In the past few years, I had discovered that several of my ancestors who moved north during the Great Migration were buried in the area, in Uniontown, Brownsville, and Edenborn. These were names I had seen on road signs before, towns I had unknowingly passed through while heading to Fallingwater. I hadn’t realized then that I was driving across landscapes once walked by my own kin. But now I knew. And once I knew, I couldn’t go back the same way.

Last month, I returned to Fallingwater for Members’ Day with this new awareness. I made time to visit the cemeteries where my relatives now rest. I stood where they had lived, worked, and died. This visit wasn’t just a getaway, it was a journey into my own history.

The Allmond Side: From the Farm to the Shipyards to the Coalfields

Between 1900 and 1910, my great-grandfather John Allmond’s siblings left the family farm in Isle of Wight County, Virginia. While he stayed behind to work the land and sharecrop, his brothers and sisters ventured out, stopping briefly in Norfolk County, present-day Portsmouth and Chesapeake, before eventually making their way into the coal fields of Western Pennsylvania and West Virginia.

By the 1920 census, their migration paths were already taking shape. Charlotte “Lottie” Allmond was living in Newport News with her husband, Emmitt Eley, and their children William, Emmanuel, and Beatrice. Emmitt worked in the steel department of the Newport News shipyard.

Charlotte’s story is one of both hope and heartbreak. In April 1920, she gave birth to a son, Larse, who died just two months later. Still grieving, the family moved to German Township in Fayette County, Pennsylvania, likely chasing work in the mines. But just three months after their move, Charlotte contracted tuberculosis and was placed in a sanitarium. She died within a week. Her story reflects not only the personal toll of migration, but the dangers and instability that shaped life for so many Black families during this era.

By 1930, Emmitt Eley had remarried and remained in German Township. He worked as a coal loader and raised his children in the same mining community.

Mittie Allmond had remarried and was living in Deep Creek with her second husband, Ruben Hill, and her children Alivia and Alma Ricks. Mittie’s younger sister, Ella, was also in the household. Daughter Alma, only 15 at the time, would eventually become part of the next wave of the family’s migration north.

By 1930, Alma Ricks had moved to German Township as well, with her husband Daniel Butler and their three children. Daniel was working as a coal digger, another thread in this family’s deepening connection to the mines.

James Allmond had settled in Portsmouth with his wife Lola and their children. Also in their home was Maude Allmond, the baby sister, and a young man named Ernest Knight, who worked as a helper at the Norfolk Naval Shipyard. Maude and Ernest would later marry.

Maude and Ernest Knight stayed in Portsmouth through the 1930s and 1940s, but by 1950, they too had moved to Fayetteville in Fayette County, West Virginia. The census from that year shows both Ernest and his son, Melvin, working as coal loaders. Even years later and across state lines, the pattern of Black labor migration and generational continuity in coal work persisted.

The Eley Side: A Legacy Forged in Coal and Resilience

On the 1920 Census, Beasley and his family were still in Isle of Wight County, Virginia, where he was listed as a farmer. While I was not able to find them in the 1930 Census, records show that his wife Bessie was still in Isle of Wight when their youngest child Anna was born in 1924.

After Beasley’s death, Bessie remained in the area and remarried twice,both times to other coal miners. Through hardship and change, she kept her family together. Her story echoes that of many Black women who became the quiet center of strength in working-class Appalachian communities.

Their children followed in the footsteps laid out before them. Vernice and Orfus Eley became coal miners themselves. Their daughter, Beatrice, married Rodman Weston, a miner who had come to Uniontown from North Carolina. After his passing, she married Percy Hooper, who had migrated from Fayette County, West Virginia. Their daughter Anna also married a coal miner who had come to Fayette from Virginia.

The Eleys became part of the close-knit Black coal towns of Western Pennsylvania, places where labor and kinship were often the same thing, and where resilience was passed down as a matter of survival.

The Cemeteries

I was able to go to Clearview Cemetery in Uniontown, Edenborn Cemetery in Edenborn, and Woodlawn Cemetery in Brownsville. I only walked Edenborn because more of my relatives are there although I did not find all the graves. I need to go for a weekend to spend more time.

A Larger Migration Story

Between 1900 and 1950, the story of my family unfolded alongside the greater arc of the Great Migration. As Jim Crow laws, dwindling agricultural opportunities, and economic exploitation drove Black families out of the rural South, many, including mine, headed toward promise, however uncertain, in the North and the Appalachian coalfields.

Some, like my great-grandfather, stayed behind to work the land. Others took risks and boarded trains to places like Uniontown, Brownsville, Connellsville, and Fayetteville. These towns, once unfamiliar, are now part of my family’s geography. They are the backdrop of dreams sought, labor exchanged, and lives remembered.

Conclusion: Layers of Legacy

Driving through the small towns and winding roads of Western Pennsylvania had once only meant scenic views and architectural marvels. There’s a strange and beautiful symmetry to visiting Fallingwater again, only this time with a deeper understanding of what lies beyond the curated trails and architectural tours. Just down the road are cemeteries where my people rest. Their stories are not on plaques or postcards, but they’re written in stone, in census rolls, in coal dust, and in bloodlines.

When I stepped out of the car at those cemeteries, I wasn’t just sightseeing. I was connecting. It’s a reminder that history isn’t just something we visit, it’s something we inherit. Sometimes you don’t have to go looking for it. Sometimes you’ve already been there, you just didn’t know what you were standing on.