Judy's House

                                                                        

I was delighted to have this picture pop up on Facebook--an old photo of Judy Shelton's cabin. I'd never seen a picture but it was much as I'd imagined--a two story log cabin. (I suspect that the sagging bit on the right was a later addition.)

 That cabin was the setting for several important scenes in my historical novel And the Crows Took Their Eyes. 

Nothing but the chimney remains of the place where the thirteen victims of the Shelton Laurel Massacre were held the night before their execution. Nothing but memories and ghosts.

A Letter from Judy--repost

 

When I teach classes in novel writing, an exercise that has proven quite useful is to have my students write letters to themselves in the voice of their main character, explaining why that character wants his/her story told. In some cases, these letters are quite moving, and in most cases  they help to clarify the author's vision of the book under construction.

So, of course I did this for my Civil War book. But I had to write five letters.

Here's a brief synopsis of the novel:

During the American Civil War, the western North Carolina county still known as Bloody Madison was deeply divided, with the wealthier townspeople supporting the Confederacy and the poorer folk, especially in the outlying communities known as the Laurels, opposed. ANS THE CROWS TOOK THEIR EYES  follows events surrounding the Shelton Laurel Massacre -- the execution by Confederate soldiers of thirteen men and boys suspected of Unionism.  

The story unfolds in five alternating voices of witnesses from both sides. Judy, the strong-willed unmarried mother of a growing brood, the descendant and keeper of traditions of the earliest settlers in the Laurels, is the voice that opens and closes the book. This is her letter to me.

Writing a book, are you? About the Massacre and them Thirteen buried up yon? And you want my opinioning?

Don't seem like an unlearned mountain woman can have much to say to a book writer. Still, I was there and you wasn't. I know what it is to go through hard times, to hear my young uns crying for hunger, to fear the soldiers plundering our food . . . and worse.

When you first begun to spin the story, going back to one of the beginnings of the trouble, I couldn't see what good a book would do -- what happened, happened, and ain't nothing can change that.

But as I come to think on it some more, I thought of all the tales going around concerning them dreadful times -- and they's mostly about the men. The women don't feature much in stories about the war.

But it was the women held things together while their men was off playing soldier or hiding away from conscription up in them old rock houses and thickets on the mountain. 

So, you tell about the women and how they kept old Laurel going.  Tell as how we're still here. Now that would be a fine thing to have writ down.

And don't forget to tell about that other feller buried up yon where the Thirteen rest. . .

                                                        Your friend,

                                                                  Judith Shelton 

Back to Shelton Laurel

I took a drive out to Shelton Laurel yesterday. 

The foliage was amazing--pretty much at peak.

The sun, however, was hidden behind low clouds but I still found a lot to photograph. These are a merciful few of the 159 pictures I took.

I poked along, stopping whenever there was a pull off--either to let people in a hurry pass me and/or take pictures.

There wasn't much traffic--except at one point, a clutch of bear hunters in their camo outfits and bright orange caps. Excited dog noses poked out of the dog boxes in the back of their trucks.

I wish I could have gotten a picture, especially of the  truck barreling down the road with one hound standing atop the dog box, busily sniffing the air.

And I should have tried to record the baying of the hounds already loosed, a deep, melodious sound echoing through the valley.

Though I'm no fan of bear hunting, especially as it's done here with radio tracking dog collars, it's as much a traditional way of life for some folks as the pig roast at the VFD.

Shelton Laurel is a beautiful place, fiercely loved by its people.

I was acutely aware of present and past as I meandered up the valley, remembering the events I wrote of in And the Crows Took Their Eyes.

Much that I saw could have been what they saw back then.

I made a call of respect to the chimney that remains of Judy Shelton's house.

And I stopped to photograph the place that some believe to be the site of the massacre.

The clouds kept getting lower and rain was forecast to begin soon.

So I turned around at the Carmen Church of God and headed back home.

Still taking pictures.

So much to enjoy.

So much to love.

More On CROWS

For those of you reading or about to read And the Crows Took Their Eyes, I came across this picture on a genealogy page-- that's Judy Shelton in the spotted skirt and her son Sol Shelton and his family--just another reminder that these folks were real and have living kin. 

The picture below is Lawrence and Polly Allen. The strange discrepancy between their face and bodies (plus Lawrence's very weird hands) suggests that the bodies may have been a stock image and the photographer just stuck their heads on.

And a reminder that there's more about the history of the massacre and the folks involved on my new website. Here's a LINK