The Enduring Allure of Log Cabins

by

Log cabins, deeply rooted in regional lore, and perhaps to a somewhat lesser degree in our views of the American past and folkways in general, have an enduring and endearing allure. Mere mention of Abraham Lincoln brings to mind the moniker “Honest Abe,” and visions of a hardworking man raised in a log cabin. Lincoln was shrewd enough to realize that the imagery associated with his boyhood home was pure gold. It opened a sentimental highway straight to the hearts of countless voters of humble origins. 

Even stronger evidence of the manner in which simple cabins haunt our dreams, especially those of hardy mountain folks, is provided through song. Any lover of bluegrass, in particular, has lyrics where these simple structures are the focus of some song echoing through the mind’s corridors in persuasive profusion. For example, Wayne Erbsen, a regional musician, string instruments teacher, music historian, and blogger has a list of roughly three dozen “Log Cabin Songs” on his Native Ground website (nativeground.com). He even calls his band of students the “Log Cabin Band.”

Sometimes the words of songs in this genre are haunting while other lyrics resurrect warm, winsome memories of simpler days and ways. Cabins even figure in the promise of better times to come through the musical picture offered by the Queen of Bluegrass, Rhonda Vincent, in that land “Where No Cabins Fall” (Heaven). Maybe the two best known of all cabin songs are “Cabin on the Hill” and the similarly titled “Little Cabin Home on the Hill.” In the first of these the musical device of repetitive lyrics fills the listener’s soul with an almost tangible yearning “Just to simply wander back, to the cabin on the hill,” while in the latter the high, lonesome sound which is the quintessential characteristic of bluegrass has drawn the attention of a veritable Who’s Who of the genre. Among those with cuts of “Little Cabin Home on the Hill” are household names such as the Foggy Mountain Boys (Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs), Bill Monroe, Tony Rice, Ricky Skaggs, and numerous others. 

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Invariably, no matter what the song or who the singer, reflections on cabins seem bittersweet. They engender soulful thoughts of longing for a lost world while often bringing back cherished memories of good times associated with log cabins. In that regard I need go no farther than the life of my own father, who spent the most meaningful days of his youth in a cabin situated high up on Juney Whank Branch in what is now a part of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Today it is situated a bushwhacker’s country mile and then some from the nearest maintained trail, and even in my father’s time the location lay back of beyond. Yet Daddy was so enamored of that boyhood home, so brimming full to overflowing with warm recollections of the elemental lifestyle lived there with his parents and siblings, that he made the arduous trek to visit the home place until well in his 80s, and reminisced about it to the very end of his 101 earthly years.

Drawn to the mountains

These rather lengthy ramblings on cabins in the mountains (song titles notwithstanding, they were seldom located on hills; practicality meant a location in hollows, protected from the elements and situated where a spring was nearby) serve as an underlying explanation or background for one man’s remarkable interest in them. 

In 1952, Charles Rand, originally from New England where he spent his working years as a telephone engineer, retired and moved to Asheville with his wife. The couple fell in love with the city and surrounding mountains. For the first few years of their residency the Rands simply absorbed regional folkways, began to blend into the community through church and his participation in various singing groups, and by his own account Charles “went to the library and read every book they had which told about the mountains and the people.” With that background preparation Rand, as he approached 70, embraced a new hobby with all the eagerness and enthusiasm once associated with boys collecting stamps or baseball cards.

Driving around on country roads and exploring the mountain countryside, he developed a fascination with locating old log cabins. He searched for those of any all types, and soon developed considerable practical knowledge of various styles of cabin construction. He was particularly interested in matters of architectural design such as doors and windows; the materials used in building chimneys; and the way in which logs were laid, shaped, and fitted. He studied cabins which had been abandoned, but it is quite clear that, with each passing year, his keenest interest focused on those still occupied.

Soon, Ward’s fascination with log cabins morphed to something approaching fixation. He began to venture deeper into the remote hills and hollows, traveling rough roads and carrying a camera wherever he went with the idea of photographing cabins and, when possible, those who lived in them. Given the fact that backcountry residents had a reputation for being shy, introverted, and almost preternaturally distrustful of outsiders, Rand was able to establish a rapport with them. 

Establishing trust

In some senses, although he almost certainly would have been unaware of the fact, Rand was following in the footsteps of legendary linguist Joseph H. Hall. A couple of decades earlier, Hall had repeatedly visited the Smokies with a recording device and camera in hand. His primary purpose was to interview old timers in what would eventually become a wonderfully successful effort aimed at capturing their unique vocabulary—and means of expression—for posterity. Hall’s monumental researches, a landmark in linguistics and Appalachian studies, underlie a recently published work genuinely deserving the description tome (it runs to well over 1,200 pages), Dictionary of Southern Appalachian English, edited by the late Michael Montgomery and Jennifer Heinmiller. It is a significant expansion and updating of a widely heralded previous endeavor credited to Hall and Montgomery, Dictionary of Smoky Mountain English. 

Like Hall, who often carried some small gift he knew would be welcomed on his visits, Rand clearly possessed the type of personality required to establish trust with people likely to find strangers off putting. He did so with a ready smile, genuine interest in the folks living in cabins, and one of the surest ways to the heart of any staunch son or daughter of the high country, music. Like many before him, Rand found making music opened not only cabin doors but the hearts of those who called them home. 

As he traveled around the mountains, along with his camera Rand carried an autoharp. He utilized this old-time instrument, one which would have been quite familiar to many of the folks he approached, and united it with a pleasant singing voice to share grand old gospel songs and traditional favorites. As he put it, “the mountain people are all musical and have gatherings where they sing songs and ballads. They do appreciate the singing and ask me to come back again soon.”

Music often enamored cabin dwellers to Rand before he even mentioned the taking of photographs. He was astute enough to recognize that those in the quaint, remote cabins would immediately label him as a “furriner” or “outlander.” He needed to overcome that initial suspicion, and soon realized that first impressions meant a great deal. As he noted, “when you meet one of them (mountain folk) in front of his cabin, he gives you a stare and immediately forms an opinion of you which never changes.” Through music he invariably was able to garner a positive opinion and then gain permission to take photographs not only of the outside of cabins but of the interior, and often the residents, as well.

Poignant reminders

Beginning in 1957 and continuing until his death in August 1962, Rand searched diligently for mountain cabins. An article on his endeavors in a March 1961 issue of the Asheville Citizen-Times indicates that, at that point in time, he had located and photographed close to 200 different cabins. In the final months of his life he placed almost 500 of his images, all of them black-and-white prints measuring 3 ½ inches by 3 ½ inches, in an album. The prints show the month and year they were processed, some are labeled on the reverse, and Rand includes some descriptive notes on the album pages. 

The images vary in quality and it is obvious that the photographer was no professional. Almost certainly, Rand’s camera was a fairly simple point-and-shoot variety, and he photographed without any advance equipment. He may have done some adjustment when it came to shutter speed, since the depth of field often is quite good, and the same holds true for using a flash for light with indoor images. The images of cabins and their residents, as opposed to scenic views, waterfalls, bears, and tourist establishments, are the best of his efforts. They comprise perhaps 80 percent of the collection.

Rand’s photographs offer, in meaningful and sometimes almost magical fashion, a visual link to what every son and daughter of the Smokies, every boy of the Balsams and girl of the Nantahalas once cherished.

Through his photographs we are offered a powerful, poignant reminder of the wisdom of an old historian’s adage: “You can’t know where you are going if you don’t know where you’ve been.” Charles Rand showed us, through the medium of photography, where our forebears had been.

About the author: Jim Casada is a son of the Smokies and a full-time freelance writer. His most recent book is the IPPY award-winning A Smoky Mountain Boyhood: Memories, Musings, and More, and his next work, Fishing for Chickens: A Smokies Food Memoir, is currently in press. To learn more about these and his other books or to sign up for his free monthly e-newsletter, visit jimcasadaoutdoors.com.

The Charles Rand Collection of Cabin Photographs

The photography of Charles Rand first came to my attention in circuitous fashion. His granddaughter, Nancy Downing, had fond memories of accompanying him on some of his cabin-hunting expeditions when she was a child, and she eventually come into possession of his images, along with a supporting selection of post cards showing cabins. Realizing the material had potential historical value, she contacted the publisher of this magazine, Scott McLeod. Knowing I had grown up in the region and had an abiding interest in its people and folkways, Scott got in touch with me to suggest that they might make fine fodder for an article.

This piece is the end result, but that isn’t the entire story. Nancy Downing also wondered how the collection might be best preserved for posterity. Having been in regular contact with the folks in Special Collections at Western Carolina University (WCU), first George Frizzell and more recently, since George’s retirement, Jason Brady, I had a ready recommendation. I knew they would be keenly interested in acquiring the images, and with the publication of this piece Rand’s material will go to WCU for processing, perhaps digitizing, and inclusion in an outstanding and growing collection of images which open a fascinating window to the world of the North Carolina mountain past. I have to believe Charles Rand would be delighted.

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