Colonel William Preston and the Greenfield Legacy

With Virginia and the nation celebrating 250 years of freedom from England in 2026, I thought it might be fun to occasionally bring up some local history. At one time, Botetourt County stretched all the way to the Mississippi and into Wisconsin, which means my county's history is also the history of much of the nation.

The Botetourt Center at Greenfield, now an industrial park in Botetourt County, VA, was once part of a 20,000-acre spread owned by Revolutionary War hero Colonel William Preston.

Preston came to Virginia from Ireland in 1729, when he was nine years old. As a young man, he was active in the formation of Botetourt County. He was named First Surveyor, coroner, Escheator, and Member of the House of Burgesses. He also served as Colonel of the Militia when Botetourt County was formed from Augusta County in 1769.

He purchased Greenfield in 1759 and lived there until 1774, when he moved to Smithfield in present-day Montgomery County. In 1775, he was one of the signers of the Fincastle Resolutions, one of the earliest local documents to express support for American independence.

When Preston died in 1783, he was thought to be the wealthiest man in the state.

Six of Preston’s 12 children were born at Greenfield, and his legacy has left a large footprint on the nation. Preston descendants founded six universities and influenced two others — including Columbia College in South Carolina, now the University of South Carolina, and the University of Chicago.

Additionally, Preston’s descendants served in the Virginia House of Delegates and in the U.S. Congress. His son, James Patton Preston, served as governor of Virginia from 1816 to 1819.

When the county purchased Greenfield, the supervisors authorized an extensive review of the historic assets on the property. The remaining structures are pre-Civil War and include a slave dwelling and kitchen.

The kitchen measures 16 by 18 feet and faces the southwest wall of the original mansion, which no longer stands. The slave dwelling is a log saddlebag double slave house located west of the house site.

The house foundation is the remains of a structure built in the antebellum era. Historic photographs indicate the structure was a two-story brick dwelling before it burned. There is also an outbuilding dating back to approximately 1834.

One cemetery contains a number of Preston family graves. Another has been partitioned off with white fencing and is thought to be the burial ground for the Black servants of the Prestons.

Up until about 2007, the historic structures were untouched and unprotected, with old logs exposed to weather, until the county stepped in to secure the buildings.

The Botetourt Center at Greenfield is a 922-acre site the county purchased for $4.5 million in 1995. The land was divided into an industrial area, a parks and recreation area, and a school area. The county built Greenfield Elementary School and the Greenfield Education and Training Center in 2000, then completed a couple of ball fields and a $3 million sports complex at the Recreation Center at Greenfield.

Even though the county has not yet created the Greenfield historic area, the remaining structures are often visited by people who come to walk the fields or the Cherry Blossom Trail.

A memorial to Colonel Preston can be found on the grounds of the Botetourt County Administration Building. It features benches and a history of the man and the property.

Courtesy of The Fincastle Herald

From Wikipedia:

William Preston
Member of the Virginia House of Burgesses from Botetourt County
In office 1769–1771 Serving with John Bowyer
Preceded by	position created
Succeeded by	Andrew Lewis
Member of the Virginia House of Burgesses from Augusta County
In office 1766–1769 Serving with John Wilson
Preceded by	Israel Christian
Succeeded by	Gabriel Jones
Personal details
Born	December 25, 1729 Limavady, Ireland
Died	June 28, 1783 (aged 53) Price's Fork, Montgomery County, Virginia
Resting place	Smithfield Plantation
Nationality	American
Spouse	Susanna Smith
Occupation	surveyor, officer, planter, politician
Signature
Military service
Allegiance	United Colonies
Branch/service	Virginia militia
Years of service	1765–1781
Rank	Colonel
Battles/wars	Draper's Meadow massacre Sandy Creek Expedition Lord Dunmore's War American Revolutionary War Battle of Guilford Courthouse

Virginia's 250th Anniversary - Santillane

Santillane is the grand ol’ dame of Fincastle.

The pre-civil war estate was once home to Judith Hancock Clark, wife of William Clark of the Lewis and Clark expedition.

It was restored in 2008. Much of the decorative trim turned out to be plaster instead of painted wood as originally thought. There was wallpaper to remove – even on the ceilings - and cobwebs to sweep. Original chandeliers lay stored in boxes and vintage clothes hung in wardrobes far too large to ever be removed from the home.

The house has 14 rooms, counting foyers and bathrooms. All have been restored.

The house boasts extremely high ceilings, a staircase that looks like something out of Gone with the Wind, a pewter chandelier with a date of 1726 etched into it, hardwood floors, original wallpaper in the living room, original glass in the windows, and elegant touches around the ceilings.

Legend holds the original Santillane burned and was rebuilt. However, signatures on the plaster, which has held up remarkably well, date back to the very early 1800s.

Santillane is on the National Register of Historic Places. A marker on US 220 calls it “one of Botetourt County’s most distinguished properties. The Greek Revival house sits on a tract of land originally owned by Colonel George Hancock, a member of the United States Congress from 1793-1797. 

In 1808 Hancock's daughter, Judith, married General William Clark. Clark served from 1803 to 1806 as a leader of Thomas Jefferson's famous Lewis and Clark expedition which was instrumental in opening the West for American settlement.”

Colonel George Hancock

George Hancock’s first appearance in Botetourt is in 1781 when he married Margaret Strother of Fincastle. He appeared again in 1782 when he obtained a license to practice law in the county. In 1785,

Hancock was appointed a colonel in the county militia; he also served as Botetourt County’s Commonwealth Attorney. He was the first citizen of Botetourt County to serve in the Congress of the United States. He later moved from Fincastle to Fotheringay in Montgomery County, where he died in 1820.

Hancock’s daughter Julia, known also as Judith, was born to Hancock and his wife Margaret on November 21, 1791, in Fincastle. She wed William Clark, the famous explorer, in January 1808. Clark reportedly named the Judith River in Montana after the young girl he left in Fincastle while he sought a route to the Pacific.

Botetourt County's Hidden Literary Legacy

With Virginia and the nation celebrating 250 years of freedom from England in 2026, I thought it might be fun to occasionally bring up some local history. At one time, Botetourt County stretched all the way to the Mississippi and into Wisconsin, which means my county's history is also the history of much of the nation.

Botetourt County has few claims to well‑known authors and writers, and for nearly 100 years not many people have realized the county has a connection to poet Joyce Kilmer (1886–1918) and to Harper’s publisher Henry Mills Alden (1836–1919).

The county’s link to these two noteworthy figures rests with Ada Foster Murray Alden (1857–1936).

In 1868, Ada’s family moved to Botetourt from Craig County, the last of some 43 different moves that her father, Joseph Foster (1816–1880), made with a family of 10 children. He eventually purchased the 64‑acre farm located on the North Fork of Catawba Creek, about four miles outside Fincastle at the foot of Caldwell Mountain. They called the farm Edgebrook.

In an unpublished autobiography written in 1930, Ada, the youngest child, recalled that she was eleven years old when they arrived in the county. Her father died on the farm; her mother passed away in 1895 in Norfolk. Both are buried in Mt. Pleasants Cemetery in the White Church area of Botetourt. Joseph Foster, a teacher, was formerly the president of Marshall College in Huntington, West Virginia (now Marshall University).

For years the exact location of the Foster home was uncertain. An inquiry from John Foster to this writer led to a detailed examination of records in the Botetourt County Clerk’s Office and a discussion with an older landowner on the North Fork of Catawba. Based on this information, the property was found.

The children of the family sold the land in 1916, ending the Foster family’s direct connection with this particular parcel near Fincastle.

Ada painted a vivid picture of life at Edgebrook: “The rude, tiny house shaded by beech, sycamore, walnut and locust trees had a magnificent mountain for its background, with the Peaks of Otter in the blue distance. From our living room window the sunrise behind these three azure peaks and Caldwell’s Mountain was a real throne for the setting sun.”

She remembered stagecoaches passing by on their way from Bonsack to White Sulphur Springs via New Castle. “The large, rolling, gaudily painted coaches had such fanciful names as Ladybird and Fairy Bell. They also carried the mail, which made them the greatest element of romance in our almost hidden life,” she wrote. The family often welcomed travelers with cool water or homemade lemonade.

One memorable summer visit came from cousins Clarence Fonerden and “millionaire” Fred Van Bueren. To Ada, sophisticated city guests were a mark of distinction in their rural world. That summer the family also acquired its first carriage — “the dream of my worldly ambition.”

Ada also recalled visiting the Breckinridge family’s private library at Grove Hill, a plantation home just outside of Fincastle that burned in 1909.

According to her obituary, one of her earliest memories occurred before the family moved to Botetourt. In April 1861, her eldest brother brought home a newspaper bearing the black‑letter headline “War Declared.” Though opposed to slavery, her father decided at the outbreak of war that Virginia “had the first claim upon his loyalty.” Her eldest brother, Hopkins Barry Foster, was disabled in Confederate service, and another brother, 12‑year‑old Joseph Barrymore Foster, served as a drummer boy.

Ada married in 1874. Her husband was Kenton Murray, a “charming young gentleman” originally from the Coyner’s Springs area of Botetourt. They became acquainted when she submitted a poem to the Mobile Register, which Murray edited. He later became publisher of The Norfolk Landmark, a newspaper that ceased publication in 1911. Considered one of the best‑known newspaper men of the South, Murray was widely respected at the time of Ada’s death. The Murrays had five children, and when Kenton died in 1895 their son Kenton Foster Murray succeeded him as editor of the Landmark at just 19 years old.

In 1901, Ada married Henry Mills Alden, the longtime editor of Harper’s magazine. She described their meeting with playful charm: after deciding to submit her poems to northern magazines, she visited the Century Magazine office. Richard Watson Gilder, then editor of Century, called Henry Alden and reportedly said, “Were you able to do anything for that charming little widow I sent you with a lot of good poetry?” Alden’s reply: “Well yes, I married her.”

Alden shaped American letters for decades. With Harper’s from 1869 until his death in 1919, he edited countless stories and essays and maintained friendships with many of the era’s leading writers.

Ada was a literary figure in her own right. She published her first poem in the New York Evening Post at age 15 and continued writing throughout her life, contributing articles and editorials to newspapers including The Norfolk Landmark and The New York Times. One early editorial she wrote in 1876 advocating cremation sparked controversy and the withdrawal of advertisements, she later recalled.

She wrote and published poetry into her later years, and in her seventies received a National Poetry Society prize for her poem Unhearing. She was a member of the Poetry Society of America and the Women Poets of New York. Ada died of a heart attack at a son’s home in New York.

Her daughter, Aline Murray Kilmer, married poet Joyce Kilmer, best known for the beloved poem “Trees,” which he dedicated to his mother‑in‑law when it was first published.

With her personal accomplishments and her connections to literary figures like William Dean Howells, Mark Twain, and Woodrow Wilson, Ada Foster Murray Alden deserves a place on Botetourt County’s short list of notable historic figures. She joins such names as Mary Johnston (1870–1936), the best‑selling author of To Have and To Hold, who was writing during the same period.

References

Alden, Ada Foster Murray. Unpublished Autobiography, 1930. Botetourt County, Virginia. [Unpublished manuscript; exact source unknown].

Joyce Kilmer. Encyclopaedia Britannica. Accessed February 16, 2026. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Joyce-Kilmer.

Joyce Kilmer. Poetry Foundation. Accessed February 16, 2026. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/joyce-kilmer.

“Trees (poem).” Wikipedia. Last modified February 10, 2026. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trees_(poem).

Alden, Henry Mills. Wikipedia. Accessed February 16, 2026. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Mills_Alden.

Obituary of Ada Foster Murray Alden. The New York Times, 1936.

Howerytown - A Forgotten Community

With Virginia and the nation celebrating 250 years of freedom from England in 2026, I thought it might be fun to occasionally bring up some local history. At one time, Botetourt County stretched all the way to the Mississippi and into Wisconsin, which means my county's history is also the history of much of the nation.

Up until the early 1900s, an area between Amsterdam and Trinity in Botetourt County was known as Howerytown. The small community vanished after the Great Depression as the roads changed course.

Whatever was left was taken away when US 11 came through Troutville.

Perhaps the area’s great claim to fame occurred in 1872. At that time, the entire town was placed under a bond to keep the peace.

According to a New York Times article, the citizens were up in arms and for two days threw things at one another. “It was a war of the roses, in which the whole town was drawn, the forces on each side being about even,” the paper states. “The Magistrate, surrounded by all the majesty of the law, took up his position at Amsterdam, and dispatched his right bower, the constable, for the belligerent parties; but they, by virtue of more muscle and more numerous forces, closed the citadel and defied his authority.”

The standoff eventually ended and the parties involved “were put on their good behavior for one year, under the penalty of $100 each.”

Howerytown Road led, appropriately enough, to Howerytown. The road no longer exists. In the recent past, it has been mentioned by land surveyors as well as landowners along Sunset Avenue in Troutville who have expressed concerns about the possibility of that old route turning into a thoroughfare between US 220 and US 11.

Old folks recall a road that once led to the county seat.

It’s kind of remarkable how these old towns disappear. Botetourt County has many communities that are almost gone, including Trinity, Amsterdam, Nace, and others. They seem to vanish when no one is paying attention.

Additional information about Howerytown, which is thought to have existed at what is now the intersection of Trinity and Greenfield Roads, is sketchy. The area is also referenced as the Town of Greenville on some plats and in a few history books.

Jacob Howery (also Howry) purchased property from the Prestons (a famous Revolutionary War family) in the area in 1786 and 1794. He had a stagecoach inn and tavern on the southeastern corner of his land.

According to some reports, in 1795 he founded the town, requiring a perpetual quit rent of 1 shilling per annum for each lot.

In 1796 a Lutheran congregation organized at Howerytown in a home owned by the Rev. J. G. Butler, who also served in the Revolutionary War. Eventually this congregation became known as Brick Union.

By 1797 there were 24 landowners in the area. Among them were Christian Bower, Frederick Wegoner, Michael Minick, Frederick Shver, David Keslor, Abraham Custer, Benjamin Keslor, Benjamin Minick, Christopher Smith, John Poppy, John Highnor, Jr., Jacob Bishop, Christopher Cartish, Coonrad Moyer, Jospeh Heckman, John Ronecke, George Hepler, John Keslor, John Simmons, John Russel, Abraham Keslor, and David Linch.

Apparently Howery, Howry and Howrey are all the names of immigrants from Switzerland and Germany. They anglicized their surname from Hauri or Haury. 

Jacob Howery migrated to Virginia from Pennsylvania.

It is thought that the town’s founder is buried somewhere on the town property, but his grave has long vanished.

In its heyday, the town likely had houses, a tavern, a grocery store and a restaurant.

Now, it's just a memory.

The Botetourt County Courthouse

With Virginia and the nation celebrating 250 years of freedom from England in 2026, I thought it might be fun to occasionally bring up some local history. At one time, Botetourt County stretched all the way to the Mississippi and into Wisconsin, which means my county's history is also the history of much of the nation.

Botetourt County Courthouse 2024

Our county courthouse renovation has caused quite a stir among the local citizens. Many opposed the construction of a new facility because the old courthouse building was an iconic feature of Fincastle, the county seat.

However, the story of Botetourt County’s courthouse is not a simple tale of an old building finally giving way to time. It is a long cycle of loss, rebuilding, and adaptation, stretching back more than 250 years.

Botetourt’s first courthouse dates to the 1770s, when county business was conducted in a log structure that reflected the realities of a frontier region. When Botetourt was formed, this area was basically the wild west.

By 1820, the county had grown enough to warrant a permanent structure. That year former president Thomas Jefferson designed a new courthouse for Botetourt and sent the plans from Monticello. His influence would linger far longer than that single building.

In the 1840s, a more substantial Greek Revival courthouse rose in Fincastle. Built between 1841 and 1848, it became the architectural centerpiece of the town. This courthouse carried forward some of Jefferson’s original design and stood for more than a century. 

That ended in 1970, when the courthouse was destroyed by fire. In the immediate aftermath, historians feared that Botetourt’s records, some dating back to colonial times, had been lost. According to the Virginia Department of Historic Resources, those documents survived because they were stored in a secure vault. The fear of the loss of records to fire forced the Virginia General Assembly to pass legislation requiring deeds, wills, and other vital records to be copied and microfilmed, with the duplicates sent to the Library of Virginia in Richmond for safekeeping.

The courthouse itself, though, had to be replaced. In 1975, a new building went up on the same site. Although it looked old, it was not. Designed as a modern structure wrapped in historical clothing, it incorporated the four surviving columns from the 19th-century courthouse and echoed Jefferson’s proportions and layout. 

For 50 years, that building served the county. Over time, however, its limitations became impossible to ignore. It did not meet the requirements of the Americans with Disabilities Act, for one thing. Nor could it be adapted to modern security standards. Mold infestation became a persistent problem, and water leaks plagued both the roof and the walls. The courthouse may have looked solid, but it was no longer safe or functional for the people who worked there daily, including judges, clerks, and staff, or for members of the public who regularly conducted business inside.

Under Virginia law, specifically §15.2-1643, counties are required to provide adequate courthouse facilities. Botetourt had little choice. Repairing the building was not feasible given the extent of the damage and the lack of space. If the county had not acted, the judiciary could have ordered the construction of a new courthouse anyway.

A rendering of the new courthouse alongside the old structure.

By this point, the county’s historic records were no longer stored on paper alone. They are now preserved digitally, a direct descendant of the reforms prompted by the 1970 fire. Still, the building that housed them had reached the end of its useful life.

In May 2025, the 1975 courthouse was dismantled. Construction is now underway on a new facility, part of a $35.7 million project. When completed, the new courthouse is expected to look much like the ones that came before it, continuing the architectural thread that began with Jefferson more than two centuries ago. Completion is projected for July 2027.

Throughout all these changes, one thing has remained constant. The Botetourt County Courthouse has long drawn genealogists and historians. They know that the county's early records apply not only to Virginia, but to places that are now entire states away. The building itself may keep changing, but the county courthouse remains a keeper of history. Our legacy will survive.

Future-Casting

A friend challenged me, more or less, to make predictions about our locality for the upcoming year.

The county is feeling pressure in multiple areas. The south, particularly the Daleville area, keeps growing and creeping north. The high schools are past their fiftieth birthdays, and we have a $35 million courthouse construction project underway in the county seat.

Add to that the wind power on the mountain in Eagle Rock and its opponents, the probable Google data center at the Botetourt Center at Greenfield and the need to find water for that, along with two new supervisors, and you have a cauldron boiling that might tip over - one way or the other.

Any of the projects underway, and the ones not yet known, could change the county in ways people haven’t fully sorted out yet.

With new people on the Board of Supervisors comes new energy and the usual mix of ambition and learning curves. I've never seen new people yet take those seats and manage to do anything they campaigned on. Once in office, new leaders suddenly discover that there's a lot more to it than just yelling from a bully pulpit. Virginia is a Dillon Rule state, and that means that the county can only do what the Virginia legislature says it can do. All of those empty promises made on the campaign trail? They'll turn out to be just words.

That always happens, though. After 40 years of reporting on this kind of thing, I'm well aware that new supervisors have a big learning curve. On top of that, we've got a loud bunch of, well, complainers seems like an appropriate word - who are likely to make meetings louder and more animated, and they will continue to do so until these supervisors figure out what they can and cannot do under Virginia’s rules. 

At the same time, the county administration may see some changes in leadership, which could shake up how projects are managed and priorities are set. I for one look for the county administrator to leave. He's fulfilled his mission - Greenfield is full now and the county doesn't have a new industrial site on tap that I am aware of. With the cost of the courthouse and the needs of the school system, I don't see how the county could justify another multi-million-dollar purchase of land to prepare for another industrial park.

Especially not when they need to find eight million gallons of water for that data center. Maybe they find a new way to cool it, and maybe not. Either way, how we manage our water resources could determine how smooth - or not - that process ends up being. It may also end up being expensive.

I have a suspicion that, like the Craig Botetourt Scenic Trail (a rails-to-trails project that has been in the works since the 1970s is finally under way), another project known as Hipes Dam might get another look. That's pure speculation on my part, but if I remember that project existed, you can bet others remember it too. I think it would have to be redone to keep the new lake from wiping out the rails-to-trails project, but ultimately it would complement that if recreational tourism is a goal not only for Botetourt but also for Craig. Unfortunately, it would also wipe out a bunch of small farms and the cabins along Craig Creek.

That's in the northern end of the county. Further south, Daleville is changing fast. New apartments and some retail makes the area feel almost like a proper little hub now. However, the area is missing a fire station yet, which is starting to feel like a glaring gap. There are also rumors of a larger development near the I-81 and US 220 interchange, and if that ever takes shape, the area could look very different in just a few years.

The schools are another piece of the puzzle. Both high schools need work, if not replacement. Consolidation could modernize things, but that would put a high school near the I-81 Exit 156 interchange, feasibly, and I'm not sure that's the best place to park a high school. However, even though growth is currently mainly in the southern part of the county, between northern trails, possible dams, and whatever other surprises show up, the county might start to feel more balanced in the years ahead.

At the end of the day, none of this is set in stone. Some of it will happen, some of it won’t. What matters most is that residents pay attention, talk with each other - nicely, please - and make their voices heard. Botetourt is lucky in that it has room to grow, but our leaders must navigate the changes carefully, thoughtfully, and with a little foresight.

Watching History Turn to Rubble

When I first saw the photos of the demolition at the White House East Wing, I felt a physical ache, almost like watching a part of democracy itself being beaten with a massive piece of machinery. The White House is not just a building. It is a living record of the people and ideals that have passed through it. Seeing part of it torn down, despite assurances that it would remain intact, feels like losing something that belonged to all of us.

Many people felt the same way here locally when our county courthouse was demolished earlier this year. The Botetourt County Courthouse, though, was not the historic structure many seemed to think it was. It was a replica, built in 1975 after a 1970 fire destroyed the 1848 building. That 1970 fire was our version of watching a wrecking ball smash through the People’s House, the White House.

The county courthouse in 2018.

Tearing down the Botetourt County Courthouse

The Botetourt County Courthouse that recently fell had serious issues: black mold, poor construction, and cramped space. It was an imitation in many ways, more a copy of history than history itself.

When the county decided to rebuild, the process was deliberate. Phase 1 funding was approved in 2022, the project was carefully planned and phased, and records show that the public could have followed along if they had been paying attention. 

County officials met with Town of Fincastle officials and brought in local historians for meetings. It was a years-long process. And while they did not hold public hearings – legally, there was no need to do that – they did let the public know what was coming.

Additionally, the county made an attempt to salvage or preserve some elements of the historic aesthetic so the new courthouse would honor the past while serving today’s needs.

I understood the grief and frustration that many exhibited as the county courthouse came down, though. It was a beautiful building. It did seem a waste that it lasted no longer than 50 years. 

I also knew the courthouse replacement was a difficult but necessary decision.

The White House

Removing the East Wing of the White House feels different, and while I am seeing people on one side laugh at people on the other (the same people who were upset that the county courthouse was demolished see nothing wrong with tearing down the White House, it appears), what I don’t see is process.

This is what should have happened: there should have been an initial proposal that went through various channels, followed by an historic review, the planning and environmental oversight, an aesthetic review, and final authorization. None of that seems to have taken place.

The current administration decided, unilaterally, to remove historic elements and construct a $300 million (and rising) ballroom. There was no public consultation, no effort to preserve the original structure. It feels brazen and unnecessary, as if a piece of shared memory, a civic soul, has been erased for personal vision. As I watched part of the White House turn to rubble, I did not just mourn the building; I mourned the disregard for history itself.

The difference between these two experiences is clear. One was deliberate, a balance between practicality and preservation. The other is a stark reminder that even the most iconic structures can be treated as expendable when care and oversight are absent.

In the end, it is heartbreaking to see how carelessness can destroy in a day what reverence built over generations.

The East Wing removed. Photo from financialexpress.com

Mountain Magic

The other week, we went to the Mountain Magic festival that is held in the other end of the county every year.

We saw lots of old cars.

They also had crafters, a place for the kids to play, and music:

Historic Fincastle Festival

Saturday was the date of the annual Historic Fincastle Festival, a time when crafters, history interpreters, and others all come together to showcase the town.

It was a little different this year. First, the courthouse is just a pile of rubble, since the county has torn it down to make way for a new one. That's not exactly a picturesque setting.

Second, the weather forecast was dire.

We were getting ready about 10:30 to head to the festival when I realized my glasses had something wrong with them. I picked them up and they broke in half at the weld on the bridge.

After much scrambling through drawers, I found an old pair of glasses that looked close to what I had, and we drove to Roanoke to LensCrafters to see if they could put my lenses in the old frames.

Fortunately, that worked out just fine. Whew.

It was about 2 p.m. when we finally arrived at the festival.

It was dead, or nearly there. Some tents with crafters remained, but we saw others packing up and leaving, even though there were still two hours to go.

Unbeknownst to us, some of the vendors had moved into one of the church's meeting halls, but there were no signs to indicate that, and we never went that far along the route.

It is never good when an event goes sour like this. The Fincastle Festival used to be a very big deal. Back in the 1980s and early 1990s, I feel sure at least 20,000 people visited the 2-day affair. It was a big money-maker for Historic Fincastle, Inc.

The festival then was so full of people, I could barely squeeze my way through the crowd. Kids ran all over the place and the craft booths overflowed with lookers and buyers.

But times change, and people grow old. The festival took a hiatus for a while in the 2000s, and returned as a smaller version of itself, just a one-day affair.

The weather makes a difference, too. A day like Saturday, when the clouds were dark and brooding, and rain drops splattered the windshield, doesn't exactly make anyone want to be outside.

Here are a few shots of the festival:

From the Springhouse to the City Tap

In 2013, my husband and I spent close to $100,000, along with weeks of sweat and labor, to fence our cattle out of the springs and ponds on our farm. We live on land that feeds Tinker Creek, and like many in our area, we’ve always known that the water starts around here. It bubbles up out of the ground, clear and cold, and gathers itself from every spring and seep along these Botetourt hillsides until it becomes something big enough to name.

We took on the project through the Mountain Castle Soil and Water Conservation District, with partial help from federal cost-share programs. But a lot of it came straight out of our pockets. My husband laid miles of pipe by hand, running water from a well to troughs so the cows could drink without stepping into the streams. We did it because it was the right thing to do for our land, for the wildlife, for the water downstream.

That water, of course, ends up in Carvins Cove.

Most folks around here know that the reservoir sits just over the line in Roanoke County, but part of it is actually in Botetourt. What many forget - or maybe never knew - is that the water in Carvins Cove is largely Botetourt water. Tinker Creek, Catawba Creek, and dozens of smaller veins start here, not in the city. Springs like ours feed them. The Tinker Creek diversion tunnel, built decades ago, rerouted that water into the reservoir. With the turn of a valve, it went under the mountain.

Botetourt County officially joined the Western Virginia Water Authority in 2015, but that doesn’t erase what came before. Back in the 1930s and '40s, Roanoke City needed water. It looked north, acquired the land, and built the dam. The community of Carvins Cove was condemned and flooded out. Families lost their homes. The city owned the reservoir and, for decades, controlled the flow without asking much of the county where the water began.

Now, Botetourt citizens pay the same rate for water as anyone else in the region. That’s how the Water Authority works: a uniform rate for a shared system. Fair on paper, maybe. But it still bothers me. We protect the source. We fund the conservation. We watch the rain fall here, the springs rise, the runoff roll downhill—and then county residents on public water pay the same as folks whose water comes through miles of pipe and a whole other county. (We are on a well, not public water.)

To me, for the folks who have to use the water that originates here, that feels a little like buying your own apples back from the store.

I understand how infrastructure works, and I understand the need for regional partnerships. What I don’t understand is why there’s still so little public acknowledgment of where the water comes from and who’s been caring for it all this time.

Carvins Cove is one of the largest municipal parks in the country now. A conservation easement protects over 11,000 acres around it. People hike and bike there, unaware that the water under their feet may have started in a cow pasture ten miles away where someone like us chose not to let the cows walk through it.

Water is going to become more important than ever in the years ahead. Google in June bought 312 acres in Botetourt County to possibly build a data center. There’s been talk about infrastructure, power, and taxes—but not much yet about where the water’s going to come from. I can tell you this much: it’s not going to come from Roanoke. It’s going to come from us. From our farm and all the farms around us who have springs that flow on into Tinker Creek.

And we’ll still be here watching the deer, walking our fields, and keeping our springs clean. Whether anyone says thank you or not.

Google Comes

Yesterday the county Board of Supervisors announced that Google has purchased 314 acres from the business complex known as the Botetourt Center at Greenfield.

The county sold the acreage for a total of:

$18 million from the land sale and Google’s additional contributions will go toward a slew of projects, including:

$4.9 million for new fire trucks and ambulances,

$3.6 million toward a community events center,

$3.5 million to renovate the Buchanan library branch,

$2.6 million toward the county sheriff’s office purchase of body cameras and less-lethal weapons, and

$2 million for the county public school system to use as it chooses.

Money will also go toward new tennis courts, pickleball courts and soccer field lighting at the Botetourt Sports Complex; an E-911 dispatch center; and a new home for the Botetourt County Historical Museum.

That's according to an article in Cardinal News but given that I watched the presentation via online streaming, the numbers seem correct to me, except that the land sale was actually $14 million and change. Google gave another $4 million for community projects, so the $18 million figure includes more than just the purchase price. Still, the extra $4 million was generous of them.

Additional information about the purchase can be found on the county's website here: FAQS.

There was a lot of backslapping about the foresight of a previous Board who went against public outcry and purchased the 900+ acres that made up the Greenfield complex. About 750 acres of that went toward industry, while the remainder went to a new elementary school and recreational facilities, including the Botetourt Sports Complex.

I was one of those people who, at least behind the scenes, was not in favor of this project. Greenfield is not that far from where I live. The property Google purchased is behind me. Not so close that I could hit it with a rock, but close enough that I could walk to it, if I were of a mind to trespass on others' lands and wander through the woods to get there.

At the time, I was freelancing and writing for The Herald, and I attended the meetings as a news reporter. I may have written a column or two opposing the purchase; I honestly don't remember as that was over 30 years ago. I do recall not liking the project.

However, the option was a big subdivision full of McMansions as the property was going to be sold regardless of the purchaser, as I recall. McMansions aren't much of a tax base, while industry at least has the potential to be. It becomes not so helpful when the state and/or the county give away corporate welfare of public tax dollars to lure industries to our community.

I spent a lot of time talking to the county administrator at the time, as well as members of the Board of Supervisors, about what I, as a taxpayer and life-long resident of the county, would like to see. The property held a great deal of historic significance, and after much discussion the county agreed to try to maintain an historic area on the property. Then came the gift of property to the school system so they could build Greenfield Elementary and the ballfield construction.

There is also the Cherry Blossom Trail, which many people use for walking and jogging. I've been on it a few times, and it's a lovely route and well-maintained.

Once the county purchased the property, I pivoted and went all in. There was nothing else to do, really, except hope to convince the county leaders that it was in the best interest of all to see that we had development that was not transient and ugly. I urged for green preservation spaces around the industries, survival of a wetland pond there, and upkeep of the historic structures that remained on the property.

I remember that Bob Bagnoli, who is no longer with us, urged the county to build a training center. They listened, and for a long time Virginia Western had a satellite location there. It is now the county administration offices, with Virginia Western's remaining courses (welding, I think), shunted off to the side.

I did not get everything I wanted when I spoke with the supervisors and county administration. Neither did anyone else. The county was lax in upkeep of the historic structures, particularly the Bowyer House and the 1800s structures where enslaved persons worked and lived on this piece of property. I brought attention to the lack of upkeep via the newspaper on several occasions, and each time the county would step up for a while and then forget again that there are some of us who live here who love our history.

The worst thing the county did was move the historic structures of the enslaved people, relocating them to another place in the park. I wasn't writing then for the newspaper at that time, and I spoke out in letters to the editor about this. Many people tried to stop the relocation of these structures, but we did not succeed, and the structures have not been renovated. I have my doubts that they ever will be, at least, not in my lifetime, and I don't know if there will be anything left of them by the time these old buildings go through historic heat waves, freezing cold, major downpours from thunderstorms, and other weather events.

Greenfield was the name of the plantation/farm owned by Colonel William Preston. Preston purchased Greenfield in 1759 and lived there until 1774 when he moved to Smithfield in present day Montgomery County. In 1775, he was one of the signers of The Fincastle Resolutions, one of the first documents to support the creation of the Continental Congress prior to 1776.

Six of Preston’s 12 children were born at Greenfield, and his legacy has left a large footprint on the nation. Preston descendants founded six universities and influenced two others - Columbia College, now the University of South Carolina, and the University of Chicago.

Additionally, Preston’s descendants served in the Virginia House of Delegates and in the U.S. Congress. His son, James Patton Preston, served as governor of Virginia from 1816-1819.

Because of this legacy, Preston has been memorialized by the Fincastle Resolutions Chapter of the Sons of the American Revolution (SAR) with a garden area at Greenfield County Administration Building.

His legacy as well as historic interpretations of plantation life, including Preston's ownership of slaves, would be explored in depth at the designated historic area at some future date.

We learned that the county is planning to move the Botetourt County History Museum to Greenfield, ostensibly where the enslaved historic structures have been relocated. That's a $6.5 million project that is being funded mostly by the state, with Google throwing in the $500K.

These are big plans for the county, and I don't expect to see movement on them in the immediate future. We will see how things look five years down the road.