Dr. William Foushee, Sr. (October 26, 1749 – August 21, 1824) was an American physician, politician, and socialite. He notably served as the first mayor when Richmond became a city in 1782, and went on to become a political, social, and commercial leader in Richmond for the next half-century of his life.

This post will recite some of the history of Dr. Foushee’s life, explain the significance of his accomplishments and prominence, and discuss a unique historic gristmill he built that needs our protection.

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Williams Foushee Sr.

Foushee was born to John and Winifred (Williams) Foushee on October 26, 1749, in Northumberland County. He was educated at and graduated from Edinburgh in Scotland. A third-generation Virginian, Foushee’s paternal grandfather James immigrated from France. (Ahhh… Foushee is a French name!)

On March 6, 1775, on the eve of the Revolution, Foushee married Elizabeth Isabella Harmondson in Northampton County, and they went on to have seven children. Dr. Foushee’s three beautiful daughters were called “The Three Graces,” after the mythical name for the three daughters of the Greek king of the gods. Foushee’s youngest of the three daughters, Isabella, married the famous Thomas Ritchie.

Foushee’s son-in-law Thomas Ritchie (1778 – 1854) was a leading American journalist with the Richmond Enquirer as editor and publisher for 41 years, and was called “The Napoleon of the Press.” Thomas Jefferson said of the Enquirer, “I read but a single newspaper, Ritchie’s Enquirer, the best that is published or ever has been published in America.”

Dr. Foushee was the City of Richmond’s first Mayor, and he might also have been called her “First Citizen.” Elected to the mayoralty in 1782, he was a leader in civic, commercial, political, and social affairs for a period of approximately half a century. He lived on Main Street, near the present Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals building, just south of the State Capitol. The home is long gone.

Dr. Foushee was a contemporary of the founding fathers, about 6 years younger than Thomas Jefferson. He headed various civic and patriotic societies, including such groups as the Society of the Friends of the Revolution in 1813, having served as a distinguished surgeon in the Revolution. He cared for George Wythe, Jefferson’s law professor, on his deathbed. As a political leader and a man of wit and social presence, it was also Foushee’s function to preside over large political dinners whenever Thomas Jefferson, James Monroe or other prominent leaders of the Republican (Democratic) party came to Richmond.

During its early years as a City, Foushee was as prominent in Richmond as some of the most revered political leaders of the young United States, or perhaps even more. Note that the first city streets west of 1st Street are named for Foushee, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, James Monroe and Patrick Henry. It appears that Foushee may have taken poor George Washington’s street!

Despite his political and social pursuits and busy professional career as a doctor, Dr. Foushee found time to serve as a trustee of Richmond Academy, a director of the old Bank of Richmond from its establishment in 1793, and as president of the James River Navigation Company (which constructed the James River Canal, predecessor to the James River & Kanawha Canal). The last named post he held for 33 years, succeeding George Washington in 1785 after the latter had organized the company. After construction, the canal was at all times during Foushee’s life a significant water route for agricultural and other products around the falls of the James.

Perhaps because of his involvement in the canal, one of his business pursuits was constructing in 1819 a two-story grist mill above the City, between the canal and the north bank of the James River. The remains of this mill are located in the City’s James River Park, and can still be seen in the vicinity of Texas Beach (so-called because it is accessed from the North Bank James River Park parking area on Texas Avenue, and the sandy shores of the river in the area). Foushee sold the mill before his death to his son-in-law Thomas Ritchie in 1824. Sadly for Ritchie, the mill was destroyed by flooding in 1832.

This grist mill Dr. Foushee built nearly 200 years ago may be one of the only original still standing structures in Richmond that is connected to a truly important person of our City’s history that is abandoned, mostly unprotected, largely unknown and crumbling away. We’ve been told that the roof and windows were largely intact through the 1950’s. During the past few months, some have sadly defaced it with graffiti.

For the last sixteen years of his life, Foushee served in the capacity of Richmond’s postmaster, having been appointed to that position in 1808 by President Jefferson. On August 21, 1824, Foushee died in his home. His body is interred at Shockoe Hill Cemetery on Shockoe Hill in Richmond.

Foushee’s grave.

Dr. William Foushee was an important political, social and economic force in the early days of the City of Richmond. In his time, he was as prominent as governors of Virginia and presidents of the United States. Or, as shown by his recognition on the first city street west of 1st, perhaps more prominent. Doing something to preserve and protect the remains of his unique historic gristmill would be an excellent way for us to honor the legacy of Richmond’s “First Citizen,” Dr. William Foushee, just as a previous generation did in naming the street after him.

Directions: To reach the Foushee Mill, head down to the riverside trail along Texas Beach and walk upstream. Once you pass the canal outflow below Maymont but before you reach the Nickel Bridge, begin looking for the stone remains. If you reach the Nickel Bridge, you’ve gone too far. 

The mill in repose.

This hike will make you sad and angry. You will learn about a true local hero who needs your help, and finally, it will warm your heart.

Richmond has an abundance of fabulous places to hike and so much to learn of the people and events from our history.  There is one place, however, that above all the others I most want my 1,350+ James River Hikers, and all Richmonders, to experience.

That place is Evergreen Cemetery.

It is located just east of Oakwood Cemetery and north east of the intersection of Stony Run Parkway and East Richmond Road.  We get there on foot at the turnaround point of a ten-mile hike that begins at Chapel Island, treks through the best of Church Hill, explores the resting place of some seventeen thousand Confederate soldiers at Oakwood Cemetery and ends with lunch at Poe’s Pub. You’ll find the hike here http://www.meetup.com/James-River-Hikers/events/152753102/ where it is next scheduled for Jan. 26, 2014.

Evergreen Cemetery is the most prominent of the “Four Cemeteries at Evergreen” that also includes East End Cemetery, Oakwood Colored Section and Colored Pauper’s Cemetery.

Credit: Phil Riggan

The first of these we’ll see is Colored Pauper’s Cemetery, maintained by Richmond’s Police Department and located just on the Richmond side of the Henrico County line.  You’ll learn some Richmond history not widely known when you read from the monument there, “Between 1895 and 1896, many infants and children between the ages of 3 and 12 died as a result of poor nutrition and childhood diseases. More than 500 infants and children, many of whom resided in the city streets, orphanages, asylums and hospitals were laid to rest here.”

From there we’ll hike to Evergreen Cemetery, established in 1897, the resting place for some of our nation’s most prominent leaders and pioneers who happened to be African Americans. Its cascading hills were graced with concrete walking paths, cobblestone roads, marble statues, granite obelisks and elegant monuments, much like at the more well known Hollywood Cemetery.

Among the many notables buried there are: Sarah Garland Boyd Jones (1865–1905) the first black person and first woman to be certified to practice medicine in Virginia; Maggie Lena Walker (1867-1934) the first woman to serve as president of a bank in the United States; John Mitchell Jr. (1863-1929) Editor of the Richmond Planet, civil rights leader, member of the Richmond City Council, founder of the Mechanics Savings Bank, and candidate for Governor of Virginia.

But there was a fatal flaw from Evergreen’s inception when there was no allowance for perpetual care, and later financial problems led to bankruptcy.  The reality today is that most of Evergreen Cemetery has been reclaimed by the forest.

Credit: Phil Riggan

There is a consistent visceral response from hikers their first time at Evergreen. When their gazing, searching eyes locate part of an emerging gravestone reaching out from the thick vines of the undergrowth, they are at first perplexed at how this abomination could have happened and how it is even now allowed to be. This is followed by sadness, sometimes anger, and a quest for what can be done to correct this wrong.

That brings us to the hero in this story, John Shuck, who has dedicated himself to the seemingly impossible task of standing up to both the tangled bureaucratic morass of jurisdictions, owners and others as well as to the unrelenting onslaught of nature determined to swallow up the history of those buried there. John has taken it on as a personal mission to restore dignity to the Four Cemeteries at Evergreen. Most weekends you’ll find him laboring with whatever volunteers he can muster. This week it may be students from VCU, a church group, friends and family or anyone else willing to wield a pruner, shovel or rake and make piles of the debris.

John welcomes help from all comers and can be reached at email jshuck@rocketmail.com and phone 804-728-9475. Check his Facebook at www.facebook.com/jgshuck.

What began as a typical Sunday-morning hike this past October turned into the most special moment in the two and a half year history of James River Hikers — Hiking With History. Some months before, on this same hike, James River Hiker Angela commented that her grandparents were buried at Evergreen Cemetery, and she had never been able to find the graves.

What followed was a demonstration that we are something more that a collection of locals who enjoy hiking and history.  A subgroup banded together to find Angela’s grandparents graves. The effort began with researching through archives and consulting with John Shuck.

Maggie L. Walker’s grave site. Credit: Phil Riggan

Then came the hard manual labor of searching for the graves. Eureka, they were found! Next was the clearing of a path to the site and removal of the half century plus of vegetation and soil that had consumed it.

On October 6, 2013, Angela, for the first time in her life, visited the graves of her grandparents. Those who witnessed the moment will forever cherish it. Angela committed that never again would these graves be surrendered to the forest.

Join us on our next hike to Evergreen Cemetery, and see for yourself why this, as much as any other in Richmond, is a place we all need to experience. Better yet, assemble your group or individually plan a Saturday morning with John Shuck. Become part of the solution in restoring dignity to Evergreen and reclaiming an important part of our heritage. You’ll be a better person for it.

Damn those leaves!

We drive back from church on a cool November morning and are ushered into our driveway by the rush and rustle of car-blown leaves. The front yard is buried beneath a thick blanket of the freshly fallen. A brand new blanket, this is.

I had cleared the previous layer away just the other day, but my trees continue tossing away the 2013 hand they were dealt, showering so many layers of discard that it’s hard to believe all of this spent machinery was so recently above my head being actively employed for sun-energy acquisition, re-processing, packaging, and storage.

It’s only just after noon, but it feels like late afternoon when I step from the car. In the winter the sun never seems to get fully launched, and its low, misfired trajectory above the southern horizon gives me the impression that the day is in a state of constant waning.

SLAM!!! I am startled by the first peace-piercing collision of metal on metal as one of my wild things violently flings the car door shut to emphasize her current emotion. I am fully prepared for and even expecting the second…SLAM!

My two daughters are as dissimilar as they are distinct. The older is quiet and reserved, the younger boisterous and outgoing. Equal in significance, but as opposite in charge as a proton and an electron, and the best I can ever hope for is that they assume a comfortable, stable orbit around one another, or that together they become a manageable atom. Those are good days when that happens, and most of our days are good days. But when circumstance excites them into an elevated or high-energy state, they often become anything but manageable, and the return to stability usually involves wild spurts of energy release, vocal exclamations, and emphatic, full-body demonstrations like the slamming of doors.

As I carefully intercept with my hand the collision of wood on wood behind Brooke’s entry into the house, my critical eye falls again on the leaves covering the front yard and reports back to the head-judge a modified assessment. It takes a good while to clean all that up, I recall, and Amy knows it needs to be done. Good. In the leaf-covered front yard I see now a chance for escape, and after following the girls inside to find that the old “family unit” is dividing into fractions, I divide, separate, and carry my own fraction out the front door and lay my hands on a rake. 

Aaah. That’s better. It feels good to be out here. I have always loved the smell of dry leaves — makes me think of more carefree times when a large pile of these things represented a new piece of playground equipment. The air is perfect, today. Bug-free and fully supportive of human exertion. Damn. I havn’t “exerted” enough lately. Feels good to be moving. Tension pulses from my body with each turn of the shoulders, and each scratch of the rake. My head begins to clear. I begin to take better notice of my mental and physical surroundings.   

Don’t get the wrong idea about that “coming home from church” stuff.  We rarely go there by choice, but are lured there often enough by the none-to-subtle machinations of the Westhampton Baptist Church Minister of Music – my Mother. On Wednesday nights, after releasing Amy and I to enjoy a just-the-two-of-us-dinner, she works hard to teach my children the joy of singing, and maybe even the joy of singing about God. Then she schedules as many Sunday morning performances as would appear reasonable, and then a few more after that, knowing all the while that we, like the parents of the other little singers, will at least find our way to church for these Sunday morning concerts. This morning my two unmanageable girls got themselves under control just enough to stand in front of the small congregation, to look beautiful, and to sing with smiling faces.

Following the singing there is a message. Sometimes when I go to church, I hear a representation of how the creator intended this place, this earth, to work. On this Sunday morning the lesson is about tithing and stewardship. It seems that today is “Stewardship Sunday”, one special day of the year when Baptists talk about giving-back even more than they talk about giving-back on all the other Sundays. A tithe of money is spoken of, but this preacher tries to explain that a tithe isn’t always in the form of dollars. The importance, he explains, is to recognize whatever it is we have been given in abundance, and to shed off or offer a bit of that back for the good of all.  He explains how the creator intended us to give back with mind, heart, and effort, if not with wallet, for the very enrichment of the soil of humanity surrounding and supporting us.

These trees around me in the front yard don’t need church because these trees are the church. And the many layers of leaves are not, in fact, a discard. The Leaves are an offering!  Each green path my rake creates on the earth today is soon re-speckled with a fresh shower of colorful gifts.  If I left these gifts where they fell they would re-fertilize the earth. They would in successive years create a thick, spongy layer of humus that would capture and hold moisture.  They would become food for micro-organisms vital to healthy forest eco-systems. This tree give-back, this original model of earth stewardship, would create rich soil, and out of rich soil could grow great things, including the givers themselves and their offspring! What we have here, my good brothers and sisters, is a system of “give-to-grow.”

Yeah. That’s the same damn thing the pastor was talking about this morning. Only a different type of giver, and a different type of soil, and a small audience of mostly older humans, some of whom have being practicing this system their entire lives. I assume these elder statesmen of give-to-grow are still growing spiritually, and will be to the last. I suppose each of these has grown to become a great human.

And with this realization my mom’s genius little plot comes to perfect fruition. I have once again watched my bright-faced children smile and sing praise to a Creator, and this time I have even heard and understood a Sunday morning lesson about giving.

Be it the quiet recollection of this lesson taught from pulpit by aspiring man, be it the original message of give-to-grow taught by Nature, or be it perhaps more simply the feel of fresh November air on my skin, one way or another this gentle task of raking leaves in my front yard has given me replenishment. I am healthier in mind and body as I head back inside to face the chaos. That’s a hell of a contest of emotional ultimate fighter going on in there, and I will need all of my faculties merely to avoid getting squashed in the melee. The raking has done me some good. I’m always slightly saddened when people tell me they want to take their trees down because of the “mess.”  The way I see it this mess is also a gift. This mess calls a modern human like me outside to live, to work, to learn, and in cases where conditions inside are approaching Category 5, to escape.

Bless those Leaves!   

When I moved to Richmond four years ago I immediately discovered the trails by the James River and found meaning in hiking there. A Monday-through-Friday routine quickly formed in which I hiked to the river from my home in The Fan — 11 miles beginning before dawn. It was a fantastic way to start my day as I trudged early into the darkness with a goal of witnessing the rising sun over the James River and the city of Richmond as I crossed the suspension bridge leading to Belle Isle.

Armed with my hiking sticks, my IPod and headphones, listening to my recorded book in the solitude, at one with nature, the only companion an occasional Canada goose, I was at peace with the world and myself.

For twenty months I continued this routine alone. I had discovered something incredibly special, but I wanted to share it with someone else.

Try as I did, however, I could find no one who would go hiking with me. The reasons were many, but the answer was always the same. My feet hurt. It’s too hot, too cold, too early, too far or too dangerous.

My 13-year retirement has been successful in part because I have adhered to these three principles: 1. Every day have a mission to accomplish.  2. Do something for others.  3. Do something unimaginable.

The unimaginable part has come home in spades, as I now am leader of a 1,250 person-hiking group. I finally found someone who will hike with me.

Ours are serious hikes, five to ten miles, many on the trails of the James River Park System, but also all over historical Richmond. We’ve become as much a history club as a hiking club as we explore and learn together the rich history of this city.

Of all the hikes, however, my favorite is the one I started with four years ago. I schedule it once a month. We make a big production of it, calling it IHWDATJRH-HWHOTTBTJRSEIWD or “I hiked with Dennis and the James River Hikers – Hiking With History on the trails by the James River so early it was dark”.

Each of the twenty James River Hikers who has completed the journey has been formally knighted into The Most Noble Order of the IHWDATJRH-HWHOTTBTJRSEIWD.

The journey begins at the southeast corner of Riverview Cemetery where there is plenty of parking on the grass, and the river is visible from your car. Here’s what we do. I invite you to explore it yourself.

Step down onto the trail and head east downriver onto the switchbacks that deliver us to the backside of Hollywood Cemetery. Continue to the pedestrian suspension bridge leading to Belle Isle and circumnavigate it around its western tip. Pause at Hollywood Rapids, and take in the scene and sound. Explorer John Smith witnessed this spot in 1607 and described the roaring turbulence to his friends back in England as “Louder than a scolding wife’s tongue.”

Continue around to the bridge that takes you to the south side of the river.  The foundation of that bridge is the same that supported the railroad and the traffic that transported to Union enlisted prisoners of war to Belle Isle during the War Between the States.

Just after crossing to the south side of the river, make a turn downhill back to the river where you’ll find a covered pipe trail that will lead you west and upriver. When the river level rises to seven feet, this pipe will be underwater so you’ll then need to take the high trail along the train tracks. Check out the massive logs and trees that liter the riverbed to your right and visualize how those same trees were floating downriver just a few months ago when the river was over flood stage of 12 feet.

Take the stairway and then the bridge up and over the train tracks. Pause at the top before you do to view Hollywood Cemetery across the river and then look left where you’ll see your car parked at Riverview Cemetery. Then look upstream to Boulevard Bridge; that’s where you are headed.

The train track beneath you is where the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus train parks when they are in town.

Next you’ll join one of Richmond’s favorites for serious mountain bikers, Buttermilk Trail. You’ll find a port-a-potty there and another at the Reedy Creek parking lot a mile and a half further up the trail.

When you get to Boulevard (Nickel) Bridge take the trail straight ahead and beneath the bridge.  Then circle back around to your left as you get on Boulevard Bridge. About 70 percent of the way across the bridge is where we have our apple core-throwing contest.  A bull’s-eye is for your core to land on the combo of rocks from which a few shrubs grow.

After crossing the bridge, turn left and walk to the 1882 Victorian Gothic pump house, the second level of which was an open-air ballroom where late 1800’s debutantes in hoop skirts danced the evenings away.

A path behind the pump house leads to a normally open gate on the edge of the very active double train tracks. Use much caution there when crossing, and make your way to the path that borders the tributaries along the river.  Then head back east toward Richmond and be prepared to explore a most beautiful nature-blessed part of Richmond that few have ever witnessed.

Eventually you’ll get to the Foushee-Ritchie Mill constructed by Dr. William Foushee in 1819. That’s the same Foushee who was Richmond’s first Mayor, whose namesake Foushee Street from which 1^st, 2^nd and 3^rd east and west streets radiate and who was the doctor at the bedside of Thomas Jefferson’s mentor George Wythe at his death.

Soon you’ll walk across a live railroad bridge and have your own mini experience reminiscent of the epic scene in the movie “Stand By Me.” Soon you’ll rejoin the trail that will lead you back to the starting point at Riverview Cemetery.

Many believe this is the best hike we do.  It’s long, it’s all about the river, nearly all of it is on trails, not roads, it includes intriguing history, it takes you to places even experienced Richmond hikers have never seen, and much of it is a fabulous presentation of nature’s beauty.

We completed our 8.8 mille journey in 4 hours 12 minutes. How about join us next time and experience it yourself?

You’ll find all the details at our site: http://www.meetup.com/James-River-Hikers/

The dreamer:

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.                                 – Nathaniel Hawthorne

The doer:

Do not waste time, for that’s the stuff life is made of.                       -Benjamin Franklin

Air condition – 88 degrees, pleasant; Water condition –  70 degrees, transparent

A typical summer day in Richmond, only on this day the 1 p.m. sun looks me a bit more in the eye than did July’s midday sun, and when I turn my back to the low-angled glare I find that the sycamores along the northern bank of the river have dyed their hair some burnt shade separating green from brown. Blush or rouge has been applied in splotches to the canopy on the higher slopes, and beneath my waist I see discarded flakes of this late season tree, maquillage littering the river surface.  No, this is no summer day. It’s a warm and rare day in early October.

My daughter Brooke and I are at one of our favorite James River Places – the lowest step of the watery granite staircase known as Pony Pasture Rapids. With our two dogs we wade out to the first significant channel connecting the water on the first elevation to the long flat pool passing quietly between Windsor farms on the north and Willow Oaks on the south. We spread our things out on a massive monolith of granite partially perched on the river bed such that a diving flow of water at the upstream center of the slab is able to crawl under rather than go around. Brooke drops leaves into the small upstream whirlpool, watches them swirl and disappear, and then takes the high route over the boulder to meet with them again on the downstream side where I sit with my body half in and half out of the flow, helping her verify the identity of the surfacing arrivals, and marveling with her at this magical leaf teleportation.

Beyond the closely-gathered circle of my younger daughter and our two goofy dogs, I find myself likewise shepherding a scattered flock of resting clouds, each wooly sky-sheep seemingly as content with its current GPS reading as I am.  The only evidence of my proximity to a semi-major east coast metropolis is the missile-shaped upper half of the Carillon aimed for launch from a thick crowd of trees at Dogwood Dell a mile or so to my downriver side. 

Amazing city! That I can find a spot like this a mere two river miles from the city center, properly orient myself, and look out to see a world mostly the way it was before humans arrived and hopefully the way it will be long after we’re gone.     

I almost wish I weren’t wise enough to know that in a blink of an eye from this day I will come to this same river on a warm fall day and have only the ghosts of my playing children to watch over. Already the image of my older daughter Anna bouncing alongside me in innocent play has faded from flesh to shadow, and if I watch Brooke’s 11-year-old shape and mannerisms carefully, I understand that my playful time with her also fades. Sad? I’m not sure. The mental sore spot of this fore-knowledge is strangely interesting, and I find myself probing it with my thoughts as one might probe a mouth-sore or vacant tooth socket with his tongue. The pain is not alarming, or hard to bear. Only interesting. Interesting because the resting clouds, the bright and optimistic young face under the red hair, the voice of the river singing “Forever, forever, forever . . .” as it tumbles over my feet and legs, these all create such an illusion of permanence. But the reality is change. The colorful leaves floating past me speak of it. The low-angle sun on the back of my neck speaks of it. That shadow of thought trailing just behind the present speaks of it. “Change” is the word we humans use to speak of it.  Sometimes aggravating, sometimes painful, sometimes welcome, but always, always, interesting. Change. Yes, the reality is that time passes and things change. Sad? No. I refuse to be sad about my one and only reality. Just interested.

Brooke humors me, bears with me, really, in this “melancholy shepherd” role as long as she can before pulling me up to play. She puts her hand on her hip, waves her opposite pointy finger like a windshield wiper, and says what YouTube sensation SweetBrown says in her starring role: “Ain’t nobody got time for that.” And just like that Brooke slices all that stuff, that moody contemplation, away from my present and I find myself properly playing with her and the James. We play our all-time favorite river games. We find a nice exposed slab just upstream from a deep pool where Brooke can jump and test her duck wings. We play “rock-star,” seeing who can build the highest river rock tower. We uncover 40- million year old secrets by throwing brown river stones against larger rocks and breaking them open to discover what the crust of earth looked like during some crisis of temperature and pressure in its ancient history. We wonder, we explore, we rock-hop, and we find any possible excuse to break into a raucous duet of laughter. We play.

Before I know it, and without a thought, it’s time to leave.  I don’t know where the time went, but some deep sense or awareness of satisfaction leads me to believe that it went somewhere good. That if there truly is a “cost” of time levied on our earth experience, then these last three hours were time well spent. This unexamined, playful life is worth living, even if often transparent to the mind’s eye or the writer’s hand. Maybe if Socrates had spent more time at play with his daughter he would never have uttered his famous quote to the contrary.

The dogs drag themselves forward with Brooke and I as we walk the trail back to the parking lot. They will never learn to pace themselves out here. There is just too much dog-joy to be found, and they are afraid to take one second of the experience for granted. They run, climb, and swim themselves to exhaustion as quickly as exhaustion can be achieved.

Around me on the trail, chlorophyll, the green of summer, is being drained from the forest with increasing counter-clockwise turns on the spigot handle. The green shade of bio-business is being purposefully drained away, leaving us a glimpse of how colorfully unique all the trees look in their street clothes, or their retiring attire. They prepare for a new season, for their autumn. They change. The forest speaks of it.  .  . Change. Change, the passage of time, and the interesting, slightly painful shadow of thought trailing just behind.    

I might be biased but I am convinced that Richmond is at the epicenter of all things beautiful and mysterious. Its historical and natural places routinely conjure feelings of peace mixed with memories of war, awe tempered with solemnity, and permanence grappling with change. It makes me feel downright restless sometimes, like I better get it right before it’s too late – but that is only the mortal half of it. So, when the seasons change and Halloween approaches, I look at our monuments and wildernesses with slightly more urgent and probing eyes.  There are some places that have that certain feeling, even when you visit by yourself – you are not alone.

I’ve taken photos of some of my favorite places and altered them to have a seasonal look.  Some of these sites have historical credentials that are undeniable, others are spots that I have just happened upon, but for some reason they linger in my imagination.

Enjoy them while you still can…

Ruins on Belle Isle

Belle Isle, James River Park System – 5^th & Tredegar Streets

If you don’t feel something otherworldly here, you just aren’t paying attention. Richmond has a long and sometimes tumultuous history, and Belle Isle has been there for every part. The noisy rapids that encircle it echo the feeling of ancient unrest. The site of a Native American fishing camp, colonial race track, bawdy saloons and heavy industry, this place has seen more than its fair share of wandering souls.  Of course, its most famous historical use was its role as a prison camp during the Civil War where more than 1,000 Union troops perished from deprivation. The ruins and holes on the island’s landscape remind happy park visitors that they are not the first to stroll on its paths – and won’t be the last.

Montefiore Cemetery

Beth Torah Cemetery

Sir Moses Montefiore and Beth Torah Cemeteries – Jennie Scher Road  

Everyone knows that Richmond abounds with beautiful burial grounds. Hollywood, Shockoe and Oakwood are known to most. Sir Moses Montefiore and Beth Torah are a little off the beaten path in Richmond’s east end. These Hebrew cemeteries were started in the second half of the nineteenth century and are nestled at the foot of Fulton Hill. They beautifully balance the tension between change and stasis.  In an area of the city that struggles to keep pace with development and combat crime, these quiet resting spots seem little impacted by the activity around them.

The Pump House – 1708 Pump House Drive             

This beautiful gothic edifice was built in 1882 and supplied drinking water to Richmond straight from the river and canal. Water-powered turbines on the ground floor drove the pumps that sent water uphill to the Byrd Park Reservoir. The upper floor was a dance hall and public gathering spot.  It is fun to imagine the parties and dances that happened upstairs while the large turbines and pumps hummed along downstairs – the band must have had to play really loud. Operations closed in 1924. Local paranormal investigator, Robert Bess, believes the building is haunted and claims he has captured spirits there with his “Parabot” chamber.   I witnessed one of his events when I was the Environmental Educator at the James River Park System – I’ll just say it was fun.  I have spent many days and nights alone at the Pump House; repairing floors, removing graffiti and installing various fixtures. The creepiest thing I saw was a northern water snake rising out of one the turbine pits. It is my favorite building in Richmond.

Abandoned House Site and Cemetery – secret location

Out of respect for the family’s privacy and consideration for its sensitive location, I will not share the address of this place. I stumbled upon it one day while working in the field. The family burial plot was recognizable even before I saw the solitary headstone. The ground is covered with periwinkle, an evergreen vine that was often used in old cemeteries as a symbol of eternal life. The ground is also pock-marked with rectangular depressions – caused by the collapse of wooden coffin lids.  All of the burial shafts are oriented east to west in typical Christian fashion. The heads of the deceased are at the west end and the feet point east so that when the dead rise again they will face the morning sun.  A dense thicket of trees and vines veils the cemetery and crumbling house from a six-lane suburban highway that buzzes just a few yards away.

Foushee Mill

Foushee/Ritchie Mill –North Bank Park, James River Park System

This all-but-forgotten ruin is worth the long walk. Tucked away in the most remote part of the James River Park stands this quiet granite structure built around 1820. It was built by Doctor William Foushee and later sold to Thomas Ritchie. Records indicate it was “ruined” by the 1830s. It stands unprotected on the north bank of the James River and was likely subjected to damage from frequent floods.  Today, revelers with spray paint feel compelled to use it as a canvas for their bumper sticker philosophies- no art, just random names and less-than-witty slogans.  It seems that the Earth itself objects to this desecration. Heavy vines are slowly pulling the stone blocks back into the subterranean bosom from which they were cut.

Presquile National Wildlife Refuge – Chesterfield County

This is as remote as Richmond gets. The island refuge can only be accessed by boat and is only open by appointment or on a handful of public days during the year.  The James River Association and the U.S Fish and Wildlife Service recently started the James River Ecology School there. Students can have an immersive education experience in the wetlands and meadows that host thousands of migratory waterfowl.  I was lucky enough to attend a James River Advisory Council meeting there last week.  I have to confess, the first thing my eyes were drawn to during the tour was the historic cemetery (within view of the student bunkhouse).  I can imagine the kinds of stories kids might tell knowing that they are spending the night near a two hundred year old grave yard.  This is a place where the next generation is inspired to care for creation while being reminded of the souls that came before.

James River Steam Brewery

James River Steam Brewery – Rockett’s Landing

I love all kinds of spirits. Beer is one of my favorites. This place combines some of the things I hold most dear: history, the James River, and Yuengling.  In September 1865, just months after the Civil War, David Yuengling Junior started this brewery on the banks of the James.  It was an immediate hit. Richmond has always been a thirsty town.  In his 1856 book, Richmond in Bygone Days,  Samuel Mordecai recalls at least a dozen taverns and breweries that he frequented (which says just as much about Mordecai as it does Richmond), but in the somber days after the Civil War the city’s thirst was greater than ever. A number of breweries were established, many of them by northern businessmen eager to tap into the newly opened southern market. The James River Steam Brewery was one of the largest. It boasted a five story brick brew center, a beer garden and pavilion named Scheutzen Park, and underground fermentation and storage vaults. The brewery closed during the economic depression of the 1870s and the five story brew center burned in 1891. Today, only the underground tunnels and granite façade over the James survive. The Rockett’s Landing community plans to convert the tunnels into a restaurant.  It looks as though sprits may once again flow through the old tunnels.

I have taken hundreds of pictures of these and other Richmond haunts over the years. On Halloween night, I think I’ll have a Yuengling and look through them and choose which ones to write about next.

As a child you followed your father’s steady footsteps on a steep mountain trail above a lake called Sherando. He is a religious man, your father, but if you’re lucky he suggests rather than demands your careful consideration of the natural beauty surrounding the trail. His faith is rooted in the simple observation that an awesome creation bespeaks an awesome creator. But you’re too young to be worried about that stuff. You like to climb. You scramble up the rock-and-boulder-strewn trail effortlessly — a young, rising force of nature.

Nestled in a deep hollow in the George Washington National Forest, Sherando Lake is a mere 90-minute drive towards the setting sun from Richmond.  A 90-minute drive towards the rising sun from the same starting point terminates at the western shore of the ancient and storied Atlantic Ocean. If you’re lucky you are raised in Richmond, where a short drive either with or against the earth’s rotation carries you to places so infused with the deep and timeless spirit of nature.

Your father says the grandeur of these places fortifies his faith, but this is somehow not good enough for you. You strike out into your own spiritual space. You meander. You struggle some. You fail some. You succeed some. But if you’re lucky, your father continually calls on you to walk a mountain trail with him, and on the Sherando Lake Overlook trail he shows you to see the rocks and boulders as you climb past. You take time with your father now to notice them. They are fallen. Gravity and weather stricken. They once held higher places on this mountain. Past their prime now they are relentlessly pulled down. You recognize now that gravity and time are slowly weathering and pulling your father down, and you even suspect these most powerful of natural forces are gradually beginning to overwhelm your own life force as well.

Your father still cannot communicate with you in a resonant language the meaning and purpose he finds in this life experience, but his always youthful eyes remain fixed on the intricate beauty surrounding the trail. If you’re lucky, you begin to assume his eyes, if not his faith. From your father you learn to appreciate this ability, this special human privilege . . . this observation and contemplation of nature.

On Aug 4^th, 2013 my daughters douse the heat of a morning hike in the cool water of Sherando Lake. I sit on the sandy beach with my pen and paper, scribbling my way along winding mental trails, always hoping these symbols and thoughts will lead me somewhere meaningful. Faithless wanderings. My father is bent over in a crumbled sitting position on a bench behind me. He has not been able to sleep well in the tent, but somehow the noise, commotion and bright light of this crowded shoreline allow him what the dark silence of night denied.  He sleeps. I am lucky because wherever it is my daughters and I find ourselves, it is there that even my dog-tired father likes to be.

I walked behind him on the overlook trail earlier. His steps less steady, the world around him partially silenced by hearing loss, his gaze directed primarily at the position of his next step, my father’s focus today was more narrowed than it once was. But with eyes and spirit still outwardly groping, he continually pointed out the ground-level features that found his interest.  I am lucky because my father points out to me and my girls the way life-sustaining water from deep in the mountain’s heart bleeds out from a small puncture in its flank. He points out evidence of the mountain’s age, and thereby its elite status in creation. This mountains tells us some of the oldest stories we hear about the saga of earth’s revolutions, and my father tries to get my daughters and I to listen with wide open spiritual ears. We are lucky he notices interesting pieces of wood, scurrying little space alien insects, and strange, waist-high vegetation. We are lucky because my ever-watchful father quiets us to notice even a colorful piece of moss!

You still know nothing about the purpose or meaning of life. You have experienced no faithful communion with your father. You have no idea what to tell your daughters to believe. But if you want them to be lucky like you, when you find them behind you on the Sherando Overlook trail, you will do your best to offer them earnestly the searching and admiring eyes of your father.

“When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.” — John Muir

The earth is much older than we are. It spiraled around the sun billions of years before we were put on it and will continue to do so long after we are gone. We are having an effect on it, though. A look at our oceans and rivers will quickly reveal that. Plastics, PCBs and processed hydrocarbons are not part of the primordial recipe that predates people. We did that. Those man-made materials are also persistent; some having the potential to linger in the environment for centuries and poison habitats after humans become extinct. We need to learn from our past mistakes (and successes) so we can inform a healthier future.

My interest in conservation began at summer camp when I was 8-years-old. Saint George’s Camp in Shrine Mont is on the edge of the George Washington National Forest in the Victorian resort town of Orkney Springs, Va.  I spent many summers there, taking in the history and natural beauty while developing my ideas of community and stewardship. It was logical to me then as it is now – we are spiritually tied to the earth and all its inhabitants and are morally obliged to be caretakers of our mutual story and, more importantly, of creation. Even though we are here for only a short time, it is our responsibility to ensure that our occupation of the land is benign so it will support current and future tenants.

There are a lot places in Virginia that highlight our rich cultural and natural heritage. For me, the truly special ones demonstrate the bond between history and nature and attest to our spiritual connection and duty to preservation. Saint Francis de Sales at Mount Pleasant and Saint Emma at Belmead in Powhatan County tell the story of people and their attachment to the environment and their vocation in the community. The 2200+ acre parcel on the banks of James River abounds with forests, meadows, wetlands, historic houses and schools, and it is all faithfully protected by the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament and FrancisEmma, Inc., the non-profit organization founded to provide for the long-term maintenance and programming of the site.

I had the opportunity to visit St. Francis/Emma last week. I was greeted by Sister Elena Henderson. Sister Elena is a terrific host and tour guide and has a wealth of knowledge about the site. The history of the site is long and layered and difficult to summarize in a blog post. Fortunately, FrancisEmma provides a threefold framework for interpreting its history. I will follow their model.

Enslavement

The earliest structures on the property were built for Colonel Philip St. George Cocke in the 1840s. Cocke was one of the largest Virginia slaveholders of his time. He took pains to ensure that his plantations functioned in balance with the land. Most plantations were self-supporting enterprises but Cocke had an eye toward the future. He engaged in an active reforestation plan, planting tens of thousands of trees to serve future uses and designed a progressive crop rotation plan so his fields would not be depleted of nutrients. The bulk of the plantation’s agricultural activities were located on the bottom lands where the frequent floods of the James River would deposit rich silt.

The Belmead Plantation house, built by Cocke’s slaves between 1845 and 1848, was designed to harmonize with the landscape. Instead of choosing the imposing, classical style favored by his contemporaries, Cocke hired noted architect Alexander Jackson Davis to design a gothic, picturesque mansion that nestled on the contours of a hill over the James River. It was built with stone and clay quarried on-site. Innovative trenches around the foundation engaged the coolness of the ground to regulate temperature inside the house. A granary, also built of native stone, processed the grains grown on the plantation.

The Belmead Mansion beautifully compliments the hilltop over the James River. Photo by author.

The effort to use the land in a manner that would not deplete but renew resources was however, based on slave labor. Though it appears Cocke regarded his slaves with mildness, the double standard of harmonizing with the earth while denying the right of freedom to the people who worked it seems to have weighed on him. After briefly serving the Confederacy during the Civil War, Colonel Cocke returned to his home at Belmead in December, 1861. He ended his own life the day after Christmas.

Empowerment

The next phase in the history of Belmead witnessed a transition. African Americans continued to work the land not as slaves but as students and entrepreneurs. The property was purchased in the 1890s by Katharine and Louise Drexel and Louise’s husband Edward Morrell. The sisters were born into a wealthy Philadelphia family with a tradition of promoting charitable work and religious endeavors. Louise and Edward started the St. Emma Industrial and Agricultural Institute in 1895. The school provided education and training for African American males.

The Belmead plantation house became the central administration building for the new Catholic military academy devoted to the empowerment of African American men through education, training and military discipline. The school offered an array of vocational classes, in agriculture, carpentry, masonry and furniture making as well as academic courses. The Belmead mansion was the eastern anchor of an academic quad that included; a chapel, a water tower, parade grounds and other academic and dormitory buildings.

The school also became an economic engine for Powhatan County. It employed more than 150 instructors and staff and the goods produced by the students were sold locally and throughout the South. Crops grown on the property and processed by the school’s mills were used on site and sold in the community.  On land where blacks were once held as chattel servants, they later obtained skills that enabled them to secure financial independence and social mobility.

African American women also had a place to learn. Katharine Drexel bought Mount Pleasant plantation just to the east of Belmead. She started the St. Francis de Sales school there in 1899. Saint Francis was run by the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament, a Catholic order also established by Katharine. The school provided classes for African American women in business, nursing, teacher training and a variety of academic subjects.

The exterior of the Saint Francis chapel. Photo by author.

The schools provided safe employment for African Americans during the civil rights movement.

They were free to speak and demonstrate for equal rights without fear of losing their jobs. Ironically, the schools closed in 1970 due to declining enrollment. Desegregation of public schools made it possible for blacks to obtain equal educational opportunities without having to send their children to boarding schools in the countryside. However, the impact that St. Francis and St. Emma had on its 15,000 alumni and the community still resonates.

Environment  

Together the former campuses and associated lands comprise nearly 2300 acres with over two miles of frontage on the James River. Throughout its history the site has been defined by how people related to the land. During the periods of enslavement and empowerment people utilized the resources of this site in a sustainable manner – long before “sustainability” became a buzzword of conservationists.

The unspoiled view of the James River from Saint Francis/Emma. Photo by author.

Today both properties are owned by the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament. A non-profit organization, FrancisEmma Inc., manages the historic buildings and the sprawling forests, wetlands and farm fields. The Sisters and FrancisEmma Inc. run a variety of programs that preserve the site’s history and promote environmental stewardship. It is a huge job – one that is not without challenges.

In 2011 the National Trust for Historic Preservation included St. Francis/Emma on its list of the most endangered historic sites in America. Francis/Emma generates some revenue for the upkeep of the massive buildings by leasing the land for agriculture and horse boarding. But without consistent occupation and continual upkeep the buildings are threatened. In 2010 the four story bell tower at St. Francis School collapsed due to water damage. The campuses once boasted more than forty buildings. Today only a handful survive. However, the threatened status has brought national attention and financial support from granting agencies and other donors. This year major repairs were completed on the Belmead mansion’s roof and chimneys that were damaged in the August 2011 earthquake that shook central Virginia. Future renovation plans include repainting the window casements at the mansion (which involves carefully and temporarily removing each historic, hand-painted pane for safety) and the massive job of repairing the St. Francis School bell tower. More financial support is needed to secure the future of these important edifices. In addition to preserving the buildings, FrancisEmma offers programs and publications that interpret the history of the schools and plantation.

Damage from the collapsed bell tower at St. Francis School. Photo by author

FrancisEmma operates the Thomas Berry Education Center that offers a variety of programs centered on social justice and environmental stewardship. Program offerings include; astronomy and star gazing, planting trees for future generations and teacher training with an environmental focus. Last spring FrancisEmma and the James River Master Naturalists held a 24 hour Bioblitz at which volunteers and environmental professionals surveyed the property day and night to inventory the plant and animal species on the property. Among the many species identified were over ninety kinds of birds, ten of which were previously undocumented in Powhatan County. The program was such a hit that Francis/Emma may offer it again in the fall of 2014.

To protect the property for the benefit of future visitors and the present wildlife, the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament partnered with the Virginia Outdoors Foundation and the James River Association  to place 1000 acres of it under a permanent conservation easement. Sister Elena recalls one of the main reasons the property was placed under easement was to ensure that St. Francis/Emma will always be a place where people can come to “reconnect with nature and to heal.”

Sister Elena Henderson reflects on the beauty of the James River. Photo by author.

To that end, St. Francis/St. Emma offers many recreational opportunities. Fishing, hiking, bird watching, and self-guided historical walks are just a few. Francis/Emma also allows limited bow hunting (by reservation) to keep the deer population at a sustainable level. The Belmead Stables and Riding Club also operates at the site. Kayakers and canoeists can also access the James River just downhill from the Belmead mansion. For a short paddle, boaters can take out at the new Powhatan State Park five miles downstream. Information about recreational opportunities and programs can be found at FrancisEmma.org. Visitors to St. Francis/Emma should check in at the second house on the right on the main entrance road.

Every now and again I am fortunate enough to have an “A Ha!” moment at my job. Near the end of my visit Sister Elena told me about an old “fish hatchery” just downhill from the Belmead mansion. It is a catch basin, made of locally gathered river rock, which used to collect runoff from the paved parade grounds of St. Emma School. A very old drop inlet, which looks just like the ones used today, collected the drainage and a series of hand-made rock channels sent it to the fish-shaped catch basin downhill. It dates back to the early years of the school. I work for an agency that regulates how stormwater is managed. Today runoff is considered a pollutant that needs to be mitigated and controlled. The students of Saint Emma found a creative and sustainable way to collect runoff and use it as a resource decades before federal, state and local mandates. It was a vivid reminder that as we ponder ways to control pollution to benefit future generations, perhaps we should learn some lessons from the past.

The students at St Emma showed foresight when they built this little fish pond to capture runoff from the school parade grounds. Photo by author.

In my mind, it is impossible to separate historic preservation and environmental conservation. They are wrapped together spatially and ethically. The landscape is covered with the reminders of our past and they occupy many of the same places that are the focus of conservation efforts. Affording protection for one must recognize the presence of the other. Saint Francis/Emma is the perfect example. The Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament are doing an exemplary job of preserving the history of the site’s people, protecting the resources that supported their residence and answering the Call to stewardship.

That is the whole story.

Where to go: 5004 Cartersville Road, Powhatan, VA 23139 

 Follow Route 60 West into Powhatan. After Route 60 becomes a two-lane road, take the next right on Bell Road. Take a left on Cartersville Road. The main entrance to St. Francis/Emma will be on the right.