A New Normal for Blue Ridge Towns?

by

The pandemic has caused havoc. Can our small mountain towns survive in its wake?

Two years ago, I began traveling Blue Ridge back roads to visit small towns that were moving forward in creative and effective ways. For this writer, it was a dream come true: I’ve loved these mountains since childhood; asking questions and listening to true answers has always been my way of learning; and serving on Virginia’s Alleghany County Board of Supervisors has given me new understanding of how direction gets charted and decisions get made.

And so “Our Blue Ridge Towns” column was born. What I hoped to find was a beautiful pattern among the towns that were reinventing themselves in the wake of coal, large manufacturing and railroad shutdowns. Is it possible, I wondered, for faraway places long dependent on Big Industry bosses to become their own bosses?

Thousands of miles and 11 columns later, I’m beginning to see the light. These towns shared some traits and practices that brought them success. The pattern looks something like this:

  • They understand their history—their Story—and they tell it well in small museums, walking tours,\ and festivals. (Think Jonesborough, Tennessee and its International Storytelling Center and Festival.)
  • They believe in their Place, think creatively and look toward what can be rather than what has been. (Think Whitesburg, Kentucky and its half-century of Appalshop advocacy and outreach.)
  • They form partnerships with nearby towns and work together as a region politically and economically. (Think Landrum, South Carolina and its four-town, two-state Carolina Foothills tour.)
  • They find ways to take the remains of what had been and repurpose them into something new. Abandoned mountaintop removal coal sites become golf courses with sweeping vistas (Prestonsburg, Kentucky), or wildlife preserves bringing back native species (Bell County, Kentucky). Rivers polluted by industry are brought back to life by the Nature Conservancy for clean recreation (St. Paul, Virginia). A closed landfill becomes a Green Energy Park and glassblowing studio (Dillsboro, North Carolina). An abandoned factory becomes one of the largest data centers east of the Mississippi (Murphy, North Carolina). A crumbling, 100-year-old theater becomes a community center; rusting train cars and a derelict depot are restored and become a much-visited railroad heritage center (Clifton Forge, Virginia).
  • They value their natural resources—their mountains and valleys and rivers—and build walking, biking and hiking trails; mountain driving and motorcycling routes; beaches and boat marinas; stocked streams and lakes (every town I’ve visited, with Hinton, West Virginia a standout).
  • They understand that the arts (shops, studios, galleries, workshops, concert venues) draw thousands of visitors (every town I’ve visited, notably Thomas, West Virginia and Murphy, North Carolina).

That’s what I saw, and came to understand. Along the way, I met a lot of great civic leaders and passionate town patriots who demonstrate with passion what it means to love a mountain place without boundary.

And then came the coronavirus shutdown.

Travel and tourism came to a screeching halt. Businesses were shuttered. Theaters locked their doors. Restaurants and hotels went empty. Sports venues fell silent. Gatherings of all kinds—even church services—were forbidden. Despite state and federal relief funding, our small towns are hurting. Meals and lodging taxes, the mainstay of many tourist-visited areas, have plunged.

With tourism still slow and the virus still present…can our Blue Ridge towns survive?

I am here to tell you that they will. In fact, they will not just survive—they will thrive. And for the very reasons I chose to visit them over the past two years.

We’ve lived in the dark valleys of hard times before, and when the hard times came, we found ways forward. Proactive has always been our default when industries pulled up stakes and left. Now, proactive will be our survival.

Small mountain towns have always worked with what they had—these mountains and rivers and winding roads; the creative resourcefulness of people bent on staying in their place. Now it’s time to ask for what we need, to make that possible once again.

First and foremost, better broadband, to facilitate remote work and online learning. With education going online, the lack of high-speed—or any—internet is crippling. I’ll never forget walking past my small library during Pandemic Spring, seeing teenagers sitting on lawn chairs wrapped in blankets, doing their school work on laptops when their school shut down. “We don’t have internet at my house,” they told me.

More funding for our mountains trails and rivers, our state parks and national forests. Watching Virginia’s Douthat State Park fill almost overnight with mountain bikers, hikers and campers when Phase 2 of Virginia’s reopening was announced says it all—now more than ever, people are hungry for the freedom and beauty of the outdoors.

Expanded, free community college courses, targeting 21st-century job skill development. If the workforce is available, the employers will come. As Roosevelt did with his New Deal job programs, we can create skilled workers for today’s economy. And for those who already have the necessary job skills…we want you here. Businesses are increasingly aware of the productive benefits of remote work, and there’s no traffic!

Increased support for nonprofits, the arts, and artists. Like the outdoors, the arts are a mainstay of many small towns’ economies. A recent economic impact study of Clifton Forge, Virginia’s Historic Masonic Theatre revealed a nearly $710,000 regional economic impact. And Whitesburg, Kentucky’s Appalshop recently announced two arts initiatives: the Appalshop Creators Fund, providing grants to individual artists in central Appalachia, and a National Endowment for the Arts-funded partnership with neighboring Pound, Virginia.

A new mountain normal? When you live in these old mountains, you know that there’s really nothing new under the sun. They’ll be here long after the pandemic dust has settled.

To my mind, it’s more a renewed mountain normal that we’ll see, shaped by the creative energy of those who call these mountain small towns home.

And I can’t wait to get to back on the road to witness it.

The story above appears in our September / October 2020 issue. For more like it subscribe today or log in with your active BRC+ Membership. Thank you for your support!