by Lindsey Hull
September 5, 2024
A century ago, one 19th-century Craig County farmhouse stood tucked away in a comfortable green hollow, 13 miles from New Castle. It looked like any other homestead, but it was started off as the Craig County poor farm, a taxpayer-supported facility that housed the needy from 1892 to 1921.
Tracy Frist purchased the property in 2010. The farmhouse, its outbuildings and the associated graveyard became part of her 960-acre Farm at Sinking Creek.
“Before Social Security … this is where the community pulled together and provided help for its own,” she said.
“There were some famous people that lived in poorhouses. All people needed was a little foot up to get through a hard time, then they could live to their full potential,” she added.
At the time this Craig County poor farm was established, the poorhouse model had been in use for hundreds of years; the first one opened in Boston in the 1600s. Virginia’s first poor farm, a working agricultural property on which indigent residents were expected to perform farm chores, was established in Wythe County in 1825.
The state had turned indigent support over to localities. Counties often provided support in a form of early welfare, called “outdoor relief.” Local overseers, who rationed out that relief, had the option to force paupers into living arrangements with kin or in poorhouses or poor farms, or to allow the indigent the autonomy to determine their own place of residence. In Craig County, it was illegal to live on the street, according to Jane Johnston of the Craig County Historical Society.
Most of the people who lived at the Craig County poor farm were elderly or had disabilities, according to a National Register of Historic Places nomination form prepared by J. Daniel Pezzoni of Lexington-based Landmark Preservation Associates and filed with the Virginia Department of Historic Resources. They made up the “worthy” poor, according to 19th-century standards.
In June, the department announced that a new roadside marker will recognize the historical significance of the house and several of its outbuildings. The poor farm’s marker was one of five approved at the Virginia Board of Historic Resources quarterly meeting in June; the board is expected to approve more than 20 new markers for the year.
“There’s no great architectural feat going on [at the poor farm], but there’s a great deal of humanity that was served there. … There’s a story inside of the building that’s so important, and it’s the story of humanity, of people taking care of people,” said Frist, who lives at the Farm at Sinking Creek with her husband, former U.S. Sen. Bill Frist of Tennessee.
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In 1892, Josh and Rebecca Looney moved into a newly built two-story farmhouse on 250 acres overlooking Sinking Creek. Josh Looney was dubbed poorhouse supervisor.
Looney oversaw the management of the facility, which provided clothing, food, medical care and housing for the county’s poor. Rebecca Looney was paid an annual salary to cook all the meals, take care of the residents’ mending and nurse them back to health, according to the nomination form. She also tended to her son, Levi.
The poor farm consisted of the supervisor’s house, up to three two-room plank cottages, a cellar and a corn crib. Its cemetery sits atop an adjacent hill. Other buildings would be added later, including a barn.
It is unknown what the superintendent’s salary was in 1892; by 1909, the superintendent was paid $240 per year. No salary was listed for his wife. The farm’s operating costs totaled an additional $570.54, according to the State Board of Charity and Corrections report for that year.
One county over, in Montgomery, the superintendent was paid an annual salary of $300 while his wife was paid $100, according to research published by Jennifer Gallagher of Virginia Tech.
Life was not easy on the farm.
At least three residents died that first year, according to information compiled by Craig County resident and historian Jerry Jones. No one is known to have died in 1893 or 1894. Two deaths, both women, occurred in 1895.
One of those women, Mary “Polly” Greenway, was born around 1805. She married Richard Greenway, with whom she had nine children. They moved from Big Lick to rural Craig County before that county’s poor farm was ever built. Richard Greenway also died before the poor farm came along. At that point, Polly was raising her children as the head of household.
By 1880, when Polly Greenway would have been around 75, most of her children had grown up or died. She was living in Craig County with her daughter, Martha Paitsel, Paitsel’s husband and their six oldest children, according to the 1880 census. Another child, 12-year-old Ellen Greenway, was also living in the home.
Another 15 years went by. It isn’t clear where Polly Greenway lived or what her life was like during that time.
By 1895, she had moved onto the Craig County poor farm, under Looney’s care. There, she and the other occupants lived in cottages on a small knoll behind the supervisor’s farmhouse.
The cottages resembled the 19th-century living quarters for servants and enslaved people, according to the historic marker nomination form. Each of the three wooden cottages were divided into two rooms, and residents were housed according to gender and race.
The one remaining cottage measures approximately 14 by 28 feet. It leans slightly to one side; sturdy beams have been placed along that side to prop it up for future preservation, like a crutch under someone’s arm.
A 1909 Board of Charities and Corrections report reads: “No recreation; those who are able are employed in housework; no religious services; ‘have taken paupers to church twice in seven months.’” That year, the farm housed seven residents, only two of whom were able to work at all.
Jobs were varied and divided according to gender: cutting timber, hauling wood, caring for animals, sewing, spinning, mending and cooking, according to a 2000 article by James Watkinson in “Virginia Cavalcade,” a publication of the Library of Virginia.
Fetching water from the creek was a constant chore. The farm had no well, which was atypical, according to the 1909 report. Wood stoves were the cottages’ main source of heat.
In October 1895, Greenway fell ill with cramp colic, now known as appendicitis. She died Oct. 19; she would have been approximately 90 years old. She left behind a daughter, a son, their spouses and a multitude of grandchildren.
There’s a cemetery on the hill behind the poorhouse, although it’s unknown whether Polly Greenway is buried there. Other poor farm residents are, Johnston said.
It was up to the supervisors to record deaths and then lay each body to rest.
The cemetery must look very much like it did a hundred years ago. There are no industrial sounds, no cars screaming by. Only cows, birds, crickets chirping in the grass. It stretches from the gravel drive to a single tree that must be a half-mile away, and then halfway down the hill, Henderson said.
The cemetery was in use during the poor farm’s years of operation, from 1892 to 1921. During that time, at least 39 people are thought to have been buried there, according to the nomination form. Two grave depressions were identified by Thomas Klatka, a Virginia Department of Historic Resources archaeologist, who is cited in that form.
“These are paupers’ graves, there are no markers,” said Tracy Frist.
One tombstone sits off to the side, marking no grave. The marble stone memorializes Civil War soldier Benton Thomas. It was placed by the Craig County Historical Society many years after his death.
By that point, the property had been sold to the Jones family.
“When the Joneses bought the property, there were no markers,” said Jane Henderson, a local historian and caretaker of the Farm at Sinking Creek. “There were stones, just rocks. It was a farm, they moved all the rocks and threw them in a pile, and they plowed the graveyard.”
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The first time Henderson visited the Farm at Sinking Creek, she stepped into the supervisor’s house and said, “I could live here.” She felt a connection with the house, though she had no intention of moving from Arizona to Virginia at that time.
Henderson was in town visiting Tracy Frist; the two had become fast friends while working together in a school in Texas many years earlier.
She first saw the house 14 years ago.
Frist offered Henderson a house and a job in 2011 when Henderson’s significant other died. Henderson stayed in Craig County for just a year at first, but the poor farm called her back. In 2018, she returned to live in the supervisor’s house. At age 81, she says she is home for good.
Henderson said she has had numerous spiritual encounters on the property — a vacuum that turned itself on when no one was around, a stove that seemed to have a mind of its own, a goblet that broke in a perfect circle. She has never felt afraid, though she may have been startled a time or two, she said.
All of the experiences have been amicable except one. She had awakened suddenly in one of the farmhouse’s upper bedrooms.
“I’m trying to scream, and nothing’s coming out of my mouth. And I’m physically fighting something. I mean, I could feel the resistance fighting,” Henderson remembered.
The farmhouse had a dark side, Henderson said.
“If there is jealousy, anger, adultery, things like that, it opens the door for [dark] spirits to come in,” she explained, noting that she didn’t know of any specific events in the house’s history.
She has tried to convince the spirits to leave the property by spreading a circle of salt and oil around the supervisor’s house and saying a cleansing prayer.
That was in 2020, shortly before Henderson moved into a new manufactured home that sits a stone’s throw from the farmhouse. She raises chickens and tends a vegetable garden in the dooryard between the two homes.
“I don’t think [the spirits] would have had any reason to really run me out of there,” Henderson said. The broken goblet — it occurred in her new home, she added.
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Untold residents lived at the poor farm during its 29 years; some names can be gathered from state records, but not all. If a resident didn’t die under the supervisor’s care or live at the farm during a census year, they have slipped through the cracks of history.
By 1921, poorhouses were on the cusp of reform, and the Craig County poor farm closed. Tracy M. Jones purchased the property from the county in 1921 for $19,698.07.
The Jones family breathed new life into land that had once held people in their hardest moments. Generations raised their children there.
“They have days and days of fun, family stories, you know, experiences in that house,” Tracy Frist said.
“It was a very happy home for a long time,” Henderson said. The Joneses owned the farm until 2010 when Frist bought it.
Today, the land is part of the Farm at Sinking Creek, which stretches from Virginia 42 to Virginia 624.
The historical marker will be placed on Virginia 42 since the poor farm is on private property, Frist said.
The Department of Historic Resources expects that the marker will be ready for installation in late winter or early spring, according to spokesperson Ivy Tan.
Together, the Frists have been working to preserve Craig County’s historic structures. Bellevue, a century-old pole barn and a scale house are notable examples of the work they have poured into the buildings on their farm.
The restoration of the poor farm buildings has been put on pause while extensive work is underway on the Bakers Barn and the Farrier House.
Eventually, the Farrier House will become the Frists’ Craig County homeplace. They split their time between Franklin, Tennessee, and the Farm at Sinking Creek; they spend about one week a month and one month a year in Craig County, where they play host to numerous neighbors, as well as guests from across the country and around the world, showcasing the biodiversity and history of the Appalachian region.
The story of the poor farm will be part of that. But its next chapter is yet to be written.
“We decided the best thing, the best gift that we could give [the property] was a historic designation,” Tracy Frist said.
In the meantime, the house is mothballed. The doors are locked up, the windows shut tight. Once the dust settles around their other projects, the Frists will give the poor farm the attention it deserves.
They have not yet decided to what extent the poor farm buildings will be restored.
“It’s really not about the material matter of a house. It’s more about the spirit and energy and the serving … there has to be some kind of spiritual connection that happens in a place like that,” Tracy Frist said.
There are different levels of preservation. Making the supervisor’s house livable would be relatively easy. An example of adaptive reuse would be to turn the building into an office, which is a type of preservation, Bill Frist said. Or should they return the property to its state in 1921?
Tracy Frist typifies an intersection of conservation and preservation, according to her husband. “It’s embodied in connecting people of the past, both culturally and structurally with how they lived, where they lived, to today,” he said.
That can be accomplished through adaptive reuse, the way people use structures today, and by telling stories about what happened in the past.
“Looking to the past and the present gives you the opportunity to project ahead,” he said.
“Life has gone on with that house. I mean, it has lived beyond its original means, with a beautiful kitchen, the addition in the back. Do you restore all that? For every preservationist, that’s the conundrum,” Tracy Frist said.
“It’s kind of like a church … there’s something deep inside of you that feels like this is like hallowed space. Is it OK to live in? It’s a hard question,” she said.
The mystery of Benton Thomas’ grave
The poor farm’s cemetery holds many mysteries — among them, the tale of the Thomas twins.
The twins died in different counties. Due to a mix-up in marking the graves, the location of each twin’s body has been unclear, according to local legend.
The tale goes like this: Benton and Ballard Thomas were born in Craig County around 1845. They grew up, were drafted to fight for the Confederacy, and went off to war. Benton didn’t want to fight, so locals say that he pretended to have a mental illness. Confederate war records state that Benton was discharged as disabled not long after he enlisted.
Ballard stayed to fight.
After the war, it is unclear where Benton went or what he did. Ballard met a Franklin County girl, married her, and moved to Giles County, where they raised a family.
Eventually, the Thomas twins grew old. Both died and were to be honored with United Daughters of the Confederacy markers.
The Craig County legend holds that Benton’s marker is at the poor farm, honoring Ballard’s body, while Ballard’s is in Giles County, honoring Benton’s body.
Craig County locals say the twins can’t let the subject rest. Out-of-town visitors have claimed to have seen the ghosts of two Confederate soldiers chasing each other around the poorhouse cottage, poor farm caretaker Jane Henderson said.
“You’ve got two dead soldiers who don’t know they’re dead,” she said.
According to Benton Thomas’ death certificate, Dr. JW Miller pronounced him dead on Feb. 7, 1918. He was to be buried at Craig County’s poor farm. Cause of death: senility. Place of death: Craig County.
Benton’s marker stands on that Craig County hill, up a gravel road, and behind a heavy-duty agricultural gate. It is on private property in the Poor Farm Cemetery.
His marker reads “Benton Thomas. CO C 22 REGT VA INF CSA.”
According to census data, Ballard Thomas was living with family in New Castle by 1920. He died in Giles County and was buried alongside his wife at Clover Farm Cemetery. His date of death is unknown.
The UDC marker at his gravesite reads “Benton P Thomas. CO A 54 REG VA INF CSA,” according to volunteer Suzy Bane at the Giles County Historical Society.
It turns out, the memorial markers are almost identical. Just like Benton and Ballard themselves.