Log cabin longing

CONOVER

Toy Ballard has a lifelong fascination with log cabins. So he took a stand of trees and, with his hands, built one.

He transformed a meadow overlooking a pond into an idyllic hideaway.

"I've always loved log cabins," Ballard said. "I used to visit Morrow Mountain State Park a lot. There was a cabin there, and I always looked at that cabin."

The park is near Albemarle. It's just one place Ballard tracked down log cabins to feed his fascination.

"The old timers would cut trees, take an ax and hew logs to build a home. They didn't have power tools," Ballard said, "just bits, blades and their hands."

And so, Ballard hand-built a cabin of his own.

He bought some property on Emmanuel Church Road in 2006. He and his wife, Barbara, have a nice brick house.

But that property had an impressive stand of trees.

"I looked at those trees for about a year," Ballard said. "There were a lot of big pines."

He had looked at construction kits for cabins, but wasn't impressed. He wanted a traditional one-room log house.

Finally, he decided to do the whole thing from scratch.

He never drew a blueprint.

"I designed it myself, and the plans are right here," he said, tapping his head.

Ballard cut down the trees. Neighbor Virgil Huffman had a crane and helped him move the logs across the road to the meadow in front of his house. More able assistance was offered by Tim Phelps.
There were 90 logs, mostly pines, with a few maples and poplars mixed in.
Another friend, John Curtis, has a portable sawmill he brought to the site.

"We sawed those 90 logs in seven days," Ballard said.

Out of the trees came the squared-off logs for the cabin and boards for the floor, rafters, roof, joists, doors and everything else but the beaded ceiling.

"I had to buy that," Ballard said.

He racked the lumber in a barn to cure for about 10 months.

In the meantime, he perfected his plan, dug footings and laid the foundation.

"I started construction last Labor Day," he said.

He erected many of the logs himself, but needed a hand from Ralph Drum with some of the 3-inch-thick slabs of wood.

Now, he's almost done. He has his dream cabin.

It's an 18-by-22-foot piece of time gone by. No plumbing. No electricity.

Ballard measured a lot of old cabins to come up with the size.

He has oil lamps, a rocking chair (of course), a trestle table and a host of carefully placed photographs and what-nots.

There's the 1937 Singer Gold Edition treadle sewing machine that cost $29.95 when it was bought new at Sears.

A cottage pump organ is across the room. It's by the Waterloo Organ Co. of Waterloo, N.Y. Ballard doesn't know it's age, but the woodwork and carvings on the backpiece dates it as really old.

At the end of the long table is a Coca-Cola edition wood-burning cookstove. The "Hazel Balanced Range" by Home Stove and Range Co. of Rome, Ga., was made in 1950.

Ballard has the stove hooked to a thimble, but it still needs a chimney. That's one of the few things he has left to do with the cabin.

But there's always the main fireplace, flanked by the sewing machine and the organ.

"Another friend (Bob Greene) helped me build the fireplace and the chimney," Ballard said. "But I did all the rockwork."

There wasn't enough rock on his property to do the hearth and chimney, so Ballard had to travel to Marion for the rock.

He still has a stack of stones with which to build the cookstove chimney and underpin the cabin.

Then he's done. Maybe.

Ballard is a tinkerer and a fixer-upper. He admits he'll probably be working on the cabin in one way or another for a long time to come.

He may add some screen doors. And the windows don't open the way he wants.

Even though the cabin is a comfortable place to rock and talk, Ballard can't sit still.

The 1951 Ford 8N farm tractor he restored to every detail is evidence of that. It's hooked to an original, restored Dearborn saw. The saw blade is bigger than the tractor's front wheels.

He's won some shows with that tractor.

The 67-year-old retired maintenance technician with Duke Power can't keep his hands still.

"I'll always find something to do," Ballard said. "But I have to tell you I couldn't have got this far without help. I have a lot of friends who helped me."

So how much did his hand-made haven cost?

"Aw, I guess I've got about $3,000 in it."

Looking at the cabin, he can't help but observe with a smile, "I think it turned out real good."

Oh yeah. It sure did.

It all started with Daddy

James Henry Ballard was 65 years old when his son Toy was born in April of 1943.

"Dad had two wives," Toy said. "His first wife died. I was from his second family."

James Henry had five boys and a daughter with each wife.

"Every day, he would work on something," Toy said. "His tool box sat on the porch. He would quarter hickory trees and make ax handles. He sold them for a dollar apiece."

James Henry was a retired railroad engineer. His pension didn't go far with all those children, so he earned extra money any way he could.

"I always watched Dad when he worked," Toy said. "He wouldn't say much unless you asked him about what he was doing. Then he'd explain it."

That's probably why Toy started his woodworking by making handles for horse-drawn farm implements. He couldn't find what he wanted, so he fashioned them himself.

"Dad went back to work when he was 77," Toy said. "He ran a steam boiler near Spencer that was used for making molasses.

"It didn't pay a lot, but he got all the molasses he wanted."

Toy grew up near Kannapolis. He memorized everything his father did.

James Henry died in 1964. He was 87. Everything Toy says about his father is with admiration.

Toy said his daddy was on White Oak Mountain in 1903 when the mail train known as Old 97 jumped the tracks.

"He said he knew as soon as the train topped the mountain that it wasn't going to make it."

Engineer Steve Broady was trying to make up lost time between Monroe, Va., and Spencer. The song says he was doing 90 miles a hour down the mountain. Southern Railroad officials estimated he was doing 70.

When Old 97 hit the giant trestle on the downside of the mountain, Broady engaged the air brakes and put the wheels in reverse.

A part on the drive line snapped and the train derailed.

Broady couldn't have made the curve on the other end of the trestle anyway, Toy said.

"Dad went down to the wreck. Lots of people had gathered around. A man was talking to people. He talked to Dad and wrote down everything Dad said about the wreck.

"He went on to write the song about the Old 97, using a lot of what Dad told him. Dad never made anything off it," Toy said.

The author of the famous song has been disputed over the years, and Toy doesn't know the name of the man who interviewed his father.

James Henry's story has credence, however. The first verse of the song, rarely included in popular renditions, goes:

"On one cloudless morning, I stood on the mountain,
"Just watching the smoke from below.
"It was coming from a tall, slim smokestack
"Way down on the Southern Railroad."

"Dad heard the whistle scream," Toy said.