Isn’t this a wonderful place?
Some geologists maintain that the Central Pangaea Mountain range, of which the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia are remnants, is the oldest mountain range on the planet.
Within the earth’s oldest mountain range is a national park, nestled along the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia in the heart of the eastern United States. It is a place where white tailed deer, wild turkeys, squirrels, and black bears roam free. Visitors come from all over the world.
Shenandoah offers 500 miles of trails for every ability level through lush forests, crossing streams, to waterfalls, and breathtaking vistas.
Skyline Drive is the featured scenic roadway in Shenandoah National Park that runs north and south along the crest of the Blue Ridge. The Drive is 105 miles long with 75 overlooks of views of the Shenandoah Valley towns and landscape below.
The stress, anxiety, and pressure of everyday life seems to leave Park visitors upon their arrival to this wonderful place.
Yet for all the beauty– the forest trails, the overlooks, the waterfalls, and the mountain streams–
not too long ago, the human cost of displacement was required to make this special place what it is today.
In the late 1920s and early 1930s, land was acquired through condemnation to create what would become Shenandoah National Park.
For those whose families had lived here for generations, these mountains are not simply a place of recreation, but a place of identity.
Some of the elders would say that God will not give us more than we can bear. Yet pondering the human cost of displacement for the creation of Shenandoah National Park can be disheartening; the burning of homes– sometimes within sight of their former owners–cases of asylum commitments, eugenics and forced sterilizations, the perpetuation of negative stereotypes for decades.
It is written that we have entertained angels amongst us unaware.
In “Shenandoah A Story of Conservation and Betrayal” by Sue Eisenfield, my thoughts turn from the contents of her writings to the content of her heart, in awe that such an empathetic, caring soul would give of her precious time and empathy, to ensure the legacy of the mountain families and their sacrifices would be remembered. What did we ever do to deserve such kindness? Surely nothing, but she was sent nonetheless.
And I think of the others. They have been from every walk of life.
Beautiful people, all of them. Some have passed on. They lent their voice, talent, time and skill to tell a true story. People I would never have the chance to meet if there were no Shenandoah National Park.
I wish the mountain families could have known that one day, people from every walk of life would come together to build stone chimney monuments, replicas of those their mountain homes had, in each one of the eight counties where land was acquired, honoring each family by inscribing their names thereon.
Shenandoah love.
Shenandoah loss.
Shenandoah love again.
Appalachian Heritage, Displacement, Coercive Control, and Healing
Appalachian Heritage, Displacement, Coercive Control, and Healing
When Shenandoah National Park was established in 1935, five hundred families were “displaced” from their mountain homes and communities. The word displaced is often placed in quotation marks because what occurred was far more than relocation. Society uses the term, so it is borrowed here. Yet no single word fully captures what was entailed in the exodus from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia in the 1930s.
Negative stereotypes and portrayals of the mountain families began as soon as plans emerged for the national park in the East. Because some residents wished to remain on their land, certain park proponents publicly depicted them — and their way of life — in disparaging ways, diminishing public sympathy and support. These portrayals continued for decades within interpretive exhibits after the Park’s establishment. Organized efforts to improve the historical presentation of the mountain families, the Park’s creation, and the human cost of displacement began in the 1990s.
In more recent decades, community initiatives have emerged to honor the mountain families in each of the eight counties surrounding the Park where land was acquired for its creation.
During this period of renewed historical engagement, I met new people and formed new connections. Unwittingly, I also became subject to a group that used coercive control and cult-like dynamics. Over time, these influences eroded my personality, fractured my support system, and clouded my moral clarity. The experience shook me to my foundation.
These writings will explore:
The history of the Blue Ridge mountain families and National Park Service, including aspects less known to many Park visitors.
Sociological perspectives on the mountain families and their intersection with both the Park Service and larger society.
My personal experience with coercive control and cult dynamics.
My healing journey — the restoration of agency, sovereignty, and authentic voice.
Today, the descendants of the five hundred families who once lived on land now within Shenandoah National Park are, like the broader society, a diverse people with varied perspectives. These writings are offered humbly as my own reflections at a particular point in time.
(While the Park boundary has expanded several times since its establishment, these writings focus on the families impacted by the 1928 Blanket Condemnation Act, signed into law by then Virginia Governor Harry F. Byrd for the purpose of creating Shenandoah National Park.)
Reclaiming one’s authentic voice is, in itself, an act of healing.