At the turn of the nineteenth century, armed with determination, raging optimism, creative problem solving, and resourcefulness, entrepreneurs Ed and Lizzie Mabry built a business enterprise in Southern Appalachia.

Ed dreamed of building three mills in one—a water-powered gristmill, sawmill, and woodworking shop. He needed a considerable amount of money and knew he couldn’t earn enough revenue from farming.

At age twenty, Ed moved to Pulaski, Virginia to work in the coal mines. He returned two years later with cash and something bigger and better than money—Mintoria “Lizzie” Dehart Mabry. A man with big ideas needed a big wife. She stood five foot ten, wore a man’s size eight shoe and needed nine yards of material to make a skirt. After Ed and Lizzie married in 1891, he called her “Boss.”

The couple moved back to Ed’s home and tried farming but it did not suit them. They relocated to the West Virginia mines and Ed shod mules.

After saving some cash, they returned to the site where Mabry Mill stands today, purchased the property in 1898 and moved into a cabin. He built a blacksmith shop in 1899.

Mabry cleverly fashioned wagon wheels, andirons, and tools. He specialized in wagon wheel repair charging ten cents per spoke, fifty cents for a whole wheel, and fifty dollars for an entire wagon. Lizzie worked in the blacksmith shop with Ed and they slowly accumulated land.

He built the gristmill between 1905 and 1908. Lizzie hadn’t gone to those mines and pumped those bellows just to be a housewife. She wanted to be the miller and by golly—she was.

Customers brought white corn and poured shelled kernels into a hopper feeding corn between rotating stones. Large carefully-grooved millstones, separated by a fraction of an inch (about the width of a single edge razor blade or 1/2000th of an inch), ground and crushed the kernels. Lizzie controlled the space between the stones with a lever to obtain the proper texture for meal or flour.

Mabry Mill served as a community gathering place. Ladies gossiped while men folk gathered in the sawmill or woodworking shop. Customers paid a toll of twelve and one-half cents a bushel or one-eighth of their ground meal.

Ed cut spokes and wooded rims to form wagon wheels. He demonstrated his craftsmanship by designing a double-bladed saw to cut both parts of the wheel at one time creating a perfect arch.

They operated the mill until 1936—the year Ed Mabry died at age sixty-nine. Lizzie sold the property to the Blue Ridge Parkway in 1939 and passed on in 1940 at seventy-three.

Ed and Lizzie’s innovation, entrepreneur, and “can-do” spirit enabled them to run this enterprise for over three decades. They are an inspiration to all who stroll over the stone walkway at Mabry Mill.

Corn cribs played an important role for farmers. They preserved corn for months by protecting it from rain and animals. Gaps between boards allowed air to circulate, drying corn and preventing mold or spoilage.

In those days, neighbors helped each other process corn by holding corn shucking events, similar to quilting bees and barn raisings.

During the late 1700’s women served hoecakes, also known as ashcakes cooked in the fireplace. Mamma removed the handle from a hoe, placed the metal blade on the edge of the fire, arranging it on top of burning embers. She then poured batter onto cabbage leaves or corn husks, wrapped and set it on the flat metal blade. Carefully, she covered the hoecake with ashes. When the batter cooked, she removed it from the fireplace, blew or brushed ashes off, unwrapped and served the hoecake with a meal.

Slaves cooked hoecakes in the field. They set the blade of the hoe on a fire and poured batter directly onto the metal blade. In the 1800’s and 1900’s, women carried on this tradition baking hoecakes in the oven.

During the Civil War, soldiers commandeered corn cribs for temporary jails and locked Salina Link Light in one. They were searching for her husband, whom they referred to as a “deserter.” The individuals who locked her in the corn crib planned to leave her until she confessed her husband’s whereabouts.

In 1853, James Ireson McNeil built McNeil Mill on Goose Creek, a combination gristmill/sawmill in the Locust Grove District. Goose Creek's fast-flowing water served as power for mill operations. The revolving waterwheel, with gears and cogs, rotated the large grinding stone inside the mill.

James M. Sisson and Charlie Will Vest served the community as millers through 1923. Vest built a country store and later, Roscoe Willis became storekeeper and miller.

Customers gathered around the store, visiting and solving the world’s problems while purchasing needed items. Folks named Willis the “unofficial mayor of Goose Creek.” He preached one day and cussed the next—provided women folk were not around. Neighbors from miles around knew his stance on politics—a subject he discussed often. Roscoe never left any doubt what was on his mind.

Customers walked to the store to purchase cow, chicken, and hog feed. The chicken feed came in calico printed cotton fabric sacks. Women stitched dresses and curtains and backed their quilts with fabric from feed sacks. They embroidered dishtowels and made pillowcases from Big Spring Mill’s white sacks with a border design.

When Roscoe added Sinclair gasoline from a hand pumped tank, it sold for twenty-two cents per gal¬lon. Later, gas prices soared to twenty-five cents per gallon.

Sisters Ruth Ann and Pat McNeil and their cousin Linda Vest remember hiking to Roscoe’s Country Store. One Sunday, they arrived to find it closed. He opened it especially for his young neighbors—even if they only spent twenty-five or fifty cents.

Roscoe is still missed by those who remember him. His store was a place for the exchange of gossip, news, and opinions important in the area. Along with the small local churches, it constituted the soul and spirit of his community.