God's Thumbprint

Burke’s Garden, Virginia

Geographic anomalies fascinate my husband and fellow traveler, Klep who is a civil engineer both in temperament and in training.  When he recently read an article describing the high mountain valley known as Burke’s Garden, he put it on our day trip list for a future trip to Winegar Hollow.

The future arrived yesterday morning.  We awoke to a lovely late August day when a little October invaded August, a fine day for a mountain ramble which we started at the Hitching Post Diner

on Highway 11W near the turnoff for Stanley Valley Road where our cook was also waitress.  She operates the diner during the week, closing every day except Friday which is catfish day at three.  On catfish day her day is 17 hours long.  I can understand why she closes on the weekend!

After a fine East Tennessee breakfast including some of the finest biscuits we’ve had lately and some nicely cooked fried eggs, soft yellows, crispy on the edges whites, complimented with sausage gravy, we passed through the edge of Kingsport and over the Virginia line to Gate City where we, by chance, managed to land on the correct road the wind us through the mountains, past Lebanon and on to Tazewell, the closest incorporated town to the area known as Burke’s Garden, Virginia.

As we travelled, we twisted around curves, gained elevation, and enjoyed the intense green of the roadsides decorated with banks of blooming goldenrods and the lower brilliant blue from the late summer chicory.  Occasionally we passed a garden in a low flat spot near a house and the road which made us green with envy, the corn on the stalk just maturing, and tomatoes ripening on the vines. 

As we entered Tazewell, Virginia, not to be  confused with Tazewell, Tennessee or New Tazewell, Tennessee, we passed a brightly painted sign advertising Donut Diva on Main Street, but we did not see it as we passed through and found Burke’s Garden Road which would lead us rather circuitously to our destination.  We filed that information for the return trip.  Who doesn’t occasionally need a doughnut!

Our surroundings became even more beautiful as the altitude became higher.  At first we passed a few mini-mansions, but then the trees thickened, the climb became steeper, and the curves, sharpened.  I held on to the edge of the seat a few times and reminded myself to breathe although the road was actually quite a good one and it did have a line down the center.  My East Tennessee husband was thoroughly enjoying the drive!  We were soon over three thousand feet high and climbing.  We wondered as we enjoyed the luxury of making the trip in the car what it must have been like for the band of men who accompanied the surveyor Burke to this area in 1745 who tramped up this mountain with only their feet to carry them and no road.  As we climbed, the temperature dropped to the point that when we leveled out and saw the valley stretched out in front of us, the temperature was down to sixty degrees and the elevation was well over three thousand feet.

As we slowed at the approach of the Amish Country Store, the one and only retail establishment for the area, we were amazed at the vast pastures and fields stretching to the rims of the ranges surrounding them.  Occasionally we could see the buildings for the farms.

We had been on the road for almost three hours although we had driven only about one hundred and thirty miles.  We knew that the country store served sandwiches.  As we drove in, two other cars joined us in the parking lot.

Two young Amish women with their little white hats and traditional dresses made our sandwiches and also took care of other customers as we waited.  One customer, traditionally dressed,  came in for a bulk order and I enjoyed overhearing the conversation although I could understand none of it, for it sounded much closer to German than English.  As we waited, we fell into conversation with those who had followed us into the store.  The couple now own a farm in the valley, retired from Minnesota, and the other gentleman was from Nashville, Tennessee and seemed to be on a genealogy trip.  The couple from Minnesota had renovated a hundred and eighty year old farmhouse and had always wanted to live on a farm when they bought their farm, complete with a herd of goats. The first summer they occupied the house there was no running water.  They learned how to survive the way it used to be.   We later drove past their farm which is a show place now, the old two story house stuccoed over three brick deep walls.

While we ate our thick ham and cheese sandwiches on homemade sourdough bread  on the wide front porch, a couple of motorcycle riders rode up.  I was amused to listen to them talk as though they would not be welcome in the area.  After they got their helmets and jackets off, they looked pretty harmless and run of the mill to me.  I find it somewhat amusing that just because people ride a two wheeled vehicle that it somehow changes their won persona and makes them tough dangerous people.  Ah, well, to each his own.  They did not seem to be looking for conversation.

After we finished eating, we wandered back inside and paid the young women.  We were sorely tempted to buy a pan of cinnamon rolls, but we resisted and drove up and down the small roads of “The Garden.”

Mrs. From Minnesota had recounted that the name of the area came from when the surveyors buried the peelings from the potatoes they peeled and boiled for supper when they were camping in the valley.  They did not want to leave any sign that they had been there since the natives were occasionally a little less than friendly back in 1745.  The following year when others followed into the area, they found potatoes growing there from the peels buried.  Now the potato plays an important part in the annual festival.

We passed the old school which is now closed (The few school children who live in the valley are bused down to Tazewell.), the old closed post office,

lots of farms, silos, cows, goats, cornfields, hay fields, and creeks.  The area has never been developed because for a very long time, the owners would not sell any land.  In fact, it is believed that Vanderbilt wanted to build his Southern mountain retreat there and even he did not have money enough to tempt the owners.  I can understand that they truly did believe that it was “God’s Thumbprint.”

After an hour driving around with the windows down, relishing the smells of mown hay and the colors of the flowers, we turned and started down the rollercoaster road.  We stopped at an overlook, but very little could be seen because of the foliage, but we could glimpse down into the valley at some of the farms we had seen.

We were blessed by spotting “Donut Diva” as we made our turn onto Main Street in Tazewell.  Klep got  a Cappuccino to fortify him for the drive back to the hollow and we each chose two of her doughnuts.  Klep got one which had blue berries with, white frosting, and blueberry drizzle.  I got a German chocolate one.  We each got a vanilla frosted one with chocolate drizzle which we saved for breakfast.  The young woman who owned the little shop told us that she had been in business for three years.  She had a list of orders hanging in her window and was still busy preparing more doughnuts while we were there.  After sampling her product, we could understand why she was doing well!

We found US19, traveled down to I 81, joined rush hour on the interstate, got off on 11W after we passed Bristol, and arrived home after six. 

We feel blessed to have seen one of God’s unique geographical creations.  His work is indeed magnificent.