More on the Stones, then on to Tennessee

This morning I attended church at the Pilot Mountain Ward. As soon as I entered the building, I was greeted by several people welcoming me to church and inquiring about my situation. By the time I had reached my seat in the chapel, I had shook a lot of hands, and received two dinner invitations. These are just good ol‘ hometown folk.

After the meeting I connected with an elderly sister by the name of Mildred Johnson, whose maiden name was Stone. She grew up in the area and I was able to learn a lot about the Stones and Pilot Mountain. The area surrounding the old Stone Family Cemetery was settled in the early 1800’s by my Stone ancestors. Her grandfather owned a lot of that land until he sold it for a golf course.

Calvin Gordon Stone, my 3rd great grandfather, and son of Enoch Stone, Jr. owned the plantation in that area by the cemetery. With his wife, Jane Elizabeth King, they had 16 children. With the help of their black slaves, Calvin and his sons worked the plantation of corn, tobacco and potatoes. During the Civil War the confederate solders would stop at their plantation for food and supplies and always paid Calvin with confederate money, which was worthless after the war.

Most of Calvin’s children migrated to Utah, and settled in Salem. Because of his health, Calvin never made the trek west. When Calvin died, he was buried on his plantation property. I assume that he was buried in the old Stone cemetery, even though I was not able to locate his grave marking, just those of his parents.

After church I packed things up, and even though it was still raining, I set out for the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee. About 50 miles into my trip, my motorcycle hydroplaned and started to fishtail. Someone must had been watching over me, because as soon as it started to fishtail, the motorcycle straighten itself out again. Needless to say, I stopped at the next off ramp and changed my breaches. I also gave a prayer of thanksgiving.

Well, at a much slower pace, I continued on. Because of the weather and the wet roads, I decided to detour around the Smokey Mountains and head straight for Knoxville, Tennessee.

Crossing the boarder into Tennessee, I started singing this random song.

Come listen to a story about a man named Jed
A poor mountaineer, barely kept his family fed,
Then one day he was shootin‘ at some food,
And up from the ground came a bubblin‘ crude.
Oil that is, black gold, Texas tea.

Well the first thing you know ol‘ Jed’s a millionaire,
His kinfolk said, ‘Jed, move away from there!’
They said, ‘Californy is the place you oughtta be.’
So, they loaded up the truck and moved to Beverly.
Hills, that is, Swimmin‘ pools, movie stars.

Tennessee is known for its hillbillies. They also have some interesting laws still on the books:

It is legal to gather and consume roadkill. (Hmmm, I wonder what the local restaurants serve?)

Skunks may not be carried into the state. (But if you run over them, you can eat them)

One may not throw bottles at a tree. (But, I suppose it is okay to throw them at little animals on the road, and then eat them)

It is illegal for a woman to call a man for a date. (But it is okay to call your cousin for a date)

Illegal for a woman to drive a car unless there is a man either running or walking in front of it waving a red flag to warn approaching motorists and pedestrians. (I don’t think I’ll comment on this one, it is already self-explanatory)

Well, I’m stopped for the night in Knoxville. It appears that I will have clear skies the rest of the way home. Yeah!!!!!

See you tomorrow…