Kingsport Spirit

As I delve into my family tree, small details breathe life into the stories of my ancestors. They seem like fictional characters, yet they are my flesh and blood. I marvel at the hardships they endured and feel grateful for the relative safety and predictability of my own life.

Take my maternal grandfather, Charles Blaine Burchfield, for instance. Known as C.B. or Blaine, he passed away in 1965 at the age of 79, when I was just 3 ½ years old. I don’t recall him holding me or sitting on his lap, though I’ve heard stories of it. His death was the first I remember, not because I understood it, but because my mama cried—a rare and unforgettable moment. My grandmother, Bessie Myers Burchfield, lived on for 31 years after his passing, nearly reaching her 104th birthday.

My grandfather’s life was marked by early loss. Born a twin, he lost both his mother, Martha Bradshaw Burchfield, and his twin sister (Blannie) before his first birthday. The twins were the youngest of 11 children, born when Martha was 38, and my great-grandfather, William Thomas Burchfield, was 41. After their mother’s death, my grandfather was raised by his eldest brother, Samuel Jackson Burchfield, who was 19 at the time and went on to have 13 children of his own.

In 1900, the census shows my grandfather, then 14, living with Samuel in Hawkins County, Tennessee. By 1910, at age 24, he had moved to Butler County, Ohio, presumably for work. My grandmother, meanwhile, received her teaching certificate at 15 in 1908 and entered East Tennessee State University for one semester in 1912 at age 19. Her mother passed during the summer, and she never returned to college.

By 1914, my grandfather had returned to Hawkins County and married my grandmother, who was now 21. They welcomed their first child, Elsie Marie, in 1915. Over the years, the family moved between Tennessee and Ohio, eventually settling in Sullivan County, Tennessee, where my grandfather worked at Mead Paper. Their family grew to include 11 children, though they tragically lost one, John David (“Little John”), at just 17 months. My mom always visited his gravesite annually. She taught me to carry on the tradition. That’s how impactful it is to lose a child.

My mom, born in 1931 in Kingsport, was among the younger children. After World War II, my grandparents moved to Gray, Georgia (near Macon), where my grandfather and eldest uncle worked at a paper mill. Three of my aunts were married, so they stayed in Tennessee. My mom was still in high school, so she lived with her sister, Audrey Burchfield Poe. It was during this time that she met my dad at Silver Lake in Church Hill. They eloped in 1948 when she was 16, beginning a love story that lasted 66 years.

When my grandfather passed away in 1964, his body was returned to Surgoinsville for burial at Long’s Bend Cemetery. My grandmother, then 72, spent her remaining years rotating between her children’s homes. During her stays with my family, I cherished our lunchtime conversations, often asking her about her early life.

She once described her childhood home along the Holston River at McPheeter’s Bend. Until age seven, she lived in a one-room log house with a loft where she and her five sisters slept. On winter nights, snow would blow under the eaves onto their beds. A smaller cabin connected by a covered walkway served as the kitchen and dining area, surrounded by outbuildings for livestock and supplies. Later, her father built a larger frame house with a more practical layout.

As I uncover these fragments of family history, I am reminded that the past is more than just dates and records; it’s a tapestry of love, loss, and resilience. Each story deepens my connection to those who came before me, inspiring me to honor their legacy by preserving these memories for future generations.