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There were six of us, ranging in age from 4 to 14, who played under the shadows of Joanna Bald, which is one of the highest elevation peaks in the valley. We would play all day in the woods while making our way down the mountain before dark.
The “halfway ground” was a picnic area built by the U.S. Forest Service on Robbinsville Mountain, and was a haven for all our games. We would climb small saplings that would eventually bend over giving us a ride, or a fall down the ridge. The picnic area was located in a beautiful hollow with a circle drive around concrete picnic tables that were placed throughout the area.
Down the lane from the picnic area, to the right, was the Brittain Creek “carwash” which was a nice flat area of the creek with a rock bottom where you could drive in the middle of the creek and wash your car, if you even had one back then. For us, it was a great place to just sit in the creek to cool off before hiking on down the creek to the old concrete dam, that was in the middle of nowhere.
It had once been a reservoir for the F.P. Cover & Sons Tannery, which began construction on the plant in 1899 near the railroad track in Andrews. My cousin, Lynn, was the only one of us brave enough to jump into the water from the dam, the rest of us just eased out gradually, because the water was so cold.
Just down the creek from the dam was the Cover Falls. It was the prettiest place that I had ever seen. Beautiful crystal waters falling over rocky cliffs around fallen logs that were covered in velvety moss, so thick it was like carpet. The clear pools at the base of the falls were full of tadpoles, “molly crawl bottoms” and speckled trout.
The over-spray from the falls reflected the light like a million prisms as the sun rays spilled through the canopy of trees that surrounded this mystical place. We used to sit in the cave up on the rock cliff to the left of the falls and sing as loud as we could with the musical roar of the falling water.
I remember thinking it was like an outdoor cathedral, a holy place that I thought God visited often. I used to hope with a child’s heart that we would catch God sitting on the moss-covered log as we approached the rumbling falls, but we never did, and I always told myself that
we must have just missed him.
The mountain was the stomping grounds of our older siblings, who passed down the knowledge of the trails and how to take shelter should the need arise. We were taught how to catch spring lizards, and night crawlers, and how to make your own fishing pole.
We were taught how to be quiet while walking in the woods, and the dangers of the forest. We knew what plants were poison, and we knew the plants you could eat, and those you could not eat.
I can’t imagine turning your children loose today to wander around in the woods by themselves all day, but it was a different place back then. It was a simple time of hours spent with your family, and a comforting time when everyone knew their neighbors, and you hardly ever saw a stranger.
You did not have to worry about someone stealing your children, or some radical fueled by lies shooting them at school.
It was a safe, peaceful time that I fear we will never see again.
Kandy Barnard is a columnist for the Cherokee Scout. To talk about the Andrews Valley, call her at 361-3268 or email kandybarnard@gmail.com.