Andrew Johnson Stover grandson of President Andrew Johnson

              Carter County has had it's share of local legends. Our focus is on such a legendary character. One that baffled many a person across this great nation because of his life choices. That man was the grandson of a United States president. His name was Andrew Johnson Stover.
             Andrew Johnson Stover was born in 1860 to Col Daniel Stover and Mary Johnson Stover.  Andrew's father served in the Fourth Regiment Tennessee Volunteer Infantry (Federal). His mother was the daughter of future President Andrew Johnson. Little Andrew lost his father at the tender age of four. Like many soldiers in the Civil War, Daniel succumbed to disease. In 1864 he lost his battle to tuberculosis and is buried in Drake cemetery.
            At the close of the war, Mary's father became president after the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. Her mother, being ill, was unable to serve as the White House hostess. These duties fell on Mary to fulfill. This circumstance is what afforded young Andrew Stover the opportunity to grow up in the White House. What sights he must have seen: the dignitaries in their grand costume and ceremonies, the turmoil of reconstruction that weighed heavily on his grandfather. One can just imagine the stresses the family endured during the impeachment trials alone.
            At the end of Johnson's presidency, Mary and her children moved back home. Andrew Stover was reunited with the sights and sounds of his childhood home.  Morning fog that rested on high mountaintops, the cool waters of the Watauga gently cascading in timeless fashion, forests full of trees and the wonderment of all God's creatures that lived in them. What child or any Carter Countian for that matter could refuse this fantastic tapestry of natural beauty and serenity? This was obviously a stark contrast to the city life found in our nations capitol. A life Andrew eagerly left behind for the opposite side of the spectrum. This life of luxury and grandeur of the White House would soon turn to a life of solitude, a permanent fixture in the mountains and our lore.
            In 1908, writers and readers across the country began to develop a peculiar fixation on the lives of  descendants that were born from the bloodline of presidents. Andrew Stover would be no exception to their investigations. They simply could not fathom that a grandson of a president, one that was raised in the presidents home, would choose to not take advantage of the luxuries that his lineage provided him.  So perplexed at his choosing to be a hermit, they began to create excuses for his shunning of public life. Some writers proposed than he became mentally unhinged when his mother died in 1883. Others submitted that he was kicked in the head by a pony as a child and retained the mental age of a child, never to have adult reasoning. It was completely oblivious to them all that maybe, just maybe, Andrew obtained a level of happiness that eludes most people. Happiness derived through a simple man's way of life.
           Obviously the courts found him to be too simple in needs and throughout the years appointed him various guardians. Capt Ellis was probably Andrew's favorite. Ellis let the young man live as he wanted. Free and clear. Ellis was to have said to make sure Andrew had plenty of tobacco and coffee, which was all he ever asked for. Andrew built a small cabin on the Holston Mountain. He lived off of wild game and fish, as well as natures bounty of fruit, wild ramps, and other vegetation. His prized possessions were his banjo, rifle and a shotgun, and he was known to keep raccoon and opossums as pets. During the winter, Ellis would make Andrew come live in his home for the season. Andrew was said to have been most miserable during these times and would brood and lament something awful until the next hint of spring would arrive.
         Andrew departed his happy life in 1923.  He is buried in the Andrew Johnson National Cemetery.
(Previously printed in the Elizabethton Star)

Old Ways of Weather Predictin'

As seen in the Elizabethton Star 01/21/17 edition.

     Let’s talk about the weather. Now hold on a doggone moment, don’t go off and take a nap on me yet.  We’re not actually talking about the weather outside today, last week or even last month.  I thought it might be interesting in taking a look at ways the weather used to be predicted.
      Back in the days before meteorologists stood in front of a green screen (with a computer generated model of the area showing) and talked Doppler radar, people of the communities had to look for signs to help forecast the days to come.  Sometimes just a day or two notice is all was needed to know when to plant or harvest crops, or protect them from weather related harm. Anyone who got skilled in this, or just got plain lucky repeatedly were seen as a sage and people would often consult with them before planning events.
      Now some of these I remember my Papaw telling me about when I was little boy.  I’m pretty sure you have similar recollections yourself if you study over it a bit.  We’ll start with the first on the list and work our way down.
     Some trees will turn the underside of their leaves up to the sky in anticipation of its thirst being quenched. Impossible to miss for the underside is a much lighter shade of green.
     They say counting August fogs will predict how much snowfall is coming.
     This one is a can’t miss, blackbirds feeding in mass gathering on the ground is a sure sign of bad weather coming in the next day or two.
     Of course we’ve all heard the saying “Red Sky at night, sailors delight. Red Sky in morning, sailors warning”.  Have you heard this one though? “Rainbow in the morning, heed the warning”.  Now a rainbow in the western morning sky means a lot of moisture in the air and usually rain is coming from that direction.  A rainbow in the western sky says rain is moving out and sunny days are ahead.
     Here is one you can take to the bank.  When the sun or the moon is encircled with a halo you can expect rain or snow in the next 3 days.
     If you happen to have a science minded friend when it comes to weather foretelling, mention wooly worms and watch them get fired up. Traditionally, I’ve heard folks find one before winter and try to predict the whole winter. More modern folks who celebrate this little critter will tell you it’s only good for a few weeks and you have to rely on several of them over time.
     Here’s one I didn’t know about. Pine cones will close up when humidity increases to protect its seeds from the soon to arrive downpour.
     What about Persimmons?  Supposedly if you cut one to the kernel and it’s shaped like a spoon, that means shovel. As in get ready to shovel some heavy wet snow that winter. If shaped like a fork, one would expect a light, mild winter.
     One of my favorites to investigate is a practice that was still being used in the 1930’s in the county, maybe even longer.  They were called “Goose Bone Prophets”.  Geese were commonly raised by families in the county and most would say if the breast feathers became dull and darker that a poor winter was coming.  The prophets would go further and upon slaughtering a goose, they would take the breastbone and boil it for several minutes and afterwards would measure the thickness of the bone as well as “read” the colors and patterns on the bone to predict how kind or harsh Old Man Winter’s return would be.
      What tales have you heard growing up? Which ones do you swear by? Drop us a line and let me know!  Until next time, the mountains are calling.