The COVID year was hard in Fries, Virginia, as it was everywhere, but the green shoots have been surprising and substantial.
Lewis Schlitt
After a storm, a dramatic cloud-scape wreaths the town of Fries. Each season has its own distinct beauty. INSET: Spring is a good time for visiting along Chestnut Creek, part of the 57-mile New River Trail State Park. Numerous access points dot the trail.
As the worst damage of a year’s COVID-19 recedes—with more interaction, businesses reopening, social life resuming—I can say out loud what I learned but kept mostly to myself during the months of waiting: My adopted hometown of Fries, Virginia, actually came to life during lockdown.
I feel certain that everyone lost someone or something important as the pandemic raged. For me, the losses were the sudden death of a close friend last September and the end of carefree embraces with my grandchildren. For some it was the loss of a parent, a sibling or a livelihood.
At the same time I believe we all may have gained something in return, whether that meant rekindling old friendships, bonding with children in deeper ways, or discovering new creative outlets. In that respect, Fries and perhaps other aging Blue Ridge towns emerged from their once hopeless, forlorn state in a rebirth of energy and optimism over the last year or so.
A neighborhood cat admires the flow of the New River as it winds through Fries.
An old textile mill town that had shrunk and become impoverished through decades of decline, from a peak population over 2,000 a century ago to a low of fewer than 500 souls by the 2020 census, Fries (pronounced “Freeze”) turned out to have what many people from big cities were looking for during the pandemic. Fresh air and open space, recreational opportunities and natural beauty, inexpensive housing and available retail buildings and, yes, internet. My husband, Saul, and I had retired, downsized and moved to the town several years ago from Asheville, North Carolina, precisely for the slow pace.
We lucked into one of the oh-so-sturdy old mill houses in Fries, and after repairing and modernizing it we settled down to small-town life.
Col. Francis Henry Fries didn’t build his town for its dramatic backdrop, but because he wanted to dam the New River and harness its power to run a cotton mill. In just three years—1900 to 1903—an army of workers blasted away cliffs and used the rock to build a 39-foot-tall dam, constructed a huge mill complex and a railway spur into its heart, and harvested the forest to build some 300 compact houses for the workers.
Fries was a real company town; the Washington Mills Company supplied the housing, for modest rents and also the coal and firewood for heating, and the water and sanitation services. The company store sold everything from cribs to coffins, plus groceries and clothes, and took company scrip in payment. The company was the law, and with liquor banned from the town any mill worker guilty of drunkenness was expelled, along with his family. Children as young as 8 worked in the mill—hidden when inspectors appeared—and some people went deaf from the mechanized din.
The mill thrived and Fries grew into a bustling burg, until, in the late 1980s, time and international competition caught up with its obsolete infrastructure. When the mill finally closed, in 1988, the houses already had been sold to the tenants . . . and then working-age people slipped away to places with jobs, leaving old folks and empty buildings.
Fries School shows its community pride and big ambitions.
By the time Saul and I arrived, the town consisted of an open expanse where the mill once stood, plus a branch bank, a post office, a Dollar General store, a café and not much else besides clear skies and the roar of the New River flowing over the dam. The railway was torn up and eventually the rail bed became the New River Trail State Park, a 57-mile-long wonderland with one terminus in Fries.
With so few people and so little commerce, social distancing was already here as regulations took hold beginning in March 2020, and for a while life went on as before. True, the old community center closed for the duration, which meant a pause in library services and in the weekly old-time music jams.
Around April 2020 I noticed something new. More lights were burning in the mill houses, especially the “high end” cottages fronting the New River. The reason: Owners of those cottages, many of which they rent in summer, had deserted their city homes and come to Fries for safety; it was cheery to shout hello and wave to them on their porches during evening strolls. As spring wore on and schools closed, Saul and I began to see families with children bicycling along the New River trail . . . always smiling. People from nearby cities had discovered Fries as a COVID-safe day trip destination.
The local craft store—often closed—was open regularly now as ladies sewed face masks and made hand sanitizer . . . an essential business. The café survived with takeout. The town’s riverside park got new playground equipment and there was room for people to spread out and enjoy the scenery at sunset.
More significantly, by autumn For Sale signs began sprouting in front of some mill houses as people who had inherited them but lived elsewhere opted for ready cash. The pace of sales quickened. Young families moved in—a swing set here, a baby stroller there.
Then bigger things happened. Someone bought one of the long-empty storefronts and started work on an inn, and rumor has it a “boutique” will come next. Best of all, construction began on a big covered farmers market where the rail depot once stood. There will be public restrooms and an outdoor stage for live performances.
New life took hold in Fries during pandemic just as many cities lost vigor. Love and hope are the nutrients feeding this turnaround. There are still some potholes, and a few houses with broken windows and caved-in roofs. But I don’t notice them. I’m focused on the views of progress.
The Fries Postcard Project: History to Share
1 of 3
This card depicts a shift change at Washington Mills long ago. The former Washington Inn, at left, still stands.
2 of 3
Musicians in Fries were part of the early cultural scene, which resonates today along the Crooked Road musical heritage trail.
3 of 3
Farmers drive sheep through town, highlighting an important agricultural export of yesteryear.
I am a postcard person, so one of the first things I did when I moved to Fries was look for postcards to send my pen pals. There were none, and the old images I found online showed only the appalling conditions of child laborers in the mill. Surely life in Fries held brighter moments.
That’s when a friend suggested I create my own postcards. By concentrating on early Fries I could look for images of the historical moment when the industrialized world intruded on the hand-crafted and self-sufficient world around Fries. “When the factory met the farm” was my theme.
The search for images took more than a year and introduced me to many generous neighbors. In addition to visiting several local museums I simply asked everyone I met in Fries if they might have old photos to share. The answer was usually yes.
And there was so much to see: horse and buggy excursions, towering hay ricks and raucous sheep drives, long dresses and fancy hats, baptisms in the New River, barefoot boys fishing, ice jams and snowy scenes, old-time musicians, and a lot more. It was hard to choose the few photos for the first batch of postcards.
My aim all along was to produce postcards to give away, not sell, and I’m busy handing out the postcards to local businesses.
In fact, I’ve so warmed to the mission that the Town of Fries has appointed me the new events manager-coordinator. It’s a volunteer gig that will keep me growing during retirement.
Writer Nan K. Chase is the author of “Asheville: A History,” and “Lost Restaurants of Asheville.”
The story above first appeared in our May/June 2021 issue. For more like it subscribe today or log in with your active BRC+ Membership. Thank you for your support!