highway expansion and landscape change in east tennessee...highway expansion and landscape change in...

Highway Expansion and Landscape Changein East Tennessee

byDouglas A. Hurt

U. S. Highway 321 meets Interstate 40near the economically troubled town ofNewport, Tennessee.1 A short cut throughthe decaying downtown avoids the con-gested interstate interchange and theexpected cluster of fast food joints andchain hotels. Several stoplights and abone-jarring ride over two railroad trackslater, Highway 321 crosses the PigeonForge River and narrows as it windsnortheastward along the periphery of theGreat Valley of East Tennessee. On a clearday, the rounded, forested SmokyMountains are visible to the east, althoughthe curvy, hilly, and narrow road (oftenwithout shoulders) is not conducive tolandscape appreciation.

Only a few tiny crossroad towns sitbetween Newport (population 7,242),county seat of Cocke County, and Greene-ville (population 15,198), county seat ofGreene County. The 25-mile drive betweenthese cities takes at least 30 minutes on themostly serpentine road. For many years,tobacco and corn patches, beef cattle, anda few dairying operations were commonon both sides of the road (Figure 2).

However, amidst the worn but well-keptfarmhouses and unpainted wood barnsthat line the road are a growing numberof shiny new houses and mobile homes,many on five to twenty acre lots. Peopleoccupy most of these new structures, butseasonal residents inhabit a noticeablenumber too.

Two landscapes are visible in this tran-sect of East Tennessee and each tellsobservers much about the past and poten-tial future of the region. The dominant oneis the traditional landscape of small-scalefamily agriculture where people live onand earn a living from the land. However,the secondary landscape constructed bylifestyle migrants and business interestsemphasizes economic progress and is rap-idly influencing the place personality ofthe region. Recent plans to expand U.S.Highway 321 from a winding, narrowtwo-lane road into a four-lane dividedhighway have exacerbated this divide asurban and suburban residents, recentlymoved retirees, and small-scale, long-termfarming families have reacted to theconstruction in vastly different manners.

Coupled with changes to nationaltobacco policy, the highway project hasundermined the region’s historic culturallandscape while promoting increasedaccessibility and economic develop-ment. Like other American regions, EastTennessee has evolved into a locationwhere residents compete to either shape amodernized landscape of progress andtechnological efficiency or maintain apredominantly agricultural landscape inhopes of supporting a greater degree oftraditional place identity.

Tradition

Abundant water supplies, fertile soil,and readily available timber attractedNative people to the southern Appala-chians. Early Mississippians lived andfarmed in the region’s floodplains beforeEuropean contact. After Hernando de Sotoexplored the Pigeon and French Broadriver systems of present-day East Tennes-see in 1540, disease and famine dispersedthe surviving Mississippians throughoutthe area. More recently, the Overhill

Figure 1: Location of the U.S. Highway 321 corridor in East Tennes-see. Map by author.

Figure 2: Great Valley of East Tennessee landscape in Cocke County.Photo by author, 2006.

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Cherokee lived, farmed, and hunted in theforests and river valleys of the regionbefore their removal to Indian Territorybeginning in the 1820s (Dykeman 1955;Davis 2000; Williams 2002).

In the 1770s, Euro-Americans, partic-ularly Scotch-Irish and PennsylvaniaGermans, began to settle the Valley ofEast Tennessee as they pushed over theridges of the Appalachians on the Wil-derness Road and followed the longitudi-nal valley southwestward. After arrivingin East Tennessee, these new occupantscreated small communities like Greene-ville and claimed small farms of severalhundred acres or less, keeping much oftheir acreage in forest (Dykeman 1955;Davis 2000). Although mountainous landwas not economically viable, valley acre-age—even though it was rolling insteadof flat—offered multiple agriculturaloptions. Farmers grew crops includingcorn, oats, rye, and wheat alongside cat-tle herds, although most agriculture wassubsistence in nature (Dykeman 1955;Davis 2000). By 1830, settlers had com-pleted the majority of their initial frontiersettlement. Diversified small-scale farmingdominated the economy of the area untilthe 1880s when commercial logging andmining expanded the regional economicbase (Wallach 1991; Davis 2000).

As the economy of East Tennesseeslowly evolved, the region developed areputation as an isolated and infrequentlychanging area. Until the 1820s the GreatValley was ‘‘land-locked and mountain-bound,’’ lacking easy road and water con-nections with agricultural markets to the

east across the Appalachians or to theMississippi River Valley to the west(Williams 2002, 147). The remote locationof East Tennessee continued to restricteconomic development throughout thenineteenth century. Still, some residents ofthe region worked to overcome the geo-graphic limitations of the area while otherlocals embraced their isolation. As onehistorian argued, two worlds emerged inEast Tennessee. A small group of wealthyurban business owners and a few commer-cial farmers pushed for economic expan-sion to create additional linkages with theregional and national economy while mostrural residents ignored efforts at economicdevelopment and practiced subsistenceagriculture and economic self-sufficiency(Hsiung 1997).

Only one agricultural activity, how-ever, became the ‘‘culture-defining crop’’for several generations of the region’sresidents (Wallach 1991, 72). Farmers hadgrown limited amounts of dark flue-curedtobacco since the initial Euro-Americansettlement of East Tennessee. After theCivil War, the regional silt-loam soilsderived from limestone favored specializa-tion in burley tobacco (Durand and Bird1950; Dykeman 1955; Hart and Mather1961). Beginning in the 1920s burleytobacco acreage dramatically expanded inEast Tennessee as demand for cigarettesincreased after World War I (Durand andBird 1950; Wallach 1981; Hart and Ches-tang 1996)

Subsistence farmers who had not pre-viously grown tobacco began to plant thecrop while others increased their tobacco

acreage (Durand and Bird 1950). Morefarmers acquired the specialized knowl-edge required for tobacco and then passedit from generation to generation. East Ten-nessee quickly cemented its role as core ofthe state’s burley growing and processing.The University of Tennessee ExtensionService established a tobacco experimentfarm in Greene County and the largesttobacco market in the state, with 15tobacco warehouses by 1950, emerged inGreeneville (Durand and Bird 1950;Dykeman 1955). By 1950, more than 70percent of East Tennessee farms grewtobacco (Durand and Bird 1950).

Limited, inexpensive infrastructureand high profit margins negated thedownside of tobacco farming—the inten-sive year-round hand labor required togrow the crop. Cash-strapped family farm-ers could simply make more money fromburley production than from dairy cattle,beef cattle, or other crops. However,because of the exceptional labor demandsof tobacco and the region’s rolling topog-raphy, farm sizes were small and farmersgrew the crop in small patches rotated fre-quently to preserve soil nutrients. Typi-cally, a family could only work five toseven acres of tobacco without hiring addi-tional labor (Hart and Chestang 1996).Many farmers cultivated a much smalleracreage. Small patches with green linearrows of tobacco and unpainted woodentobacco barns needed for air curing thecrop to a golden brown in the fall becameubiquitous features on the rolling terrainof the Great Valley (Figure 4). Surround-ing the small, orderly tobacco patches

Figure 4: Cut tobacco air curing in an unpainted wooden barn inGreene County. Farmers will transport the golden brown tobacco to aGreeneville warehouse for sale at auction in late fall. Photo by author,1997.

Figure 3: Tobacco acreage in Greene County. Patches of this size werecommon throughout the region from the 1920s until the end of federaltobacco price supports in 2004. Photo by author, 1995.

Summer 2010 FOCUS on Geography 73

were seemingly disorganized fields (oftenlying fallow) and woodlands on acreagetoo steep for agriculture.

The federal quota and price supportsystem created by the Agricultural Adjust-ment Act of 1933 (and subsequent legisla-tion) preserved this landscape. Thanks tofederal regulation, the only way to growtobacco beginning in 1933 was to purchaseor lease land assigned a quota thatallowed for a specific number of poundsof tobacco to be grown. In exchange, thefederal government guaranteed a mini-mum payment for the crop through theBurley Stabilization Corporation in anattempt to balance supply and demand fortobacco (Durand and Bird 1950; Birdsall2001). Warehouses in Greeneville storedtobacco until inspectors graded the cropand auctioneers sold it to the highest bid-der, typically cigarette companies whoused burley in all forms of tobacco prod-ucts except cigars (Hart and Mather 1961).

Thanks to price supports, the federal gov-ernment kept the price of tobacco artifi-cially high. Economic stability resultedand the region’s tobacco landscape chan-ged slowly.

Not surprisingly, visitors to East Ten-nessee regularly noted the ubiquitoussmall family farms and their agriculturalpatch landscapes. While researchingSouthern cultural-agricultural islands inthe early 1940s, Walter Kollmorgen (1941)found a distinctive cluster of approxi-mately 200 Pennsylvania German familiesbetween Newport and Greeneville. Migrat-ing to the Valley of East Tennessee around1800, these families constructed a reputa-tion for self-sufficiency, thrift, stability,and for growing high-quality tobacco(Kollmorgen 1941). Several decades later,John Fraser Hart (1977) discussed the pat-ternless and random nature of agriculturalland use in East Tennessee and southernAppalachia. Although regional agricultural

decision making and land rotation con-founded many outsiders, Hart noted oneconstant—’’tiny tobacco patches’’ plantedon ‘‘more or less level land’’ (Hart 1977,148). For more than one hundred yearsamidst the rolling hills of the region, smallfamily tobacco farms were the foundationof the traditional cultural landscape of EastTennessee.

Progress

As Paul Starrs and John Wrightobserve, ‘‘growth is the universal solventof historic cultural landscapes’’ (1995, 433).For generations, economic and populationgrowth in East Tennessee was slow andtraditional agricultural landscapes pro-vided regional continuity. Even as lifestylerefugees seeking improved quality of lifein a scenic location, seasonal residents, andreal estate speculators transformed neigh-boring western North Carolina in the

Figure 5: A newly developed subdivision fronting U.S. 321 north of Parrottsville in Cocke County. Lifestyle migrants and retirees seek the ameni-ties listed on the sign, increasing the population of tiny Parrottsville and other East Tennessee communities and rural areas. Photo by author, 2003.


1970s and 1980s, East Tennessee remainedinsulated from major change (Wallach1981). However, beginning in the early1990s, newcomers brought differing land-scape perspectives to East Tennessee.Drawn to the dramatic mountain vistas,moderate climate, inexpensive cost of liv-ing, and small-town quality of life in theregion, a steady influx of outsiders fromNew Jersey, New York, Florida and otherEast Coast states began migrating to EastTennessee in increased numbers. Othervisitors who enjoyed vacations to theregion purchased rural property to holdfor retirement, as land increasingly becamea non-agricultural commodity. These life-style-seekers only sporadically visited,waiting to sell their overpriced suburbanhousing elsewhere upon retirement whenthey planned to relocate to East Tennesseeand construct their dream hilltop home.Part of a larger process transforming ruralnorth Georgia and the western Carolinasat the same time (see Hart and Morgan1995), newcomers constructed new non-farm residences along the main highwaysof East Tennessee, particularly U.S. 321.Although population change was notexplosive as in other American regions likethe Mountain West, this incremental popu-lation growth greatly influenced EastTennessee.

In particular, Greeneville, the largestcommunity in the two-county area, beganto recruit retirees and lifestyle migrantswho sought a respite from a more hectic,stressful urban lifestyle. By the mid-1990s,national publications including The 100Best Small Towns in America, America’s MostCharming Towns & Villages, and The 50 BestSmall Southern Towns began to featureGreeneville (see Crampton 1993; Sweitzerand Fields 2001; Brown 2003). Typically,these publications highlighted Greene-ville’s historic downtown district, year-round art and cultural festivals, SmokyMountain views, affordable housing, andinexpensive land prices for hobby farm-ers. An influx of migrants seeking tolive on, but not have a livelihood depen-dent on, the land followed. Although someoutsiders settled in Greeneville, manysought rural locations with amenitiesincluding mountain views, river access,and city utilities in southern GreeneCounty or northern Cocke County, creat-ing quasi-urban nodes in a previouslyrural landscape.

Between 1990 and 2008 populationincrease in Greene County far outpacedgrowth within the Greeneville city limitsthanks to the influx of more than 8,000

new residents (TDS 2001; USCB 2009).While current residents generally viewedthese transplants as good neighbors, theybelieved that not all newcomers wereinterested in strengthening the traditionalsense of community in the region. Long-time residents perceived some newcomersas wanting to remake and enhance theirnew locale, reshaping their new landscapeto be more convenient and offer amenitiesthey had become accustomed to in theirold hometown. Yet, they were here to stay.As one experienced farmer said with a hintof sarcasm, ‘‘if you bring a tour bus ofnortherners here and they see the moun-tains, you can’t ever run them off.’’

Dramatic agricultural change influ-enced the region at the same time in-movement was creating a new populationgeography. Thanks to a multi-billion dollarsettlement between major cigarette compa-nies and forty-six states, traditional quotaand price support systems for tobaccoended in 2004. Federal officials establishedthe National Tobacco Growers SettlementTrust to ease this transition, althoughuncertainty about the future permeatedthe region. The Burley Stabilization Corpo-ration began conducting burley auctions in2005 without the security of federal pricesupports and with reduced volume ofsales. Only large-scale farmers growingthe highest quality tobacco maintainedhopes of future profitability and observersdeclared small-scale family tobacco farm-ers ‘‘an endangered species’’ (Hurley 2000,A1). One family tobacco farmer succu-lently summarized his uncertain future.He stated, ‘‘I’ve never seen anythingchange this fast in my life, and I don’tthink any of us ever dreamed of seeingthis happen to a crop and a marketing sys-tem that hasn’t changed all that much in ahundred years’’ (Hurley 2001). Anotheradded, ‘‘a way of life that we’ve alwaysknown is ending’’ (Hurley 2004).

In 2009, new federal regulation oftobacco products through the Food andDrug Administration increased uncertaintyabout the future viability of the crop. Asrecently as the late 1990s, tobacco was theleading cash crop in Tennessee with morethan 1,600 tobacco farms in Greene Countygrowing more than 5,400 acres of the crop(Hurley 1999; Hurley 2009; USDA 2007;Yancey 2000). Today, experts estimate only50 to 75 tobacco farms operate in thecounty, growing less than 700 acres oftobacco as many family farmers haveshifted acreage to alternative crops includ-ing alfalfa, corn, and soybeans (Hurley2009; USDA 2007).

As in other traditional tobacco grow-ing regions, former tobacco farmers nowstruggle to invest in new machinery andinfrastructure for more stable crops theyhope will offer high per acre returns astobacco did in its prime (Hart and Ches-tang 1996). Other farmers have surren-dered, selling their land for housing andother economic development projects.

At the same time these changes werebuffeting East Tennessee, state and regio-nal officials advanced long-standing plansto transform U.S. Highway 321 throughGreene and Cocke counties from a wind-ing, narrow two-lane road into a four-lanedivided highway with 12-foot traffic lanesand shoulders, a 48-foot depressed med-ian, and a minimum 250-foot right-of-way(Figure 7). Designated an ‘‘Urgent NeedHighway’’ by the Tennessee Departmentof Transportation (TDOT), engineers de-signed the road to accommodate 40,000vehicles a day driving 70 miles per hour(CTR 2003). This proposal was part of alarger six-section, 450 million dollar projectoriginally designed to improve the trans-portation spine connecting the Tri-CitiesRegional Airport north of Johnson Citywith Pigeon Forge near Great SmokyMountains National Park. Normally, ruralroad construction evokes minimal debateand incites few emotional exchanges.Instead, the Highway 321 project becamesymbolic of the struggle to either shape amodernized landscape of progress andtechnological efficiency or maintain a pre-dominantly agricultural landscape with agreater degree of traditional place person-ality. The new population geography ofEast Tennessee complicated the historicdivision between urban pro-economicdevelopment, pro-tourism advocates andthe many rural residents who devaluedattempts to link East Tennessee with thenational economy, particularly as theimportance of tobacco declined (seeHsiung 1997).

The expansion of Highway 321 waspart of a larger national trend that estab-lished, as J. B. Jackson named them, auto-vernacular landscapes (1997). Designedto promote geographical mobility byaccommodating automobiles at all costs,auto-vernacular landscapes replaced agro-vernacular landscapes that promotedstability and responded to the needs ofpeople, not machines (Jackson 1997, 152-153). Roads in agro-vernacular landscapesconnected unique places instead of genericlocations, were slowly traveled, andallowed social interaction between neigh-bors and travelers (Snow 1967; Raitz 1998).


Auto-vernacular roads were comfortablefor travelers and efficient for moving goodsbut decreased regional solidarity anddestroyed past geographies (Relph 1976).As J. Todd Snow stated, in an era of hyper-mobility ‘‘the New Road starts everywhereand leads nowhere’’ as it radically changesthe surrounding natural landscape, trans-forms traditional settlement patterns, anddivorces people from the land (1967, 14).

Many recently relocated lifestyle refu-gees living in Greeneville and pro-businessentities were vocal in their support of newroad construction. Proponents advocatedincreased safety, the ability to handle addi-tional truck traffic, reduced travel time tothe Tri-Cities Regional Airport, and theneed to promote a progressive economicimage to outsiders as reasons to expand thehighway (Yancey 1998b). As a transplantedresident nebulously argued while support-ing the project, ‘‘if we’re not moving for-ward, we’re standing still’’ (Yancey 1998a).Another road supporter referenced thenotion of progress when she argued betterroads mean progress in general because ‘‘ifthe pilgrims—when they landed on the bigrock—hadn’t built a road, where would webe now?’’ (Yancey 1999d).

The argument that the new roadwould boost the regional economy byexpanding the tax base as new businessesand industry relocated to the highway wasregularly repeated by politicians and eco-nomic leaders in Greeneville, including thegroup Citizens for Continued Progress(Yancey 1998c, 1998e, 1999a). Along withpro-business entities including twoGreeneville-based trucking companiesForward Air Corporation and Landair

Corporation, Citizens for Continued Pro-gress argued that enhanced accessibilityand future economic growth for industriesand businesses had more value than roadconstruction through, what they depicted,primarily undeveloped agricultural land(Yancey 1998e). Greene and Cocke countypolitical leaders also referenced the early1990s conversion of U.S. Highway 23 (nowfurther improved and designated Inter-state 26) in Unicoi County, Tennessee froma winding two-lane road to a high-speed,four-lane highway as a model for theHighway 321 project. The transformationof Highway 23 increased tourism, aug-mented truck traffic, facilitated relocationof business to the corridor, and infusedlifestyle migrants into the surroundingarea (Brown 2000). Many pro-roadadvocates envisioned the same economicprogress along a dramatically improvedHighway 321.

Many long-time residents viewedchanges to Highway 321 as a threat totheir traditional rural lifeways. These feel-ings were particularly strong in southernGreene County where opposition grewquickly. A coalition of family farmers, con-servatives, and libertarians emerged withthe grassroots organization Citizens forSensible Roads leading the anti-road cam-paign. Critics of the four-lane highwayargued that road expansion was unneededas only several thousand vehicles used theroad each day and prohibitively expensivewhen compared to the costs of straighten-ing and widening the existing road. Addi-tional concerns included future unplannedgrowth and strip commercial developmentalong the highway, alteration of the

region’s unique landscape, obliteration ofseveral thousand acres of productive farm-land, and destruction of several dozenhomes (Yancey 1998a, 1998b, 1998c, 1998e,2002). In other words, the new road wouldirreversibly alter the region’s quality of lifewhile destroying homes and segmentingmulti-generational family farms into lessuseful parcels. One Greene County nativewho opted to return to the area aftercollege graduation stated that East Ten-nessee was special to her family. Shebluntly added, ‘‘I like it here and don’twant it to change so some people can getto the Tri-Cities Airport fifteen minutesfaster.’’

Some recent lifestyle migrants, particu-larly those who settled on rural acreagetracts in southern Greene or northernCocke counties, joined long-time familyfarmers in expressing strong opposition tothe road project. As one retiree fromConnecticut remarked, road expansionthreatened the rural lifestyle and dramaticscenery that initially attracted him to theregion (Yancey 1998b). Another retireewho relocated from New Jersey believedthat the new road would ‘‘destroy’’ manyfamily farms and ‘‘one of the most scenicroutes in the county’’ (Yancey 1998b).Repeatedly, residents opposing the roaddiscussed the need to preserve the naturallandscape of East Tennessee, protect fam-ily farms, and avoid future commercialstrip development and high-densitysprawl along the proposed highwaycorridor (Yancey 1998d, 1999b, 1999e). Aretiree who relocated from Georgiabecause of the region’s rural quality of lifelamented that ‘‘the whole complexion of

Figure 7: U.S. Highway 321 before construction. Locals considered thissharp curve near the small community of Salem in Cocke County to beparticularly dangerous. Photo by author, 2003.

Figure 6: Declining Greene County, Tennessee tobacco farms andtobacco acres harvested, 1992-2007. Source: United States Departmentof Agriculture.


the area will change’’ after road construc-tion (Yancey 1999e, A6).

After a rush of campaigning and pre-dictions of a landslide vote in support ofroad expansion, an August 1998 non-bind-ing referendum brought the issue to votersin Greene County. By a one vote mar-gin—6,093 to 6,092—the road proposalwas defeated. The narrow margin con-cealed the extreme divide within GreeneCounty. Overwhelmingly, urban residentsin Greeneville and neighboring Tusculumsupported improvements to U.S. 321 whilerural inhabitants, particularly in the south-ern and northern precincts of GreeneCounty, strongly rejected the proposal(GCEC 1998).

After the vote, politicians repeatedlystated that the expansion of Highway 321was so important to East Tennessee thatTDOT would construct the road over theobjection of Greene County residents.These announcements quickly squashedthe euphoria felt by the anti-road coalition(Yancey 1999e). A subsequent decision bythe Cocke County Commission to unani-mously support U.S. 321 construction alsoinfluenced the project. Although CockeCounty never took the issue to voters,politicians frequently cited the CountyCommission decision to negate the resultof the Greene County referendum (Yancey1999a).

While the road project moved for-ward, it did so at a dramatically reduced

pace (Figure 8). Surveying, engineeringstudies, and road design continued asplanned, but right-of-way acquisition androad construction were delayed betweenfive and ten years depending on the sec-tion of roadway. During this postpone-ment, a sense of resignation permeated theanti-road movement even as protesterscontinued to organize ‘‘speakouts’’ criticiz-ing the project, circulate petitions againstconstruction, and attend public formshosted by TDOT. In 2001, anti-road sup-porters were successful in lobbying theGreene County Commission to defeat aresolution supporting a section of roadconstruction in southern Greene County(Yancey 2001). While the vote was onlysymbolic and did not influence the com-pletion of the project, widespread discon-tent remained.

Although opponents continued to pro-test the scope of the road project, residentswho felt betrayed by the political processfrequently evoked the issues of moralityand government accountability. For exam-ple, a Citizens for Sensible Roads memberargued that the local and state governmentresponse to the Greene County referen-dum was ‘‘arrogant, tyrannical andcommunistic’’ as the decision of themajority was ignored and anti-road voiceswere marginalized (Yancey 1999c, A6).However, a sense of fatalism griped manypeople directly affected by the project asthey put life plans on hold until TDOT

designated the exact route and informedresidents of the impact to their property.As one informant glumly stated, ‘‘they’regoing to take it [my property] for the road,so they might as well take it now and getit over with.’’ Another anti-road advocatesimply lamented, ‘‘you can’t stop pro-gress’’ (Yancey 2002).

The Highway 321 project also receivedcriticism from professional planners. TheCenter for Transportation Research (CTR)at the University of Tennessee questionedmany aspects of the highway plan in areport on the Greene County section of theroad. In particular, the CTR argued thatTDOT claims of safety problems with thecurrent highway and the future economicimpact of the new highway were unsub-stantiated (CTR 2003). The CTR alsoadvised that the current highway plan wasinappropriate for future low-volume, localtraffic demand and the new road wouldlead to widespread commercial stripdevelopment along the route (2003).Finally, the report stated that TDOTrefused to incorporate ‘‘meaningful publicinvolvement’’ into the proposed projectand was indifferent to the position of anti-road campaigners and the results of theGreene County referendum (CTR 2003,19). Even though CTR reviewers scoredevery aspect of the TDOT plan unsatisfac-torily, construction continued, albeit at aslower pace.

The deliberate pace of constructionalso left road advocates with additionaltime to influence the process. Local politi-cians continued to claim that a ‘‘broadbase of support for the project’’ was driv-ing the project to completion (Yancey2003). In particular, government entities inCocke County and Newport continued tosupport Highway 321 expansion. Newportofficials sought construction in order topromote development in the economicallystagnating town (Popeil 2000). As well,Greeneville business interests continued tolobby TDOT, arguing that the roadwayshould be finished as soon as possiblesince crews had completed sections of thenew highway in Cocke County in 2008(Morais 2008).

As construction slowly realigns andwidens Highway 321 across Greene andCocke counties, the traditional identity ofthe region changes (Figure 9). Residentsdrive the new road at previously unattain-able speeds, farmers scale-back their oper-ations or seek to lease nearby acreage toreplace land fragmented or lost due toroad construction, and even long-time visi-tors to the region struggle to navigate due

Figure 8: A new and improved U.S. Highway 321 under construction in Cocke County. Thissection bisected the farm of a resident who had recently invested several million dollars upgradinghis poultry barns (visible on the far right side of the image). Photo by author, 2006.


to the removal of landmarks along the oldroad. Residents continue to subdivideprime agricultural land into multiple-acreresidential tracts, particularly when familyfarming matriarchs and patriarchs passaway or when economic stress forces farm-

ers to sell parcels to raise needed cash.Increasing demand has pushed land pricesto $10,000 or more an acre in many loca-tions. Even though selling small tracts ofland rarely disrupts farm operations (seeHart 1997), the newly fractured landscape

is a visible reminder of the changes affect-ing the region.

Although very limited commercialdevelopment has accompanied road con-struction to this point, changing agricul-tural land uses present a dramaticalteration to the region’s place personality.Where tobacco patches once grew, farmersgraze a few cows and cut hay severaltimes per year (Figure 10). Coupled withchanges to national tobacco policy, roadconstruction has further narrowed theprofit margin of dozens of family farmersastride Highway 321 in Greene and Cockecounties, driving many farmers to pick uppart-time non-farm work (Yancey 1999e).Even farmers not directly impacted by theroad project are concerned about thefuture impact upon small, family farms inthe region. As one farmer surmised, ‘‘they[local politicians and TDOT] seem to wantto have a commercial area and to pushback farmers from the road.’’

Rural residents of Greene and Cockecounties understand that the completion ofthe Highway 321 project will imposefuture changes upon the region. A youngGreene County part-time farmer in theHighway 321 corridor envisions houses onhis multi-generation family farm withinfifty years. Although he does not want tosee it that way, he surmised that ‘‘no oneyoung can afford to farm’’ because of exor-bitant land prices, the diminished profitmargin for tobacco, and the hardships anduncertainties inherent in farming. A vet-eran farmer offered a similar prediction.He believes that after the completion ofthe new road there will be no large farmsof fifty acres or more in the region, onlyhouse lots of twenty acres or less. His wife,looking from their front porch at threenew encroaching ten-acre hobby farmslamented, ‘‘forty years ago I never wouldhave expected to see it this way.’’

Conclusions

Progress—or maybe even the threat ofimpending change—is a source of anxietyfor Americans as growth underminesmany historic cultural landscapes. AsEdward Relph (1976) discusses, observerstend to describe present-day landscapes innegative terms, furthering the idea thatpast times were inherently better thanthe present. Even though all landscapescontain elements of both tradition and pro-gress, perhaps people resent that oncechange transforms historic landscapes theyare lost forever. Until Americans balance

Figure 10: After the conclusion of federal tobacco price supports, farmers have replaced tobaccowith crops including alfalfa, corn and soybeans. Some farmers, including this operator in GreeneCounty, have sought non-farm employment and only harvest hay several times per year. Photo byauthor, 2008.

Figure 9: A completed section of U.S. Highway 321 in northern Cocke County. Engineersdesigned the road to move 40,000 vehicles a day at 70 miles per hour (although the posted speedlimit is 55 miles per hour). Photo by author, 2008.


their desire for progress with an apprecia-tion for traditional landscapes, tension andconflict will result as these conflicting ide-als meet at the local scale.

Nevertheless, the landscapes of tradi-tion and progress tell observers much aboutEast Tennessee. Residents seeking to main-tain a landscape of tradition reject increasedmobility and the fragmentation of commu-nities that can accompany progress. Theyquestion the cost of progress. The promot-ers of change place their unwavering faithin expanded economic development as apanacea for the region. Improved roads,they say, will reshape the landscape,increase land values, offer rural residentseasier access to amenities, and reduce theregion’s economic dependence upon agri-culture. The resolution of these landscapeperspectives will shape East Tennessee intothe foreseeable future. If not careful, a roadthat a large portion of the region’s residentsdo not want or need will undermineanother American historic cultural land-scape. While it is impossible to freezedynamic landscapes and preserve them for-ever, observes should question decisionsthat accelerate the decline of historic land-scapes. This is particularly true as addi-tional urban to rural migration increasespotential conflict over land use in multipleAmerican regions. In this regard, East Ten-nessee is not unique. Lifestyle refugees andretirees are also transforming rural andsmall town geographies throughout theMountain West, Desert Southwest, andUpland South as they seek scenic locationswith an inexpensive quality of life andaccess to cultural amenities (see Starrs andWright 1995; Brown and Glasgow 2008).

In-migration and economic develop-ment are remaking traditional economicand social geographies in East Tennes-see—too quickly for many long-time resi-dents and quality of life advocates whohave attempted to cultivate an intimaterelationship with their landscape. As onefamily farming informant stated, ‘‘we needgood roads, but some people like the landbetter.’’ East Tennessee will never be thesame and while that is inevitable due totransportation and agricultural changes,one can wish that it was not so.

Note: Information not cited and quota-tions not attributed to a specific source weregathered from multiple informal discussionsand field work between 1995 and 2008. I wantto acknowledge the tobacco farmers and resi-dents of Greene and Cocke counties whopatiently answered my questions and discussedthe changes influencing their lives and com-munities.

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Yancey, Tom. 1998b. Proposed HighwayOpposed By Many Who Live Near ItsRoute. The Greeneville Sun, 31 July.[http://greenevillesun.com/story/252538].

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Yancey, Tom. 1998d. ‘‘Sensible Roads’’Group Celebrates Victory in HighwayReferendum, Urges Existing HighwayImprovement. The Greeneville Sun, 5October. [http://greenevillesun.com/story/253156].

Yancey, Tom. 1998e. Uncertainty Has Fol-lowed Highway Referendum Vote;Transportation Department PlanningProcess is Continuing. The GreenevilleSun, 17 October. [http://greenevillesun.com/story/253285].

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Yancey, Tom. 1999b. Planned CockeCo. Highway Gets Varied Reaction.The Greeneville Sun, 24March, pp. A1, A7.

Yancey, Tom. 1999c. Objections Voiced toPlanned Cross-County Highway. TheGreeneville Sun, 3 May, pp. A1, A6.

Yancey, Tom. 1999d. Public Hearing on 4-Laning U.S. 321 Gets Both Supportand Opposition. The Greeneville Sun, 27May. [http://greenevillesun.com/story/255393].

Yancey, Tom. 1999e. About 90 PeopleAttend Hearing on Newport HighwayRelocation. The Greeneville Sun, 11August, pp. A1, A6.

Yancey, Tom. 2000. Greene County isHome to ‘The Great Valley’ of the Noli-chucky River. The Greeneville Sun, 27May, p. A7.

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Yancey, Tom. 2002. Preliminary DesignsShown for Newport Hwy. Project. TheGreeneville Sun, 17 July. [http://greenevillesun.com/story/263524].

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