The Witch of Pungo and the Healers of St. Charles

by Jerry Buchanan

                                            Image provided by a lady called Johnna 

In the folklore of Virginia, the name Grace Sherwood—the famous "Witch of Pungo"—carries the weight of salt air and 18th-century trials. But hundreds of miles west, in the shadows of the coal peaks of St. Charles, the word "witch" carried a different kind of power. To a child, it was a ghost story told to keep you indoors at night; to an adult, it was often the only medicine available when the nearest doctor was miles away.

The Shadows in the Trees

Local memory is a flickering thing. Some, like Edna Crumley, grew up with the chilling "old folks' tale" of a witch burned at the stake right here in St. Charles—a shadow that lingered long enough to make a little girl wonder if she was still alive. Others, like Crystal Alexander, recall stories of a woman who could seemingly vanish into the bark of a tree, a figure of mystery who sold wax flowers to the living while treading the line of the supernatural.

The Healers: Docie Jones and Mary Magdaline Blanton

While some feared the "witch," others sought the "healer." This wasn't dark magic; it was a birthright.

• Docie Jones: Near the old Dean’s Grocery (now the 421 Market), Docie Jones was known for "blowing the pain away." When hot grease scalded a child, it was Docie’s breath—a traditional Appalachian charm—that stopped the tears when modern medicine couldn't.

• The Power of the Draw: Mary Magdaline Blanton was part of a lineage of women who could "draw the fire" out of a burn or "throw away" a wart.

"Never thought of her as a witch, only a healer." — Angie McQueen Broadhuhn

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The Echo of Grace Sherwood: Accusation and Trial

The reason Grace Sherwood’s name still echoes in these mountains is because she was the ultimate example of a "healer" cast as a "villain."

In 1706, Grace—a beautiful farmer and herb-woman—was accused by jealous neighbors of bewitching crops and "sailing in an eggshell." The court ordered a "Trial by Ducking." Tied thumbs-to-toes, Grace was thrown into the Lynnhaven River at what is now Witchduck Point.

She floated.

In the eyes of the law, her survival was "proof" of witchcraft. She spent eight years in prison before returning to her land, living into her 80s. It took exactly 300 years, but in 2006, Governor Tim Kaine officially pardoned her, acknowledging the injustice of her conviction.

About the Author

Jerry Buchanan is a keeper of local echoes and a chronicler of the places time tried to leave behind. A storyteller who works at the intersection of creative writing and visual design, Jerry uses atmospheric imagery to breathe life back into the fading storefronts and forgotten legends of his youth. With deep roots in the soil of Southwest Virginia, he ensures that the stories of towns like St. Charles—from the thundering depots to the quiet "granny women" who healed the sick—are never fully surrendered to the mist. Now based in Bargersville, Indiana, he continues to explore themes of presence and transformation, one image and one echo at a time.