Worth her salt
In the early 1800s, my maternal ancestors, the Greene family, moved to Mitchell County, N.C, drawn by booming industries such as logging and mining. Life was hard in the mountains nonetheless. The ground was rocky, the winters bone-chilling, and the Cherokee Indians, while generally friendly, had already endured numerous broken treaties at the hands of white people.
In 19th century Appalachia, salt was vital for preserving food. However, the closest salt mines were located in Kingsport, Tenn. a two-day round trip through Cherokee territory. Though a group of men traveling through their land might seem provocative to the Native Americans, a lone girl could pass unhindered. Thus, retrieving salt fell to females.
When salt ran low, Sarah Greene, about 15 years old, packed rations, saddled the family plough horse, and set out for Kingsport. Following paths worn by Cherokee and settlers alike, Sarah drank from the many creeks she crossed. At night she tethered her horse, built a fire to ward off unwanted wildlife, and slept on the ground.
Upon arrival in Kingsport, she purchased enough salt to last their family until the next trip, then hastened home. Many years later, the Cherokee Nation lost large portions of land to the U.S. government, and the hunting paths Sarah once navigated alone surged with settlers pushing west.
To this day, the story of Sarah’s bravery in traveling such a distance alone through Cherokee territory is passed down through our family. In a time when families worked together to survive, Sarah earned her salt.
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