50 years after ‘Pilgrim at Tinker Creek,’ a question of how the Roanoke Valley could mark its connection to a literary masterpiece
More than five decades have passed since aspiring writer Annie Dillard wandered the teeming banks of Tinker Creek.
Yet the book that resulted from her explorations of that creek and its environs in northeast Roanoke County proved to be one for the ages. This year, essayist Margaret Renkl wrote in The New York Times that “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek,” published in 1974, was “a book that changed my life,” while novelist Barbara Kingsolver declared in The Washington Post that Dillard’s masterpiece “rearranged my soul.”
The year after its publication, Dillard’s dense, poetic first-person meditation on the natural world won the Pulitzer Prize for general nonfiction. She was only 29. As the 20th century drew to a close, Modern Library published a list of the top 100 nonfiction books of the previous 100 years that featured “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” at number 89, between anthropologist James George Frazier’s “The Golden Bough” and physicist Richard P. Feynman’s “Six Easy Pieces.”
In the Roanoke Valley, the 50th anniversary of the book’s publication — March 13, for the record — passed by quietly. No regular event or permanent marker exists to commemorate the book’s Roanoke connection, and many, if not most, of the valley’s residents are unaware of its connections to this landmark work of literature.
Or as Andy Hough put it, “They’re clueless.”
Hough, 67, could be described as a “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” superfan. He read the book because Andrew Lewis High School required him to — and he expressed a delighted astonishment at how important that book turned out to be decades later: “Without Annie Dillard’s book, I can tell you this, our lives would not be as enriched as they are.”
Hough and his wife, Judy, 67, may be the only Roanoke Valley residents maintaining an active tribute to “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.” Within their Roanoke County home, they operate an Airbnb, which they’ve dubbed Tinker Creek Guest House, right along the stretch of creek where Dillard found her inspiration. A copy of the book lies on the coffee table in the suite’s living room.
“There’s one sentence in the book that talks about Carvins Creek and Tinker Creek,” Andy Hough said. “The closest those two creeks come is right here.”
‘The goosebumps came up’
The house they own used to belong to longtime Roanoke Valley artists and educators Bill and Sarah Kohler. As Andy Hough tells it, he had commissioned artwork from Sarah Kohler for his brother’s wedding and had come to the house to pick up the finished piece. “I pulled up front. There was a for sale sign in front of the house. I took one look at the front of the house with all the landscaping. I reached for the doorknob, got a vision: flat backyard, dogwood tree, Tinker Creek and Tinker Mountain.”
Inside, he beheld a view of Tinker Mountain through the back window. He learned from Sarah Kohler that the house’s for-sale status had not yet been publicized, and he asked her to take the sign down. Not even knowing the price, he intended to buy.
“I said, ‘That’s Carvins Creek.’ And she goes, ‘Oh no, that’s Tinker Creek.’ And the goosebumps came up on my arms,” Andy Hough recalled.
That was in 1999. The Houghs estimate that somewhere between 30% to 50% of their guests rent their suite out of an appreciation for the book.
A woman traveling from Savannah, Georgia, back to Minnesota burst into tears as Hough gave her a tour of the grounds. “She walked into the backyard and started crying,” he said. “And I went, ‘Ma’am, what in the world have I done to upset you?’”
She explained to him, “‘I have taught Annie Dillard’s book in English Lit 101 for 30 years, and I never imagined I would be able to see Tinker Creek.’ It literally brought her to tears.”
The dogwood tree that Dillard immortalized in “Pilgrim” is gone, toppled by the 2012 derecho. But the Houghs’ backyard affords a close-up view of the remains of the dam the author describes walking across to get from bank to bank. “Every time I cross the dam and dry my feet on the bank, I feel like I’ve just been born,” she wrote.
The view also demonstrates the difficulty of putting some sort of physical monument in the place where Dillard made her famous observations about the local flora and fauna. Though the scenes described in the book evoke a forested wilderness, in 2024, that span of the creek winds directly through a well-developed suburban neighborhood, every inch private property.
Open to suggestions
Arts and culture leaders in the valley love the idea of some kind of continuous commemoration, though, and they are open to suggestions as to how it could be accomplished.
“I think a great approach might be to put an artist-in-residence on it. I could imagine a land artwork or a sensory trail with an audio component,” Doug Jackson, Roanoke’s arts and culture coordinator, wrote in an email. “While we may not be able to do anything in the county portion, we could potentially create something further in along the new sections of the Tinker Creek Greenway.”
The section of the Tinker Creek greenway in Roanoke County begins on Hollins University property, noted Frank Maguire, greenway coordinator for the Roanoke Valley Greenway Commission, who referenced Annie Dillard’s status as one of Hollins’ most famous alumnae.
“Besides the natural tie-in with Hollins, this could also be the easiest in terms of process,” he said. He noted that the green light to go forward with such a project would have to come from the Roanoke County Board of Supervisors.
Andy Hough had a suggestion of his own: a historical marker on the Ardmore Drive bridge that crosses Tinker Creek. This would put the marker in a place where Dillard had roamed without risk of trespassing incidents.
Roanoke historian and former Mayor Nelson Harris has made a cause of establishing historical markers that bring neglected figures and events from our region’s past back into the spotlight. “State historic markers typically do not recognize a single title per se, though one might recognize Annie Dillard as an author incorporating ‘Pilgrim at Tinker Creek’ within the marker text,” he wrote. “The caveat here is that markers only recognize those that are deceased.”
Also, “physical monuments cost money, so there’d be the question of funding.”
State historic markers he has successfully placed cost $3,200 apiece, he wrote. “I have to raise all funds privately for those.”
Harris shared a notion somewhat in line with Jackson’s and Maguire’s thinking. “One idea I have toyed with over the years is advocating the creation of a Writers’ Walk, akin to the Hollywood Walk of Fame minus the hand prints,” he wrote. “The idea would be to celebrate our valley’s premier writers. I also think of poet Guy Carleton Drewry, who was Virginia’s longest-serving poet laureate, science fiction writer Nelson Bond, et cetera.”
House by the creek
Annie Dillard, now 79, only lived in the Roanoke Valley for about 12 years. When she left, she had already achieved a reputation as one of the valley’s most celebrated exports, somewhat at the cost of her own peace of mind.
Born Annie Doak, daughter of a Pittsburgh corporate executive who shared with his wife a love of dancing, she came to study at Hollins College in 1963.
She told The Roanoke Times in a 2014 interview that her parents had hoped Hollins would tame her wild streak, but she was eager to enroll because she already knew of the private women’s college’s growing reputation as a writing mecca, attracting writers-in-residence such as William Golding, author of the classic novel “Lord of the Flies.”
She married one of her writing instructors, the acclaimed poet Richard Dillard, and completed her master’s degree in creative writing as a faculty wife. She and Richard lived in a house with a backyard sloping down to Tinker Creek, nearby to the Houghs’ Tinker Creek Guest House. A diary she kept of her wanderings along and meditations on the creek would transform into “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek,” composed on a typewriter in the college library.
Annie Dillard dedicated “Pilgrim” to her husband. “Richard Dillard taught me everything I know,” she told The Roanoke Times.
Dense with poetic descriptions of breathtaking beauty, “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” plunges deep into an examination of the natural world, combining material drawn from scientific texts and Dillard’s own up-close observations of cruelty and transcendence among flora and fauna. Bible passages appear throughout the book, as Dillard ponders the complexities of a world teeming with constant brutality at every level of life, shaped by a creator presumed benevolent.
Another way to put it: Even though it’s not a long book, “it is a long, slow read,” said Ernie Zulia, retired director of the Hollins Theatre Institute.
And yet, this challenging book became a national sensation at shocking speed, at least as literary phenomena go. Excerpts appeared in Atlantic Monthly, Harper’s Magazine and Sports Illustrated. Paperback and book club rights reportedly earned the young writer $250,000, the equivalent of $1.6 million in today’s dollars. Publicity averse and used to working in solitude, Dillard found the scale of surprise attention upsetting.
“So much was happening to that book. I just wanted to flee. It became a problem,” she told The Roanoke Times in 2014.
In 1975, the year “Pilgrim” won a Pulitzer, she and Richard Dillard divorced, and she took up residence in Puget Sound, Washington. Later she taught writing at Wesleyan University in Connecticut.
However, her ties to Southwest Virginia would continue. She attended Hollins class reunions, and later in life she and her third husband, the biographer Robert D. Richardson, counted among their homes in multiple states a trio of cabins deep in the Wythe County woodlands, which they visited every autumn.
Richardson died in 2020. Richard Dillard, who remained friends with Annie Dillard, died in 2023. Her literary agency, Massie & McQuilkin Literary Agents, declined a request for an interview with Dillard for this story.
“Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” exhibits specific Southwest Virginia ties beyond the eponymous creek, and even beyond other cited natural landmarks such as Carvins Cove, Carvins Creek, Tinker Mountain and Dead Man Mountain, an archaic reference that made Harris grin.
“That’s how I first heard Tinker Mountain referenced by relatives,” he said. “They said it was because the mountain ridge resembled a corpse draped in cloth … head and feet both elevated.”
The book’s pivotal chapter depicts the floods that Hurricane Agnes brought to the valley in 1972, and there’s even a wry mention of the Martinsville Speedway — the name the neighborhood children gave their motorbike trail.
‘I can see it’
There’s a piece of art created to celebrate “Pilgrim” that has the potential to return for more encores. Bonus: it has Dillard’s personal blessing.
Led by Zulia, Hollins organized a 40th anniversary celebration of “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” in 2014, centered around a stage adaptation of the book that Zulia commissioned.
When he approached Dillard with the proposal, “she couldn’t imagine it working for the stage, but she gave us permission,” he recalled. Playwright and Virginia Tech alum Andy Belser wrote the adaptation, which took an abstract, meditative approach in its staging.
Zulia invited Dillard to see the play, telling her, “This is really turning into a beautiful piece,” but she declined.
In a Roanoke Times interview, she expressed an abiding love for Hollins and called Zulia “a genius,” but called the “Pilgrim” celebration “embarrassing,” emphasizing that her most famous book was not her favorite among those she’s written, suggesting that readers might better enjoy her novel “The Maytrees.”
Jackson described attending the play with some initial skepticism that it could captivate him after a long workday. “But it did. It blew me away!” he wrote.
Weeks after the play ended, Zulia said he received a shock, when Richard Dillard approached him on campus and said, “Annie loved it.”
Apparently, the still publicity-shy author had shown up to take in a performance, disguised in a hoodie, baggy jeans and crutches.
That wasn’t the end of it. “Maybe it was two or three months later, I was teaching a class upstairs in the studio theater,” Zulia said. “We were doing a performance showcase. At the end of the class, I was greeting family members and talking to people, and this gray-haired woman came up to me and said, ‘Are you Ernie Zulia?’ I said, ‘Yes,’ and she says, ‘Well, I’m Annie Dillard.’”
She let him know that she was staying on campus at the alumnae cottage, so he joined her there for conversation, drinks and some naughty cigarettes.
“Annie Dillard gets me to smoke cigarettes and drink bourbon,” he chuckled. “It was one of the most stimulating conversations I think I’ve ever had. This incredible mind and this incredible imagination and this incredible intellect that she had. She’s just something else, funny and raunchy.”
His time with the author gave him insight into how she could have drawn so much from Tinker Creek despite its pedestrian location. “Having met Annie, it’s not hard to imagine her meditating on what was right in front of her as she’s standing in the middle of the road in the suburban neighborhood, looking down the creek or up the creek and completely blocking the entire civilized world out, and just focusing in on the natural world. I can imagine it, no problem. I just can see it. I can see it.”
On a late summer day at the Ardmore bridge, despite the passage of five decades, the Tinker Creek that Annie Dillard saw glittered between rows of houses. To the north, a muskrat dove in from the bank and hid within the weeds. To the south, a heron spread its wings, keeping above the waters as it glided under sheltering trees.
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