I tell everyone that my place is in Neave, Kentucky, but I’m really closer to Browningsville. It is just that no one ever heard of Browningsville, Kentucky. Neave? Neave is the reason my zipcode reads Falmouth, which is way the heck over in another county instead of Brooksville, the county seat. The story goes that a guy named Holton started a stage service between his store at the crossroads in Neave and Falmouth and used that to leverage getting the mail. Of course this all goes back to the Civil War and before. In the 1870’s Neave and Browningsville were thriving places. Browningsville had a post office, a mill, a school and two doctors. Then the two doctors got to arguing one night over a bill, and one shot the other dead. That was pretty much it for Browningsville. It fell off the map in the 1890’s. When I first came along in 2001, they were just tearing down Holton’s Store in Neave. Nothing ever happens in Neave. The largest part of the population all reside in the Neave Methodist Cemetery. In fact the last major event I could find was from ’63 when the commandant of the military district of Cincinnati reported that a company of free blacks had shown up at camp, having all volunteered at Neave. He remarked on their fine deportment and impressive will to fight. There was an Afro-American family living near Neave when I got there, but they got bored and moved on over a decade ago. I am not even going to mention Ely. It was just over on the next ridge. It showed up on a 1850’s railroad map and never again. My buddy O.T. said he remembers the remains of a store, but that’s it.

There are still a few houses in Browningsville. The last structure to be built was an outhouse in 1991 for a church reunion picnic. The mill was abandoned ages ago, and in recent memory a bear took up residence in the basement. It is probably the same bear that used to come by my place every year and pester my sumac bushes. Even he’s moved out. Still, I like to go down to W.T. Browning’s Store in Browningsville in Neave and sit around the stove on old lawn chairs and swap stories with the likes of O.D., O.T who owns the mower shop, O.P. my neighbor, and the few others that come in. Dubya, the proprietor, is a gentleman and lets us take our time shopping, sometimes coming in after breakfast and not leaving until near lunch.  Just by the way: do not confuse W.T. Browning’s emporium with the store at Browning’s Corner.  That’s a whole different thing.

My land lies between Yellow Willow Creek and Pity Creek. I thought for a long while that it was called Willow Creek, but I was corrected several years ago. Willow is the larger branch that runs up to the east towards the Fish and Game Club. O.T. told me that my branch was called Pity Creek, because a widow lady had raised 10 kids in a frame shack down in the bottoms. He said the shack is still there, but I have not seen it.

My road used to be one of the main roads leading to Browningville. The pavement ends at my mailbox. You can still see signs of it snaking along my ridge, and if you follow the track long enough, it crosses Willow Creek at a ford and eventually ends up running into the main road to Powersville. Word is the family that owned my place had relations over on the next ridge and kept the road open so they could all travel to church in the same wagon. A similar fate was met by the segment that used to run to Browningsville. Today, if I want to go to Browningsville, I have to travel halfway to Neave.

This post has already been read 178 times!

Related posts:

It’s All in the Name A New Year’s Trip Vine Street in the Fall A Walk Along Vine Street Return to Camp, 2020 Life with O.P. 2009-10 Proposed Kentucky Seasons Biscuits and Gravy in Browningsville