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An abandoned home along No Business Creek in the Big South Fork National River & Recreation Area, photographed in the late 1970s. Today, all manmade structures in the valley have been destroyed and the fields reclaimed by nature | Photo: National Park Service

There are few places on the Cumberland Plateau more rugged or remote than the No Business valley west of the Big South Fork River.

Located far from the nearest town and inaccessible except for foot or saddle, No Business is as true a wilderness as one could hope to find anywhere in Tennessee. And, yet, this backcountry valley was once home to one of this region’s most thriving communities. The forces of nature and the passage of time are slowly erasing all sign that man once lived here. But, for those who venture in, there are stories yet to be told.


At one point, No Business was home to nearly 300 people. There were grist mills, swinging bridges, a school and a church, a store — even a hotel. The little community even had its own baseball team.

Today, you can drive to Terry Cemetery off Divide Road, then follow a footpath along the ridge until it narrows to its end, sit at a spectacular unnamed overlook that provides postcard-worthy views of the No Business valley’s expanse, and imagine what it must’ve been like 100 years ago. From up here, there isn’t much to see, except for the tops of trees and the sheer cliff lines that enclose the valley. The forests have regrown, reclaiming the fields and erasing most of the signs of human settlement.

There was a time, though, when the valley was cleared all the way from the cliffs that line the south side of the creek to the cliffs that line the north side of the creek. The families that lived at No Business farmed the rich bottomlands, while their livestock grazed and foraged on the hillsides closer to the bluffs.

As recently as the 1970s, a number of structures still stood throughout No Business, though the community had long been abandoned. But, one by one, they were torn down or fell down, were burned or hauled away in pieces, or otherwise decayed until nothing remained.


The history of the No Business Settlement dates back to 1796. Richard Harve Slaven, a 19-year-old veteran of the American Revolutionary War, was given a land grant in the valley and built a home near the mouth of Tacket Creek, which empties into No Business Creek a couple of miles west of the river. It has been written that his home, which is believed to have been the first permanent residence in what is now the Big South Fork NRRA, was essentially a fortress, with rifle slits instead of windows.

One can only speculate whether Richard Slaven was afraid of Indians — though the hunting parties had essentially disappeared from the region by that time (the Treaty of Tellico, in which the Cherokee ceded their lands in what is now the Big South Fork NRRA to the United States, would not be signed until two years later) — or the return of war, or if he was merely being cautious. in any event, he lived in No Business for the next 44 years. He and his wife, Susanna Mabel Mounts, had at least 10 children — Mary, Sarah, William, James, Jonathan, Absalom, Alexander, Elisha, Pleasant and Andrew (some sources name four more). They had 65 grandchildren and many more great-grandchildren.

A homestead along No Business Creek is marked by non-native plants and, in the background, a crumbling chimney | Ben Garrett/IH


No one is exactly sure how No business got its name, or when. There are numerous stories that have been handed down through the years by word of mouth. One popular tale claims that Indians killed a white man who stumbled into the valley, saying that he had “no business” there. But the more likely source of the settlement’s name came from one of its first residents. As told by retired Big South Fork NRRA ranger Howard Duncan, a woman who had moved to the valley with her husband told him that they had “no business” being there.

That sentiment is spelled out in the names of other streams further north into Kentucky — like Troublesome Creek and Difficulty Creek (which was then and now pronounced “Diffick-ulty” by the locals).

Indeed, life was tough in No Business. There were no hospitals to doctor the sick, no funeral homes to care for the dead. When someone died, their husband, father, brother or neighbor would prepare the body for burial and dig the grave. Sometimes, there were small family cemeteries. Sometimes, bodies were buried in stand-alone graves on the family’s plot of land.

In his book, Dusty Bits of the Forgotten Past, Scott County historian H. Clay Smith related the story of Reason Slaven — Richard Slaven’s great-grandson who lived in No Business in the first half of the 20th century. Slaven visited Bill Phillips’ general store in Oneida, and Phillips noticed the man picking through an assortment of lace. When Phillips asked Slaven if he needed help, Slaven told him he needed to purchase some lace, black satin and tacks.

“By now Bill knew what the hurry was,” Smith wrote. “Reason was buying necessary material for a coffin.”

It turned out that Slaven’s wife had died. He had made the day-long trip from No Business to Oneida to purchase materials to make her a coffin.

“Bill tells how the two large tears that rolled down Reason’s face were enough to break the heart of any man,” Smith wrote.


No business continued as a community for the better part of 200 years. In the beginning, there was no industry; families were merely subsistence farmers. And while there was a one-room school, there wasn’t much education to speak of, either. As former Big South Fork archaeologist Tom Des Jean has noted in writing, the gravestones that can be found illustrate a decline in education over the years — denoted by the misspelled words that were carved into the stones. The families of the remote territory simply had no need for an education.

In the late 19th century and early 20th century, industry came to the Big South Fork. For the first time, there were jobs to be had, both cutting timber and mining coal. And a new value was placed on education.

In time, though, the coal played out and the timber supply was exhausted, and that spelled the end of the No Business community.

As America found itself in World War II, the population of No Business was in decline. When the young men from the community went off to war and saw the outside world for themselves, they returned with little desire to stay in the remote, disconnected community west of the Big South Fork River. One by one, the families began to pack up and leave.

A metal washtub at a homestead along No Business Creek in the Big South Fork National River & Recreation Area | Ben Garrett/IH


By the end of the 1950s — just a little more than 100 years after Richard Harve Slaven died at Tackett Creek — one only man remained at No Business: his great-grandson, Dewey Slaven. Slaven lived with his “old maid” sister at No Business; neither of them ever married. Slaven went to town twice a year to pick up supplies, like tobacco, and to learn what news there was to be told.

As Smith wrote in his book, “They had no radio, television or any form of communication with the outside other than those who might go there on fishing or hunting business; and, at that, they would never see Mr. Slaven or his sister, as they did not ‘star’ (as they called it) before the fog cleared from the river, and that was usually around 9 a.m. If you should have drifted by their house, you would have found no people more friendly or hospitable than these two; whether you were relative, friend or stranger, you were welcome to their well-rounded meal, as it is called, and to as many meals and nights’ lodging as you desired, and without charge.”

In 1960, Slaven had fallen ill and was convinced to leave No Business to seek medical help. He would not return. He died in a physician’s care in Stearns, Ky. Upon his death, Scott County Court closed the polling place at No Business, which it had mainly left open out of respect for Slaven. And, 164 years after Dewey Slaven’s great-grandfather, Richard Harve Slaven, built the first home in the valley, No Business was abandoned.

Today, visitors to the No Business valley can still find the crumbling stone foundations of homes, metal washtubs that were used at the homesteads, and an old fence made of stone or wire here and there, along with evidence of the stone walls that were built along the creek to prevent it from flooding the fields. Until just a few years ago, there was an old Ford car along the road that the residents of the valley used to travel. It has since been removed.

As Smith succinctly put it in Dusty Bits, the passing or departure of the final residents of the valley “has turned No Business and Parch Corn, together with Williams Creek and Station Camp, over to the fishers and hunters.”

Footnote: The easiest way to access No Business by foot is by driving to Terry Cemetery, at the end of Terry Cemetery Road. A loop hike can be made by hiking from Terry Cemetery to Maude’s Crack, then connecting with the John Muir Trail north into the valley. After crossing No Business Creek on a wooden footbridge, turn west along the creek, following it to Longfield Branch. Hikers have to ford Tackett Creek and No Business Creek. At Longfield Branch, cross the creek and follow the National Park Service’s administrative access road back to Terry Cemetery. Just west of Longfield Branch is the Boyatt homestead, where the “Once Upon A Lynching” tale of Jerome Boyatt and his father, Ranse Boyatt, played out.

This article is the March 2019 installment of Our Back Yard, presented by First National Bank on the first week of each month as part of the Independent Herald’s Back Page Features series. A print version of this article can be found on page B8 of the March 7, 2019 edition of the Independent Herald.