Sarah Elizabeth "Lizzie" Whaley and this marriage produced a son, named Linnie. I have written about Linnie in a previous posting. Linnie was killed during WWII when his plane was shot down over the English Channel and his remains were never found . Annie buried here beside of Sam was the mother to Theodore Roosevelt Arrowood who married Reecie Tipton, the Salvation Army Minister, that I also have posted info on. Theodore bore a striking resemblance to Lewis Pat Arrowood, grandpa.

Annie’s stone had fallen over and was covered in mud when we found it. We tried to set it upright and clean it up as best we could. There were about 11 graves that had readable markers and there had to be at least 30 more or so, field stone markers with no carvings. Among the souls buried there were the surnames, Bailey, Peterson, Horton and Tapp. We tried to clear limbs and such away from the stones, as best we could. It appeared that someone was keeping it somewhat maintained. God Bless this person.

John Henry Arrowood, born 1890, son of Rev. Sam, Jr. and Annie is buried here alongside of his brother , Granville, born 1887.



There is another relative here, Johnny Ray Arrowood, who died in 1989.
I have not found just who Johnny belongs to, yet. Maybe a grandson of Samuel Jr.
　
There are no markers to indicate where the cemetery lies,along the roadside, you just have to know, or have someone kindly show you.

If our Samuel is indeed buried here, then I hope to one day find some documentation of it. Until then, I will continue to search and seek out our family.

I left with a deep appreciation that I had located the ones that I did. I had the biggest smile on my face.

There may very well be no marker left for Samuel. If it once existed, time may have taken it’s toll on it and the earth slowly reclaimed it, during the 130 plus years he has been gone. Samuel Augustus Arrowood was born Abt. 1836 ~ and died Abt. 1873.

No matter where he lies, his memory lives on in the hearts of all his descendants. He lived a short time on this earth, but he left a lasting legacy.

Rest in peace, Grandpa Samuel.