Falls Mills, Virginia in Tazewell County (not to be confused with Falls Mill, West Virginia, in Braxton County) has not changed much in the last 100 years. You still have to be looking for it to find it. I drove right past it many times not knowing the significance this place served in my history. While driving down highway 120 between Pocahontas and Bluefield you will see a small white sign, the size of a street sign, but only if you are looking in the right direction at the right time. If you drive too fast you are not going to have the chance to read signs. The road winds up and down the mountain sides, encouraging the driver to enjoy too much speed. This area is popular with motorcyclists.

From the road there is not much to see other than trees, rolling hills, rock cliffs, a glimpse here and there of creeks and rivers and the mark of Norfolk and Southern following 120 just to the north. You can not see the lake, fed by the Bluestone River unless you turn south on Mud Fork Road. The mill, for which Falls Mills was named survived the “Engagement at Falls Mills”, when the cavalry unit under Major Andrew J. May thwarted Union plans to burn it in 1863, does not exist anymore. All that is left is the retaining wall and of course the lake. If you would like to see a bird's eye view click here> map. I saw mostly forest but the map shows that there are several huge meadows with houses beyond sight of the road. There are a few small homes close to the secondary roads, but no sign of inhabitance other than vehicles parked outside and smoke curling from chimneys in winter. Bring your fishing pole and a picnic lunch!

This story began there on June 24, 1914 as told by Elizabeth Elmore McGee Foster Wyner.

The day that I was born, my Mother got up and went about her chores, like every other day. One of the first things she had to do was milk the cow and collect eggs for breakfast. While she was milking the cow, she was knocked from her milking stool. That is how labor started.

She did not make a fuss. She finished milking, gathered her eggs and made breakfast for her children before she sent for the doctor. Soon the house was full of women and bustling with activity. They assembled, each one experienced in the art of taking care of a laboring mother. Some came to take care of the children or to do chores and some brought food.

With so much going on, no one noticed that a little brown hen had slipped into the house. She quietly found her way, unnoticed, to my mother’s room, where she settled at the foot of the bed.

After I was born, everyone came to my mother’s bedside to see me for the first time. While my mother showed her new baby to her family and friends that little hen began clucking, stood up and presented the egg she had just laid.

I am sure that most of you are asking, “Why would they give this little girl the name Elmore?” Elmore was the doctor’s name. He was so enchanted by the beauty of this baby that he asked if he could take her for his own. Her mother, Martha Mae Bradley McGee and father, John Kelly McGee agreed to name her for the doctor and kept their baby.