Labeling Tomatoes

Label Collector Charles Woods

I told a few people that my next story would be about a local man who collects labels from tomato cans.  Most of those people looked perplexed.  Their eyes had that sort of, "Slow news day?" look.

Not at all.

I love this story.  It's colorful both in terms of the personality of the collector and the items he collects.  It's rare, if not unique, and it gives us a look at a time and place that we might never have thought about, if not for Charlie Woods and his 10,000 labels.

That's what I've always wanted John Carlin's Virginia to be.  We hear enough about high tech entrepreneurs.  We hear too much about Hollywood's latest darlings and scandals.  There's too much about the latest car accidents and this week -- the terrible sinking of a cruise ship.  Why not take a few minutes to see what one man has turned into a passion?
 

The artwork is beautiful.

There are a couple of story lines here.  Charlie Woods collects canning labels from canneries that were once located, "up every valley and holler around here..."  That's unusual.  Who does that?  Not many people that's for sure.  In my mind, that's plenty of reason to shine a light on this.

In addition, Charlie knows the personal stories behind many of these labels.  Like the one about a soldier who wrote home that the tomatoes he ate overseas came from the local cannery and made him think of home.

A Boones Mill area cannery

When Charlie talks about this cannery or that cannery in Bedford, Franklin or Botetourt Counties, he takes you along for a ride in history.  He knows where the canneries were, he knows how they worked, how many people they employed, and how the government slowly shut them down -- mostly because they didn't meet standards of cleanliness.  He can tell you the date of another label because there is or isn't an "s" on the Boone in Boones Mill.  The "s" wasn't added, according to Woods, until 1931. 

Note spelling of Cahays vs."Cahas" and no "s" on Boones Mill.

A cannery near Goode, Va.

So on the surface we have a story about labels.  But really, it's an interesting tour of the history of our rural counties -- which we would not have -- if people like Charlie didn't have such interesting collections.

Black Pot Chicken

Black Pot Chicken

Like many people I had waited in line at the Blue Ridge Folklife Festival for a taste of Black Pot Chicken.  And like many, I finally tired of waiting and walked away.  This year I decided to get to the bottom of it.  Or at least try.

As I interviewed people for this story as they stood in line, it was a common refrain.  Like a marathon, a mountain climb or Black Friday at the electronics store,  people were determined to get there.

Success in this line means literally tasting victory.

In the television story you can see the sizzle of the chicken cooked in peanut oil, and almost smell the aroma coming from the golden brown legs, thighs and breasts, as the Patrick County Ruritans go through their familiar paces.

To re-cap:  The Patrick County crew was at a national conference in Philadelphia in 1976, when some kindly and elderly fellow Ruritans gave them a copy of their own secret recipe.  Only one man, Phil Plaster, was given the secret, and to this day, only Phil has it.  It’s in his head and his safe deposit box.  His wife and his will have instructions about who gets it next.

The local guys came home and tried it at a July 4^th celebration and knew they had a winner.  They signed up for a spot at the Blue Ridge Folklife Festival and they’ve been there ever since.  And so have the lines of people.

The guys I interviewed -- cook Will Walker, chicken batterer Ronnie Mabe, and secret holder Phil Plaster seem to love all this.  They grin when they talk about everyone leaving the room while Phil adds the secret ingredients.  They cut-up about Ronnie Mabe outliving Phil just so he can be next to know.  Will Walker, who is physically closer to the line of people by virtue of being the cook, has had ample opportunity to practice his answer to the inevitable question, “What makes this so good?” 

“I just do the cooking,” he dead pans.

Once again the great part about this job, and this segment, is that the people are so real.  These guys just enjoy what they do.  Go to a festival and sell secret chicken to appreciative festival goers.

The Sarver Cabin

It's not everyday that you are struck with wonder about how the impossible actually happened. And yet in my report on the Sarver Cabin... That's exactly what happened.

The Back Story

My good friend and long-time running buddy Mark Young had been telling me for years about an abandoned cabin he stayed near while doing a week-long hike on the Appalachian Trail. It was eerie, he said. Possibly haunted. More intriguing was how anyone could have lived in such a remote location, in inhospitable conditions in the 1800's.

That story stuck with me. I had wanted to do a segment on it, but even today the only way to get there is on foot, and it's a long, difficult hike. Not the kind where we can carry all the camera gear that's typically required. (I guess we aren't as tough as the Sarvers were.)

Technology Helps Out

A few months ago I purchased a Canon EOS 7D SLR camera. It's primarily a still camera used to take photographs. But after reading that some ad agencies were using its video function to shoot full-fledged commercials, and that the video quality was broadcast quality, I saw my chance to report on the cabin.

So Mark and I found a way to access the trail from the Craig County side and up we went. The hike is about 6-8 miles round trip, and the first hour is all uphill.

The turn for the Cabin is well marked as it is near an Appalachian Trail shelter built by the Roanoke Valley club within the past 10 years.

Even though we were expecting it, I had one of those moments of fulfilled anticipation as we turned the last corner and there were the remains Mark had remembered from 10 years ago.

Just as he had, I wondered how anybody could do it. Live up there on that mountain, in the cold winter months, with primitive heating and what I figured was poor land that must have been impossible to till. Why, I thought, would anyone do this?

I started calling historians. Nobody knew anything. I was about to give up and file a report on the "Mystery of Sarver Hollow."

The Answers

Then I called the Craig County Library, who told me to contact the historical society, which as it turned out, knew where I could actually talk to the great great grandsons of Henry Sarver, the man who built the cabin.

Russell and Sidney Sarver had his Civil war records. They had the death certificate of cabin co-builder and brother-in-law, James Elmore, who died in Pickett's charge at Gettysburg. There were pictures of ancestors, even Sarah Sarver, Henry's wife. They are both buried on the property. There was all kinds of information -- information that answered those questions of how and why.

They were homesteaders. Improve the land for a decade and it's yours. There are springs nearby -- one of the few sources of water on the mountain.

And they cleared the land and farmed it. In 1870 it wasn't the woodsy mountaintop we see now. The brothers described it as "hilly farmland."

The cabin is pretty much gone. Trees have fallen on it, and the chimneys are about all that's recognizable. An out building is still building-shaped, but the roof has caved in. The place has suffered much just in the ten years since Mark had stayed there.

Russell and Sidney say they've been back a few times, but at 61 & 59 respectively, they say the hike is pretty hard on them.

I asked Russell if he would like to see it built back.

"If you go up there, you can almost feel the presence of ‘em," he said. "Especially those of us who are old enough to remember seeing my grandparents there. It’s actually something I think about a lot ... Yes sir I’d love to. But I don’t guess we ever will."

At least now we know a little more. We've reconstructed the story, but there's plenty of room left for wonder.

Thanks
I would like to thank and commend the folks at the Craig County Historical Society, and especially Jane Johnson and Jay Polen, for their help in researching this story. These folks don't want history to slip away from us, so they research and publish books every year. Because of Jane Johnson, I went from not being able to know anything about this cabin -- to the detailed descriptions of the lives of generations of Sarvers. Jay Polen actually took the time to come to the Sinking Creek store and interview with us. Again -- Thanks.

If you go

Follow Route 42 from the town of Newport. You'll see where the Appalachian Trail crosses the highway a few miles outside town near the community of Huffman. Hike from there. You can get about 3/4 of a mile closer by taking your next right and bearing right at the fork in the road. There is a small parking place next to the trail. Head uphill. Have fun.