Tombstone Tuesday~ Love Goes On

This beautiful poem was found propped on a headstone in a country church. The poem was framed and leaning on the stone. A loving tribute to the man's wife.

*******************

If I could have one wish, I would make it on you.

To see you laugh and smile, the way you used to do.

Now all I have are memories, down deep inside.

What I would give for one more day, by your side.

I know you tried so hard, to keep holding on.

But God called your name and in a second , you were gone.

But tomorrow will always come and the sun will always shine.

And down deep in my heart, I know you are at peace and doing fine.

I wear your memory proudly, you were a true friend.

And may my love for you reach heaven above,

Until we meet again.

~

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.