Here is a poem submitted by Sadie (Ramey) Bove about some of our Potter boys and their encounter with a WITCH.


The Witch of the Garden Hole
While sitting one day in the Cumberland Gorge
With Andy and Sol and Shade and George
There to me was a story told
Concerning a witch at the Garden Hole
Twas Shade or George cannot remember which
Said by grabs he knew that witch
Because she roamed the Cumberland Hill 
and busted up his moonshine still
She stirred the mash with a sassafras club
Until it ran over the tub
Then stopped the condenser with a rag
And broke a stave in the thumping keg
Then straddling her club she rode away
Up Grassy Creek and down Conna Way
Then Up Card Creek to the top of the hill
Down Beaver Creek to Potters Mill
There she rested and sat around
Until at last the sun went down
She gathered her club and brushed off her frock
And slipped on down to Bowens Rock
And through Elkhorn without a track
On her way back to her ramshakle shack
Passing by Potter Flats on her way
She was home by the break of day
Now Sol was logging I was told
From Rattlesnake Ledge to the Garden Hole
And here is the way his story goes
A hog grabbed his oxen by the nose
Sol coaxed his oxen to relax
Then jumped to the log for his two bit ax
He struck with that ax and swore plime blank
He split that hog from flank to flank
While the hog was rolling on the ground
Sol and his oxen was prancing around
But Sol cannot say even til this day
How that hog jumped up and ran away
Then he and his oxen went on with the log
Trailing behind was old Tige his dog
He was rolling the log in the Big Sandy stream
When from the shack below he heard a scream
He rushed to the shack and pushed open the door
There was the witch stretched out on the floor
Her ugly wound she tried to hide
But Sol saw the prints of the ax in her side
She asked for water Sol said "no"
You should have died a long time ago
She turned her head with tear filled eyes
And bid old Sol a sad goodbye
They buried her late in the evening hours
In a lonely grave below The Towers
And folks there say most any night
Above her grave they see a light
Now if this sounds fantastic don't criticize me
For the unholy witch I never did see
I got my story in the Cumberland Gorge
From Andy and Sol and Shade and George

                          By: WALTER TIPTON 


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