Grassroots Efforts are Reclaiming Tazewell

In 1799, the location of Tazewell County’s courthouse was determined the old-fashioned way: a fistfight. The two opposing camps “each chose a champion, a Mr. Bailey and a Mr. Thompson,” says Amanda Killen, a Tazewell resident and owner of The Well, a coffee and dining spot. Thompson won, and the resulting placement gave Main Street its beautiful sunset view over volcano-shaped Deskin Mountain.

“I love that story,” says Killen. “It tells a lot about our spirit here. We have a fighting spirit. We’re very resilient.”

Ever since the coal companies pulled out in the 1990s, an occurrence often referred to during my visit, Tazewell—both the town and county—has struggled. The 2020 Virginia Main Street designation was a much-fought-for and deserved gold star that has fueled growth. Most residents see tourism as their best route forward.

Nevertheless, there’s a prejudice outsiders sometimes convey about Appalachia. “We’ve been faced with some unfair stereotypes and are fighting against those,” says Killen. “We’ve been exploited by the coal industry. We’ve been exploited by the media. People really underestimate us.”

Her voice and eyes full of sorrow, Killen recounts how outsiders have cruised through a former coal camp town, Amonate, and taken devastating shots of its poverty and the people who’ve found themselves stuck there. The visitors then post images and deprecating commentary on social media. A coal camp, I found out, is a community entirely built and controlled by a coal company. That included paying the miners with company scrip that they usually had to use to pay for groceries, rent, and medical treatment at company-run sites. Amonate residents have recently pooled resources to tear down blighted properties and raise money to fund a local park, says Killen, who advises them.

At the Historic Crab Orchard Museum, I find the display of scrip and coal camp relics that reveal Tazewell’s story particularly moving. 

A County Transected

Tucked into the southwestern part of the state, Tazewell County is pretty much divided in half by a mountain ridge: to the east, you’ll find some of the richest rolling farming and livestock land you can imagine. It’s also stunningly beautiful, and one area, Burke’s Garden, is known as “God’s thumbprint”—a lush valley surrounded by mountains. In 1994, the last Lassie movie was filmed in another verdant area known as the Cove. West of the ridge, it’s mostly craggier, wilder coal country. The county also boasts the pristine headwaters of four rivers, including the Clinch.

From the late 1880s and into the mid-20th century, high-quality coal production boomed in Pocahontas Fields, which straddles the West Virginia border. Immigrants sought these abundant mining jobs, and flush companies built coal camp towns, like Amonate. Main Street Tazewell thrived, and charming, historical banks and other buildings still line the street. After coal pulled out, though, the town nearly died. 

“When I first came back here, you couldn’t buy a Coke on Main Street because it was all lawyers and bail bondsmen,” says Larry Davidson, an Army veteran who grew up hereabouts and whose business acumen was vital to Tazewell’s rebirth. Now the downtown area boasts five eateries, restored buildings, and bright murals touting Tazewell’s attractions and achievements.

Nancy Brooks, a seventh-generation resident who grew up in Burke’s Garden on their family farm, was one of the first to return, purchase, and revivify a decrepit former bank. She completely restored it, preserving the original tin ceilings. “It dawned on us en masse that we do have this marvelous, spectacular scenery,” says Brooks. “We’ve been attempting to capitalize on that.”

People—Killen, Davidson, Brooks and her family members, along with The Happy Goat deli and hiking-fishing-camping gear shop’s owner, Vince d’Amato and his wife, Lucie—may leave Tazewell County for decades to pursue education and careers, but later they return to be with the family and landscape they love. If able, they buy a neglected building which may come cheap, particularly if it has a large hole in the roof and a pigeon infestation, as did the 1832 town jail. With the help of historical restoration funds, Cecilia and Mike Hymes lovingly restored the building to create a popular inn, The Old Jail. One of their frequent guests refers to himself as “a repeat offender,” Cecilia jokes, as I tour the welcoming, sturdy, and well-appointed cells. Er, rooms. 

Many entrepreneurs get funding from VCEDA—the Virginia Coalfield Economic Development Authority—which has been a lifeline for the town. And some residents seem able to nearly spin straw into gold. When the high school prom, usually held in the gym, was canceled in 2020 due to the pandemic, Killen’s two daughters happened to be seniors.

“Mom’s got it,” Killen told them. “We’ll have prom on Main Street.” That year, the town threw an outdoor prom for three county high schools, and everyone came out. Now it’s a Tazewell tradition. “The whole community comes out to watch them walk in.”

Taming the Dragon

In Tazewell County, there are few straight roads. In its 32 miles between the towns of Tazewell and Marion, Route 16 is one of the hilliest, windiest roads you’ll encounter, and Davidson knew who likes to ride such challenges, himself included. Giving this route an irresistible moniker—the Back of the Dragon (BOTD)—added allure to this fired-up destination for motorcyclists and classic cars. Back in 2008, Davidson printed T-shirts with that catchy slogan and passed them out to see what would happen. After an enthusiastic response, he took his show to Richmond and eventually got official VDOT designation. The 438 curves of BOTD jump-started the town’s revival and now draw nearly 400,000 riders a year.

My husband, Pete, and I take a spin on BOTD in one of their newest acquisitions, a topless, low-seated 1,700-pound, 200-horsepower Polaris Slingshot that most resembles the Batmobile. The drive is a nearly constant maneuvering challenge with both stunning overlooks—the second overlook on the first mountain is the “million dollar view,” says Davidson—and dense forests as we climb, take hair-pin corners, and descend. Then we drive it back.

“We’ve got people coming here from all over,” says Davidson, whose businesses include a BOTD brewery, shop, and lodging options. He bemoans the current lack of larger hotels, but Tazewell isn’t about to give up. “We want everybody to rise because that makes us all stronger.”

Overlooking God’s Thumbprint

To appreciate the geographical uniqueness of Burke’s Garden’s karst topography, we want some elevation. Curtis Breeding, a septuagenarian who hikes the steep Appalachian Trail even in January, is our guide as we head to Chestnut Knob on the Walker Gap trailhead.

Perched 3,200 feet above sea level—the highest valley in the state—Burke’s Garden is an unusual sunken valley about eight miles long and four miles wide. Long ago, this area was a limestone mountain that, with time and much water, simply eroded. The nearly surrounding ridge of mountains, including 4,400-foot Chestnut Knob, is mainly sturdier sandstone. In 1748, explorer James Burke planted potato peelings in the valley and, upon his return, found thriving sprouted potato plants a year later; hence, the half-joking name. The valley defines pastoral and lovely—ethereal clouds hang over the rich pastureland and between the mountains. 

Tazewell residents are proud of having rebuffed the Vanderbilts who initially preferred that site over the one outside Asheville, North Carolina, for their grand Biltmore estate. Landowners, though, refused to allow the construction of a train extension there, says Cynthia Farmer, the executive director of the Historic Crab Orchard Museum. Residents wouldn’t sell their cherished property either, Breeding says. These days you may see the horses and buggies of the Amish community who have more recently settled here.

But we find the public land—mostly the Jefferson National Forest—along the Garden’s rim gives us an ideal perch and part of the Appalachian Trail follows that rim. From Walker Gap, we climb the AT on a steep, switch-backed path. Wildflowers—trillium, native geraniums, trout lilies—abound, and Breeding points out the small chestnut trees. I haven’t seen any in the wild and feel a wave of sadness. Due to the devastating blight that wiped out these “redwoods of the East,” these little trees will never make it to adulthood or reproduce. Scientists are working on bringing back the American chestnut, and I hope to see that problem solved in my lifetime.

When we reach the knob, we catch our breath atop a picnic table—How did they get that up here?—and take in an almost Kelly-Green valley surrounded by the darker green ridge that spreads beneath us. My Merlin app, a Cornell University creation that enables bird identification by song, counts dozens of life-list-worthy birds: indigo bunting, chestnut-sided warbler, rose-breasted grosbeak, ovenbird. My eyes flit through the branches trying to spy them.

As Breeding advises, I hike the AT another 20 minutes to the “balds”—high meadows that open into a breath-taking view. Bumblebees and songbirds serenade me as my eyes trace Virginia’s highest peaks—Whitetop Mountain and Mt. Rogers—along with North Carolina’s Roan Mountain. I am filled with gratitude and joy for this moment, this trip. 

This article originally appeared in the October 2024 issue.