A Renovation Project with a Big Mission
By: Megan Williams / Photos by: Ashlee Glen
It’s around here somewhere,” Melissa Holgado said, eyes roaming the northern exterior brick wall of the circa 1825 Federal style plantation home she and her husband, Federico, purchased in 2023.
Finally spotting the right brick, Melissa walked over and gently placed two fingers into two small indentations left on the brick—fingerprints left by the hands of an enslaved person who handmade the brick and likely forcibly worked at the home after its construction.
There’s a duality in this seemingly small detail—that one small brick, nearly indistinguishable from the thousands that wrap the 4,600-square-foot home. When viewed up close, it tells a harsh truth, a painful story of decades of enslaved labor, not just at the home on Red Hill Farm, but across the country. But if you step back even just a little, the brick fades in with the rest and you get the impression of grandeur—of what the home would have been like in its time, before age and decades of abandonment weathered both its interior and exterior.
For the Holgados, their mission is to bring both into focus as they work to restore Red Hill.
The Story of Red Hill Farm
“There are actually a lot of homes or farms named ‘Red Hill’ in this area, thanks to the red Virginia clay that so many historic homes were built on,” said Melissa, explaining the distinction between this home in Monroe and Patrick Henry’s Red Hill in Charlotte County.
According to the Holgados’ research, Red Hill Farm was first settled by Charles Ellis in 1754. Charles was granted 1,000 acres from King George II after he served under Thomas Jefferson’s father, Colonel Peter Jefferson, during the French and Indian War. The home that stands today was built from profits amassed by Charles Ellis II—Charles Ellis’s grandson—through various mercantile ventures.
“We are incredibly sensitive to the difficult history of Red Hill Farm as a slave-owning plantation and [residing on] original Monacan land that was stolen,” Melissa furthered.
The Amherst County region of Virginia and specifically Red Hill’s acreage—which is now 40 acres of its original 1,000—sits on Monacan land. The Monacan Indian Nation has lived in the mountains and foothills of Amherst County since 1000 A.D.
According to the National Archives, identifying enslaved men, women, and children poses unique challenges as “enslaved individuals rarely had surnames and created few records themselves. Successful research usually requires positively identifying the slave holder(s) who may have created records that mentioned slaves.”
Apart from scarce artifacts exhumed during renovation at Red Hill Farm as well as a few remaining foundations of outbuildings on the property, which Melissa conjectures were slave quarters, little is known about the names, identities, and lives of those who were enslaved at Red Hill Farm, including how many were enslaved. However, records of the firm of Ellis & Allan from the years 1783 to 1889 to buy and sell tobacco are archived at the Library of Congress and give a rare glimpse into life and business at this time. It is in these records that it is confirmed that the Ellis family had enslaved persons at Red Hill.
In 2016, the land and home was placed under a conservation easement with the Virginia Outdoor Foundation and the property remains under that easement today.
Red Hill’s Restoration Begins
Driving up to the property today, the experience is idyllic. Finches leap from roadside thickets as you ascend the mountain, the Pedlar River trickling and ambling below.
As you crest the hill, an English Springer Spaniel named Pancho runs at your back wheels, the unofficial welcome party of the property. The front door—East-facing to allow the morning light to gently warm the front of the home—is framed by a Greek-style portico which was added to the facade sometime around the 1930s. Before climbing the wide stairs to the front entrance, however, you pause and allow your eyes to sweep over the neighboring mountain view. You take in the serene silence—a hush that it seems everyone but a nearby Pileated Woodpecker has adopted. Despite it being an active construction site, there is a reverence on the grounds, an understanding of the important work being accomplished.
“When we were first driving here [in October 2022], we had it in our mind that we were just going to see it and decide it was too much of a project,” Melissa remembered. “It was fall, so even the drive was stunning. We just kept joking to each other, ‘I hope it sucks.’
We were so quiet walking through with the realtor. I hung back, taking photos with my camera. I remember saying to myself, ‘This does not suck.’”
Melissa recalled the pastoral views they had just out of the front door. At the time, the land was owned by Sammy Myers, a local farmer, and his son Henry, as part of a larger tract of cattle farm land.
Melissa remembered seeing cattle amble around the front yard.
“It felt right, it felt like home,” she said. “We called the realtor that day and told him we were putting in an offer.”
That night over dinner at The Virginian, where they were staying while they toured Red Hill and another property in the area, the Holgados feverishly drew up plans for the property. With Melissa and Federico having backgrounds in architecture and design, respectively, they had the skill sets needed to tackle such a large restoration project.
“The property was near and dear to the owners’ hearts and they wanted to see it go into the right hands,” Melissa said. “They had turned down offers before because people didn’t have the right intentions—they wanted to gut it or turn it into a business. I wrote them a letter telling them our intentions and our background. I think that went a long way.”
Currently, and when the Holgados purchased the property in January 2023, the home on Red Hill Farm is uninhabitable. It had been vacant for decades and had fallen into disrepair. Former owners had added bathrooms and a kitchen to the twelve-room footprint, but major upgrades need to be made to the electrical and plumbing before the home can be lived in once again.
The home has twelve interior rooms, each with its own fireplace and original mantel and a grand hallway on each of the three floors.
As with most Federal-style homes, the floor plan is nearly identical on each floor.
“Old houses function best when they are used as they were built to be used. So we are going to start lighting some fires in the fireplaces soon,” Melissa said, who has a masters in architecture with a focused-passion on “embodied energy,” a concept that states that the most environmentally considerate building is one that is already built. For the Holgados, their priority is to maintain as much of the historical integrity of the home as possible, while ensuring it remains for another 200 years.
Melissa believes the work she and Federico are doing at Red Hill differs from many historic renovation projects because of their background.
“We are able to recreate architectural details that need repairs by 3D modeling and use of our CNC machine, which is no easy feat,” she said. “My architectural schooling allows me to draw plans, understand basic structural engineering, and the importance of using old school construction methods and materials to ensure the health and stability of the structures.”
After purchasing the home, the Holgados immediately got to work on the tax credit process with the Virginia Department of Historic Resources, which is a program that provides state tax credits to property owners who undertake the rehabilitation of historic buildings in compliance with the Secretary of Interior’s Standards for Rehabilitation.
“We turned the milking barn into a proper wood workshop so that we were ready to fix the architectural wood details ourselves,” Melissa said, also noting that Federico’s hobbies include traditional woodworking with a focus on furniture making.
“It also helps to expedite the work our amazing contractor, David Mahler, does. Last year was focused on the exterior in order to get the building weather tight and secure before we begin the interiors this year. We also had a large septic system placed as there hadn’t ever been a proper plumbing system.”
The Holgados acknowledge that they’re undertaking the restoration of two very important stories—the story of a 200-year-old home and the story of the people who lived and worked on the property.
“We can’t wipe history away,” Melissa said, brushing mortar dust from her hands as she stepped away from the fingerprinted brick. “It’s important that these structures exist. It’s important that we keep this alive and are honest about the stories. I don’t mince words, I don’t call this house an estate or a mansion—I call it a plantation because that’s what it was.”
