My aunt asked after reading my previous article what I was going to write about next? I said that I didn’t know, and her reply was, “you have lived in Moatstown long enough you should write that story.” I do live on the outskirts of Moatstown but not in Moatstown itself. What I am writing is what I have been told by those who lived in this area many years before I came on the scene, and what I have been a part of for the past 63 years.
The first two people I remember knowing from Moatstown were Roscoe Moats and Ralph Anderson. The Hiner ladies who owned the farm we lived on hired them to help my daddy one summer to help with the hay making. Roscoe had a most hearty laugh and was very sociable while Ralph was very quiet. Anyone who knew Ruby Moats, Roscoe’s sister, and ever heard her laugh knows what I mean.
After I married my husband and moved back to Pendleton County, I met and got to know many of his friends and neighbors in Moatstown. Bid and his mother often talked about Alice Anderson and Bid was very fond of her. He talked about how she took care of him. He was seven at the time his sister was born. Alice would bundle him up to keep him warm and slept in the bed with him. This was in the middle of January—and this house was the second coldest house I ever slept in.
My mother-in-law would churn butter and would always save the buttermilk for Noah Moats who lived above our Floyd Meadow. She would put it in a half gallon jar, and I would walk up through the meadow and take it to him. When the hogs were butchered, the family would share meat with the Cam Moats family. He lived on top of the mountain. I don’t know if there is a name as all I ever heard it called was the Moats Ridges. He lived there with his family and Roscoe and Ruby were two of his children.
Cam would make baskets and sell them. Our family had one of his baskets that burned when Bid’s home burned. Cam also lost his home and all the family owned to a fire. The community came together and built a new house down in the hollow for the Moats family.
I would often visit this house on a regular basis while helping with the kindergarten program at Franklin Elementary as one of our students lived there with the family. His grandmother, Gladys, would be cooking something on the wood stove.
I would drive up the hollow most days, but I did walk straight up the mountain behind my house one time. I mean straight up! I never knew the name for this hollow until the 911 addresses were started, and it was known as Dark Hollow. The view from the top of that mountain is breathtaking. On a clear day you can see the Thorn Creek Valley, both Thorns, all the way south.
One special person to our family was Eliza Jane Moats who baby-sat for my late grandson, Derek. She would come just as we left for work and care for him until evening. She would put him in the stroller and push him up the road and then they would go down the road. Her granddaughter, the late Kristi Jones, would be with her a lot of the time. Eliza Jane would often take the two children to Sinnett Lane Grocery.
I would visit Melvin and Myrtle Moats—they always seemed to enjoy my visits and I felt very welcome. Myrtle worked on the election board one time, and she said that wasn’t for her and didn’t work on the board again.
Grace also worked on the election board for a few years. One morning the rest of us working the election board had everything ready to open the polls and no Grace. We didn’t have any telephone service, so I came home to call. I didn’t get any answer, so I headed back to the youth building. I spotted Grace parked at St. John’s Church. She had gone to the wrong place and was wondering where the rest of us were.
Melvin Moats, Jr., (Rat) became like one of our family after he moved back to Moatstown. He would help Mike with the hay making and other farm chores. I used to walk two miles a day and if he was going to Harrisonburg, Virginia, and happened to see me, he would always stop to say hello, ask how I was, and if there was anything he could bring me. That’s a friend.
I got to know a lot of the children who called Moats-town home when they were students at Franklin Elementary and through the students, I got to know the parents. Two of those still living in Moatstown, Allen and Sam Moats, both take time to say hello whenever they see me. There aren’t many people left in Moatstown, but those who are, remain my neighbors and friends.
Every community, in my opinion, however small, has contributed something of value, and is worth mentioning to those of us still living. Moatstown was once home to a schoolhouse, a teacher, a pastor, basket makers, numerous persons who served in the military, and still performing is the Moatstown Choir. The Moatstown Choir continues to host the annual Moatstown Reunion in August, I believe, and dozens of family members return for that special day.
I can’t end this article without mentioning my friends, Noah and Gwen Moats. Noah was a special friend to Bid during his last years. They don’t live above the meadow anymore, but aren’t far away. This Noah is the grandson of the Noah I would take the buttermilk to all those years ago.
This is the Moatstown I have seen and heard about, and those I have known and still know who called Moatstown home. I know there is probably someone who grew up in Moatstown who could write a wonderful story about this once large, populated community in Pendleton County.
Violet R. Eye
