Into the early morning quiet bursts a barrage of bird song. The mist hangs heavy around trees cradling the village. Sunlight gently spotlights. Plankish boards on building. Tin roof. Patch of flower. Some of the buildings sport historic info out front, explaining original purpose. There was a turn of the century (ca. 1901) Boarding House here, for instance, that a relative of the first owners helped to preserve in the 1980's. A photograph of ladies in Victorian-age dresses shows off gardening accomplishment and fiddle in hand.
Preservation of the village is the mission-goal of Historic Rugby. There are regular residents and people who live/work here to tend and relay its past. The significance of that past isn't readily spectacular like a Civil War battle, but holds more subtle heroic effort and victory.
A map like a sketch of Rosary Beads in an 1884 edition of the Rugby Gazette and East Tennessee News shows us Rugby almost in the center between north and south. The LOC--Library of Congress/Chronicling America by the National Endowment for the Humanities has pages online from the newspaper originally established as The Rugbeian in January of 1881. The C.S. Railway ran from Chattanooga through Danville Junction where there was an arm of the L.A.N.R.R. Louisville, Kentucky to the west, Cincinnati a little more north and east. This place was described as "the most delightful situation on the Cumberland Mountains."
While the Harrow Road Canteen is still under construction right nearby of interest is a gallery and the Rugby Printing Works. A wooden sidewalk and treestump-sitting speak to the blend of nature and human ingenuity that is a hallmark of Tennessee.
This morning Brian was manning the desk at the Visitor's Center before Tours at eleven. A mural, Rugby, Tenn, 1880's, is like a view from a hot air balloon. Pictorial landscape; village gentlemen on one platform with blueprints and book; ladies and children on another (bottom right) ground the painting to the room. The people are life-size and one gets a real sense of connecting with these pioneers of the past.
A brochure reads, Fall in Love With A Village, Historic Rugby:1880s Living Victorian Village. And, "Historic Rugby was founded in 1880, as a British colony in the United States. Thomas Hughes, a best-selling author (Tom Brown's School Days) and social reformer, financed the Rugby coloney so England's second sons (who typically inherited nothing) could move to America, acquire land, and get a fresh start."
The orientation film, viewable upon request in a beautiful tiny theatre, explains that Founder Thomas Hughes also beckoned unemployed factory workers from the Northeast. The dream/vision was a "utopian" "community based on hardwork, cooperation, and compassion for others." There were Appalachian farmers already in this area. Hughes' daughter, Emily, photographed many of the people living here.
During a visit to The Rugby Printworks I find out from Pete Merrill that the National Geographic in 1880 didn't have "pictures" in 1880. Any image to be printed was based on an engraving.
Pete commutes 60-65 miles a workday to be present at the Print Shop. He's originally from Maine where in the late 1950's he "knew where my destiny" would take him. He studied Math, English, and History and spent the rest of his High School time in the Print Shop. He also served for twenty-two years! His Veteran's cap tells me and the other visitors, Pete worked on submarines. He explains a "retired flag" project started by StarsForOurTroops.org after lunch at a food truck.
Local George (?) explained that the food truck is the canteen while the (sadly) burnt down Canteen (3-4 yrs ago) is being rennovated. There is a grant to do so, but the project will not be completed until next year.
I arrived to The Rugby Printworks and was greeted by the lovely smells of aging oak, press oil, sawdust, paper, and ink, and Beth Donegan. Jerry Zorch was off today. Beth starts a talk by letting us know it's a working press-place so touching/moving stuff around messes people up in efficiency. And later when Pete "keys/coins" a "chase" to ink some monogrammed letterhead, his talkreiterates how lined-up the work needs to be.
"Bit of a fat man's squeeze," a woman explains of an afternoon hike to a rock formation, "But it's not a cave." I meet Maggie, and Jodie, and Frannie. Frannie's "the counselor" and she and her group have gathered at Historic Rugby for Adult Summer Camp. In which people get together and act like kids again. I tell them how some of my creative compatriots came to Tennessee some thirty years ago. At that time I learned so much from the experiences. I'd learned, for example, from the Martha Sundquist State Forest workers how to ready a campsite between late spring and summer. So I did as I had learned this past Memorial Day Weekend. Smudge fires at dusk, making a treetop and trunk of an unruly pile of stick wood. I remembered stuff I'd learned experientially like it was yesterday!
At the Print Shop Beth shows me a photograph of the building we are standing in on a flatbed being hauled (in 1978) from Deer Lodge. And shows me a The Rugby Gazette broadsheet. It's a single big piece of paper that's 1 and 2, 3 and four pages of newsprint. She explains, "It starts with a man on a horse."
"A man on a horse?"
"Yup." And she tells how in the 1880's people here had to make way to Elgin which was Sedgemoore. They had two things Rugby did not. They had a Railroad Station and a telegraph office. That meant national news!
[Insert more] on print shop
Mass at 11 am Sunday in the second chapel, Christ Church (no communion the Father is traveling)
Pete at age 83 outpaces me after a day of listening intently to process and historical fact. He's in a silk-screening studio when I find him mid-afternoon. Some of the Adult Summer Camp-ers are having their yearly gathering logo'd onto tees. I also meet Benita Howell who hashes my description words of her as ' real Rugbeian'. Living in Beacon Hill nowadays she's been a "long-term resident" for some twenty years. She grew up in Asheville, North Carolina and explains, "not a descendant.". Pete swipes the ink over a screen and wets a tee-shirt with fresh image. Benita lays it on a rolling mesh that takes it through a belt dryer.
She shows me an aging work table for silk screening that was used by Mike Alley. His were more wood block type images. Benita tells me Historic Rugby acquired some additional used equipment when a shop closed down with the widening of 127. Pete helped them jumpstart the tee-shirt-making. We get a preview of the 13th Annual British Car Show coming up in early fall.
Around 5 o'clock under a sun still broadly sweltering I walked over to the Canteen/food truck area for "Road Bowling". There was Gerald, maintenance-extraordinaire for this historic village in a Bowler or Derby hat (I [obviously] know nothing about fashion; nada, zip). People were gathering! A tall summer-tanning man asked me was I going to bowl. I responded that I preferred to watch since I've never experienced this before. He assured, "You can walk alongside.". And, "It's a walking game."
Making teams of us was a woman who worked up here for forty-five years and who misses it. The tall man assured hesitators, "You don't have to be good at it." He also kindly gave me a bottled water. I think our ages spanned the spectrum. Another person in an old timey hat explained, There will be spotters a ways down. "Everyone cheers everyone else on!" Someone interjected. The spotters will see where your canonball goes. If a car comes, everyone yells caaarrrr! The goal is to make the loop in as few a rolls as possible.
The spotters had marking poles-- chalk on one end and a magnet on the other. "Okay, Game On!" The tall man issued the ready, set, GO. The first person took to the center line in the street and pitched the canonball.
The other teams rotated in a bowler and amidst much fanfare we watched each color ball roll and walked a little ways to where each ball had stopped rolling. The orange ball rolled past the elderly crossing sign. The blue went pretty far. A spotter chalked a line from the grassy edge to road. "White!" He called of the ball. Hoots and hollers went up for each bowler.
Orange made a smooth, long roll. Another orange team player pitched the ball like an underhand softballer. Gerald picked up a ball with the magnet end of his marking pole, "Red," he held the ball up high. We came across parked and chair-seated fans! Wearing straw hats with flowers and Queen Elizabeth in a hat in a car window. A ball was pitched pretty sideways, the lot of us clapped and cheered anyway.
"CAaaaar," people said as a red ball rolled into the grass ditch. Little Madeline furthered the blue team's progress. It was the red team up after a white "gutter ball". Clapping. CaaaaaaRR! A motorcycle and trike went through our procession. An orange canonball rolled straight down the line. A blue stopped rolling near a mailbox. Team Missy roll-pitched the white ball. Up near Laurel Dale Cemetery, another car. Someone pronounced, "The Rugby Rush Hour."
A dog on a leash got a waterbreak in the shade. A belle in white dress, barefeet jokingly offered ice tea on the veranda of one of the historic buildings.
We looped onto a path passing by a building where I heard instrument sounds. Red, blue, we walked beside a little field of grass. The slightly uneven pavement making the game even more challenging. Sloping away from us a ball rolled into a pole or something and made a chunkclak sound. At one point the whole group moved so a bowler could get a better angle. Soon we were back near the street sign reading: Laurel Dale Cemetery/Dead End.
Gerald held up a ball calling, "Red." A golf cart drove by with pizzas on the front seat. Bobbie in the lime green sun hat advanced team orange. By the time we got to the corner of Farringdon (where the 1880 Newberry House offers lodging) we witnessed perhaps the farthest roll by team white who won the walking game--Irish Road Bowling.
There is something reinvigorating of faith when people gather to worship in a mountain church. People have been off doing. Doing survival, doing exercise, doing play, doing everything humans do. And to do Christ also adds an element to life that helps sustain. The little Christ Church in Historic Rugby reminds me of the onion-domed churches in Alaska; the ones I learned about reading Michener. At Rugby the weathering wood is in part painted in the rich tones of maroon and spruce and a subtle gold. The crucifix is also more quaint than huge and imposing. The altar space involves the humans; those doing the readings, giving the sermon, and focusing on connecting with God. Even the music player's station is open and centered--up front. The way of the service is explained so people feel comfortable and engaged. And the space that people created for this celebration is un-vacant'd by us singing and praying together and paying attention to God's Word.
Today we reflected on Old Testament story of a young and fearless David. Aligned in his life as individual...learned survival living, learned hunting, learned confrontation and endurance growing into manhood...it comes time for him to help his army, bolster the Israelis in battle, step up in the group way. The wizened Goliath puts down the Judeo-Christian God and believers. David's destiny flashes clear; he will use his skills and faith to conquer for God and his people. Victory happens!
So we as Christians are grounded in the roots of our religion for Gospel (Good News) which today in the story of Jesus quelling the stormy sea parallels that of leader David coming into role. Both stories are about fear and faith, and, about being ourselves--humans caught up in the power of God. In dire situation being afraid is quite natural, as is being shaken out of sleep to see. That person has an idea, a way, a trust. The disciples did not yet have an established religion; had not yet experienced the totality of Christ's mission; of course they were unsure of Jesus' power(s). And Jesus had not yet relayed all the facets of being a Christian, having equal measure in terms of faith in God's love and mercy. By the time Jesus asks, Why are you afraid? there's temptation to feel like maybe an individual's faith is being doubted. Though there is also a case to be made here for group experience processing. Jesus checking in on where people were at in relationship with Almighty God, OT God who over-sees battle and weather. Jesus prodding at the very tenents of trust. Do we trust in God? Do we trust in each other? Do we trust that even in mortal peril, God's got us?
The coming from the nooks and crannies of mountain life to trust in church for a worship-gathering doesn't win a war, or prove that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit (the Holy Trinity) exists as a Supreme Power, but it does advance knowledge and wisdom of God's ways. It does present opportunity for individual to further stepping up. And it provides the two or more. Gathering to celebrate being a Christian, to worship together, to go through the human processes with the Living Presence Holy Family...is surely anchoring in any storm.
Back up at the Visitor's Center Brian and new-to-Rugby Guide Lily were off giving another tour. I met some folks up from Chattanooga way. I'd seen enormous equipment stowed on the side of the road a couple days before and couldn't imagine what that was about. Well, these traveling buddies who went to high school together many years ago now, brought up that stranded cargo. Apparently it's come all the way from Kansas! It's here in Tennessee but there's permission issue. The lady'd found a newspaper article on the big doings. I'm watching for that in the email.
from the Sunbright Lady:
I was reluctant to write today though committed to my challenge--no photographing! Push myself to write as descriptive-ly as image. My hesitancy/hemming and hawing has more to do with the weight of gold to this story. And I'm still digesting the triumph of what Hughes inaugurated here in Historic Rugby. As in our times, the "work" is ongoing; and though there be fights over management and ownership, contentions over issues and leadership, friction of idea and belief; there is also continuity in a spirit of surviving as a free and tending-place people.
It was more than thirty years ago I met some people in this area of TN who were painstakingly grooming walking trails. I was young and experiencing anxiety from studying "hot war" and the pressures of competition in every field I was considering as "career". More than one adult encouraged, Go outside and play. The Rugby State Natural Area looptrail to the Massengale Homeplace charged up my batteries!
My walking mates had a good laugh at citygirl getting ready for forty-five minutes. And then recording all the information on the Trailhead Kiosk. I actually had tears of joy and appreciation in my eyes for the effort that had been made to honor an Appalachian neighbor. The Massengales had lived on the ridge! "In there?" I asked looking towards a ferny damp mysterious holespace into the woods. "Ahuh," an outdoors type replied.
The kiosk tells us that this project has been a "cooperative effort of the Tennessee Department of Environment and Conservation & Historic Rugby." It's a 725-acre State Natural Area that's been "achieved in several stages" TO: Accomplish both natural resource conservation and protection of the Rugby Colony National Register Historic District from surrounding incompatible development." We weren't really joking when we wisted for the same for ourselves and had a lively conversation about encroachment and boundaries.
In the case of the RSNA, Rugby State Natural Area, cooperating entities included:
The TN Dept of Environment & Conservation (TDEC); the TN Department of Transportation; a National Forest Service Legacy program; landowners Bill Ray, Andrew and Herman Gettelfinger and Jean Rhoads and Hugo Goad; and non-profit Historic Rugby.
The Trailhead kiosk also notes key support of Governor Phil Bredesen, "a strong proponent of Cumberland Plateau conservation efforts."
Mentions too, extensive pro bono assistance by the law firm of Waller Lansden Dortch & Davis.
The Massengale Homeplace Loop was the first constructed trail in the Class I Scenic-Recreational State Natural Area. And there were hopes for such work to continue.
Across town, 2024, the sounds of portable drill and hammer rally to an early start workday. The Brad Daugherty Construction crew positions scaffolding, cites places to be careful, and discusses plan of action.
A young Edith Walton eyes the present from still-frame black and white portrait on the kiosk. Through the tenths of a mile trail I go trying to spot the wild Tennessee vegetation identified in photography. It's eye-foot coordination that steadies through. Mind recalling sample plants up at Frozen Head, shapes of leaves, and the taste of berries on a tree in Jisen Park, Knoxville. A North Light Art School, 1986, publication on observation and drawing pops into my head, encouraging visual curiosity and practicing...concentration, looking at the lights and darks of things, recall, and base-to-build out. I see different kinds of ferns; carpets of moss on fallen tree; silty-bottomed trickle of stream; earth sloping stairway up to ZigZag Railfence and another kiosk.
A homestead now partly canopied, part sunlight raying into my sense of time. A quote hanging on a door jumps off my notebook page. "Speed is not important." --Pete Merrill. We'd been talking about a fruit tree planted for a president, Charlie Burnell, of the British Car Show club as Pete used a spatula to wipe "ink"/chemicals from a screen back into a container. As in baking the temperatures matter to solidifying image/item and the heat of the resting press plate gets out wrinkles where the item to be silk-screened will be coated by squeegee with the two-part material that's a resin, a plastic material. But it's in the dark room that my mind better understands the red burned on/black washed out. And on the ridge in the backwoods I see the fence standing out from the vanished cabin.
Fortunately a long ago visitor to the Massengale's sketched the family and watercoloured both home and the "hearth" of people in place. A tall lean woman could be the twin of my own West Virginia to Michigan Grandma Pearl. A story of a schoolgirl relaying a "tall tale" by the man who lived here about a spectacular day of rounding up food makes me chuckle. Reminds me of a favorite children's book, Sometimes it's turkey, sometimes it's feathers. I have brought no implement to copy the growing season chart and as I head back to loop I think about schoolkids walking to village and clearing to learn stuff like alphabet and fundamental principles of nation.
Hayrolls are stacked three-high in a greying wood barn. Outside the
R.M. Brooks
GEN. MDSE.
GROCERIES DRY GOODS NOTIONS
place, fairyangelwing ribbon still wraps poles of outdoor seating. A man sorts Recycling into heavy metal trash-protector containers. The man slows truck on his way past me and asks if'n I was walking on the tall bridge yesterday. Someone spotted a woman walking there and there's really no way to know....Was it someone pushing through fear of heights? Taking in the view? Or something else?
An OPEN sign nee-ons at 10 a.m.
Inside an apron embroidered gives a touchpoint of history: R.M. Brooks, est. 1917, Rugby, TN. Paperwasp nests bereft of insect hang along a crossbeam. French Fries and a Tiffany sandwich fill the clearly hallowed halls with the smells of delicious. And my tummy as I have breakfast with Ronny England and hear that Friday's wedding was a real nice afternoon. He takes his time to wonder and ask what I'm writing about, so I tell him about my article on the Mountain Shadows blog (mtshadows.blogspot.com).
An ecclectic mix of human ephemera, what also gets called culture material and stuff, counter-balances a clapboard wall of family, group, individuals' photographs. From a Sailor's woolie uniform shirt to hand split White Oak Tobacco Sticks this place is a testament to thriving as blossom on survival.
An obituary and memorial service booklet framed commemorates Andrew Clay Starr Jr. (November 17, 1934-October 15, 2022) and the star dust farm of Sunbright, Tennessee. Quilt and collander hang beside on country wall-museum. Elect Eddie Langley, Sheriff. A Bobby Brooks write up on the hand split White Oak Tobacco Sticks tells about the equipment hung perfectly for display. The R.M. Brooks store starts to get busy as I read about the tools being used for over fifty years on farm established by his late Grandfather R.M. "Daddy Bob" and Nettie E. Brooks.
"They were used to spear or spike the tobacco with the metal spear shown above for wilting down before hanging in the Tobacco Barn for final curing before stripping and hand tying could commence. Once dry or cured it was then strip one leaf at a time and separate into separate grads of 5 or 6 and then tied into hands for selling at the Tobacco Warehouse where the sales were conducted before Christmas. The money was used to pay the land taxes, farm expenses, with the reminder for Christmas."
A business card leads me to shiney sculptures on metal popsickle-like stakes.
"Beauty from Ashes"
Isaiah 61:1-3
Repurposing one life at a time
"The sulverware items you see represents the oppirtunity for changed lives in the Dominican Republic. In 2011 God spoke to my heart and opened the door for me to be involved in a Sewing Ministry through One Vision International. This all came about after I quit work to care for both my mother and mother-in-law. I definitely had my doubts as to how we could afford the trips with the decrease of one income to our budget. That's when God asked "Do you trust me?" I stepped out in faith, trusting His provisions for every trip. He gave my husband and I the idea of the silverware artwork-repurposing often discarded odd pieces. Our ministry in the Dominican gives ladies the opportunity to learn a skill to provide for their families raising them up out of poverty as well as hearing the gospel." --Stephanie McMahan, owner Beauty from Ashes, MsStephmac@comcast.net // 865-924-2090
On another trip back to the Historic Rugby Visitor's Center I meet a philosophy professor (retiring soon) who visits this nature every year. He asks Lily Huckeby, recent high school grad, "Where to?" when she tells us this is a summer job and she's headed to college! A Tennessee school, Lincoln Memorial. This gives me the opportunity to explain getting lost on a nature destination trip and feeling lucky to happen into the Briceville Library. It was heartening to see a poster-sized Abraham Lincoln in the foyer. And the librarian kindly helped me figure out, all turned around. Lily was telling the professor more about the Sheltowee Trace when her mom stopped in. Since I wasn't taking photographs for the weekend's writing assignment I ask her to send me copy.
Lily Huckeby, Big South Fork Park Guide, Summer 2024
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