had not been a slaveholder, but kept from two to three hired hands at any one time.
“He grew flax,” Lindsay whispered to herself. “Where were the fields?”
The research questions underlying the Gallows farmstead archaeological excavation concerned site habitation and techniques used in the construction of buildings. The excavation site proper was small—about three acres—but Lindsay was curious about where the entire three-hundred-acre farmstead had extended. The original farmstead was cleared in 1838. Now, trees grew over it in abundance. How long had it remained in cultivation? Perhaps there was a clue in the trees.
The vegetation maps showed that except for the side bordering on the national park, the woods immediately surrounding the excavation site were mostly immature pines mixed with hardwoods of no more than twenty or thirty years of age. These fields could have been in cultivation until relatively recently. Or, they could have grown to mature forests and been cut several times since the last habitation of the farm. How long is forest succession in this area? she wondered to herself. She didn’t really know.
She had seen the old growth stands in dense wilderness areas of the Smokies where the toppling of a giant tree can open as much as a quarter of an acre to the sun. There was none of that old growth here. Two-thirds of the Smokies have been logged, some as recently as seventy years ago. Those areas have grown back a succession of pines and softwoods to dense forests of tall hardwoods of a hundred feet or more in height. None of the trees around the Gallows site came close to that.
Lindsay got up to look out the window. Although her room didn’t have a door, it did have intact pane glass windows. Most of the other windows in the house had succumbed to the rocks and bullets of vandals and were now covered with clear plastic and duct tape, or completely boarded up. The round shape of her bedroom with its three windows allowed her a panoramic view of the woods, about the only perk the place served up.
In the fading light, the mountain laurel, rhododendron, and groves of devil’s walking stick were deep green against the dark hardwoods looming behind them. She noticed Mr. and Mrs. Laurens lingering in the parking lot, talking to Erin. Before Mrs. Laurens got in her car, she shook a finger at Erin. She shut the door and Erin walked away with her head low and her arms folded under her breasts. Odd, thought Lindsay, what an intimate personal gesture a scolding is. She wondered if Erin and Mrs. Laurens knew each other before meeting at the site.
Lindsay shifted her gaze to the view of the site. In her mind’s eye, she rebuilt the house, the barn, the outbuildings. It looked like there were two springhouses, one completely excavated, and the newly discovered one. She could barely see anything of the woods except a dark tree line; however, she would bet that the flax fields were across the Little Branch Creek. Soil samples would reveal if there were flax pollen there. Perhaps she’d take soil samples from the woods, just to satisfy her curiosity.
She stretched back down on her mattress, turned on the brass lamp sitting on the floor beside her bed, and took up the CRM report again. The legal documents indicated that the Gallowses were a reasonably prosperous farming family. The entries from Hope Foute’s diary and the page from the Gallows Bible revealed a more personal story. Josh Gallows’s wife, Rosellen, had confided in the doctor’s wife who, fortunately for interested historians, kept council with her journal.
Hope Foute described Rosellen Gallows as a big-boned, doe-eyed girl, scared of her own shadow, who hated moving from their home in Maryland to the mountains of Tennessee. She was afraid of Indians and dreaded the harsh existence as a farmer’s wife. Her husband’s assurances that the government was “taking care of the Indian problem” did not allay her fears. Nor did her temperament
“He grew flax,” Lindsay whispered to herself. “Where were the fields?”
The research questions underlying the Gallows farmstead archaeological excavation concerned site habitation and techniques used in the construction of buildings. The excavation site proper was small—about three acres—but Lindsay was curious about where the entire three-hundred-acre farmstead had extended. The original farmstead was cleared in 1838. Now, trees grew over it in abundance. How long had it remained in cultivation? Perhaps there was a clue in the trees.
The vegetation maps showed that except for the side bordering on the national park, the woods immediately surrounding the excavation site were mostly immature pines mixed with hardwoods of no more than twenty or thirty years of age. These fields could have been in cultivation until relatively recently. Or, they could have grown to mature forests and been cut several times since the last habitation of the farm. How long is forest succession in this area? she wondered to herself. She didn’t really know.
She had seen the old growth stands in dense wilderness areas of the Smokies where the toppling of a giant tree can open as much as a quarter of an acre to the sun. There was none of that old growth here. Two-thirds of the Smokies have been logged, some as recently as seventy years ago. Those areas have grown back a succession of pines and softwoods to dense forests of tall hardwoods of a hundred feet or more in height. None of the trees around the Gallows site came close to that.
Lindsay got up to look out the window. Although her room didn’t have a door, it did have intact pane glass windows. Most of the other windows in the house had succumbed to the rocks and bullets of vandals and were now covered with clear plastic and duct tape, or completely boarded up. The round shape of her bedroom with its three windows allowed her a panoramic view of the woods, about the only perk the place served up.
In the fading light, the mountain laurel, rhododendron, and groves of devil’s walking stick were deep green against the dark hardwoods looming behind them. She noticed Mr. and Mrs. Laurens lingering in the parking lot, talking to Erin. Before Mrs. Laurens got in her car, she shook a finger at Erin. She shut the door and Erin walked away with her head low and her arms folded under her breasts. Odd, thought Lindsay, what an intimate personal gesture a scolding is. She wondered if Erin and Mrs. Laurens knew each other before meeting at the site.
Lindsay shifted her gaze to the view of the site. In her mind’s eye, she rebuilt the house, the barn, the outbuildings. It looked like there were two springhouses, one completely excavated, and the newly discovered one. She could barely see anything of the woods except a dark tree line; however, she would bet that the flax fields were across the Little Branch Creek. Soil samples would reveal if there were flax pollen there. Perhaps she’d take soil samples from the woods, just to satisfy her curiosity.
She stretched back down on her mattress, turned on the brass lamp sitting on the floor beside her bed, and took up the CRM report again. The legal documents indicated that the Gallowses were a reasonably prosperous farming family. The entries from Hope Foute’s diary and the page from the Gallows Bible revealed a more personal story. Josh Gallows’s wife, Rosellen, had confided in the doctor’s wife who, fortunately for interested historians, kept council with her journal.
Hope Foute described Rosellen Gallows as a big-boned, doe-eyed girl, scared of her own shadow, who hated moving from their home in Maryland to the mountains of Tennessee. She was afraid of Indians and dreaded the harsh existence as a farmer’s wife. Her husband’s assurances that the government was “taking care of the Indian problem” did not allay her fears. Nor did her temperament
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