10/31/2026
"There’s a spirit that is said to wander these hills, the spirit of a well-known man,
Who lived here, and died here, and became one of the legends of a young camp, called Powhatan.
You see, this camp here was started in 19 and 50, between Jersey Ridge and the Greenwood Run
Far flat fields were divided by a creek, which has made this lake, it’s a haven for all and one.
The nights are cold, the mornings crisp, followed by warm clear days
God surely made a beautiful place, in His many glorious ways.
And because of its beauty, many came to see, boys and girls alike,
Some came to enjoy, and a few to love, this camp all of its sights.
One of these men was of the special sort, the property ranger whose name was Fred.
He held this camp very close to his heart; to live away from, nah, he’d rather be dead.
For Ranger Fred spent years pouring blood, sweat, and tears into all that has made up these lands.
The foundation of this camp he is said to have built with his head, his heart, and two hands.
Fred gave it all, till the minute of his death, to preserve the beauty of his home.
It’s the story of his passing I talk of tonight, for it is information that should be known.
For on a night much like this, Fred was clearing a trail when a thick fog, a mist rolled in,
and a stiff wind blew in the oak trees hanging over him.
And as he sat there listening to the wind in the trees, and seeing that mist all around…
A great arm of a grand old oak began to creak, and then…...it came down.
For all of his life he served this camp, and he is still remembered to this day.
His legend grows on as the years pass by, but there is more to the story some say.
For five years later, on a night much like this, the Carver boys were making their plans.
A crew of five men from the boonies of Floyd, and mischief just flowed from their hands.
They decided that night that this camp was their target, its beauty and serenity their prey.
They came all at once to make their mark in some un-scout-like way.
And as they set to their work - all planned and prepared - a thick fog, a mist rolled in.
And as sure as the sun rose again on this land, them Carver boys was never heard from again.
Old timers still say that it was the soul of Fred that stopped them boys from doing no more.
I’ll let you decide what you think it was; heck, that’s what superstition is for.
As for me, I believe in the Powhatan Mist, it’s the soul of old Ranger Fred.
He watched over this camp, our home, Powhatan.
If you’re mischievous listen to the words that I’ve said.
For if you’re out one night, and your mood is right, and you are up to no good,
And a fog rolls in, or a mist that is thin, I surely hope that you would
Reconsider your sin; look to within, for Fred and God are watching too.
Take care of this camp and see the next day - the answer lies in you.
Cause there’s a spirit that is said to wander these hills, the spirit of a once well-known man,
Who lived here and died here, and has become one of the legends of a now old camp called Powhatan."
The Powhatan Mist --MAE, 1998
