The Waterford Mill an Essay by Gwyneth Kemeny

This blog was submitted to us by Gwyneth Kemeny, a Virginia high school senior pursuing architecture, various performing arts, and all things sweet and sentimental.

Since 2009, the Waterford Foundation has been completing extensive reconstructive work on the Waterford Mill. Between advocating for the preservation of wildlife and fitting historical buildings with practical, accessible amenities, they’ve taken in the Mill’s warping walls, installed structural cross beams in the interior, and fitted the Mill with a set of fire stairs for safety. But there is more to be done; right now, the Waterford Foundation is looking to replace the Mill’s water wheel with a historically accurate replica, which, beyond the aesthetic completion of the mill, would move stagnant water out of the village and improve circulation during storms. 

Unfortunately, however, manufacturers that are capable of producing a waterwheel with the methods used by colonial craftsmen are scarce. In fact, there are only three manufacturers in the entire country. 

This isn’t an uncommon issue to run into in this field, though. In an interview, the Waterford Foundation’s Director of Historic Preservation, Abigail Zurfluh, stated that finding specialists who can complete work like this is among the most difficult tasks in most historical preservation projects. After all, the techniques used by colonial craftsmen are inefficient by modern standards and cannot accurately be replicated by contemporary, efficient factory lines. This means that prices for historical pieces skyrocket, trumping all other difficulties within historic preservation projects. The Waterford Mill’s wheel alone costs about $15,000, which is compounded with the many other costs necessary for maintaining the structural integrity of the mill itself. The Waterford Foundation works hard to raise the funds necessary, but despite the fundraising Waterford Fair and government grants, having enough money remains the primary issue. Then, if finding money for historic accuracy is so difficult, perhaps it’s time to question if it’s worth doing in the first place. 

If you’re anything like me, you may have immediately reacted: Of course, historical accuracy matters– isn’t the whole point of historic preservation to preserve historical technique, styles and knowledge? Wouldn’t parodied versions of historic pieces undermine the whole premise of historical preservation? 

But preserved historic sites aren’t just being used as living museums. In a process dubbed “adaptive reuse,” the Waterford Foundation’s buildings have become community gathering spaces, art exhibits, and crafting spots, transcending the structures’ former lives as chair factories or grain mills so that they might be useful for citizens today. While it’s certainly true that some might find utility in a space that emulates historic technique and aesthetics with near-perfect accuracy, archaic manufacturing processes may not be what members of the local community wish their donations to be spent on, since the very first priority for these buildings is making them structurally sound. 

Additionally, the financial burden placed on these smaller historic preservation communities is massive. Projects like the Mill require careful laborers who can manage working with delicate structures, bespoke structural elements, and often superficial ornaments to restore the buildings’ original aesthetics. This all comes at a hefty price and, unfortunately, not all local historical societies have the funding to be the next Colonial Williamsburg. Why, then, should the onus be on smaller reconstructive foundations to survive the intricacies of historic styles? Wouldn’t a disclamatory plaque not serve the same educational purpose at a much lower cost? 

Any problem-solving algorithm would easily be able to weigh the objective pros and cons of historical accuracy’s related costs and come to the conclusion that expediency is the obvious solution. And yet, I just cannot bring myself to agree. 

Waterford has always been a close-knit town. Even in their production golden age before the industrial revolution, the city was populated by small business owners and neighbors who knew each other personally. Following that, those business owners, out-competed by Kelloggs and capitalist empires, relied on their community for support. Tucked away in the rolling hills and old-growth oaks of Loudon County, Waterford has always been a collection of people holding their own against the throes of industrialization, and the buildings here reflect that. 

Though it would be practical to opt for a cheaper waterwheel, not every practical solution is the right one. We are driven by a curiosity about and reverence for the past. We want to feel connected to our past and the people before us, and the best way to do that is through preservation of things even as innocuous as how they made their waterwheels. A historically accurate waterwheel isn’t just a fun fact that can be boasted of during a walking tour or on a plaque; like your mother’s engagement ring or a dad-joke passed through generations, these tokens of the past are deeply sentimental.

The waterwheel’s task is not to replace a practical water-pump or sluice, nor is it to supply Waterford with a superficial ‘historic’ aesthetic. The wheel’s task, along with the tasks of almost all other historic preservation efforts, is instead to make people feel connected to our history. Ultimately, this is what the community donates towards, and it ought not be spent on anything less than a historically accurate waterwheel.