Laura Smith and 41 Years of Community, Apples, and Small-Town Magic in Berkeley Springs
The smell of wood smoke always comes first. Then the faint sound of laughter, and the soft chatter of neighbors greeting one another as steam drifts from bubbling copper kettles at the corner of Fairfax and Washington Street. It’s the Apple Butter Festival morning in Berkeley Springs, a ritual that’s part harvest, part homecoming, and entirely heart.
And at the center of it all, for more than four decades, stands Laura Smith.
You might miss her at first. She’s not the one making speeches or posing for photos, but she’s there checking in on volunteers, greeting vendors she’s known for half a lifetime, and smiling quietly at the rhythm of a town that still beats in time with the seasons.
“People think the festival just happens,” she says, laughing softly. “It takes a year’s worth of love and a whole lot of hands.”
Roots in the Hills
Laura didn’t come to Berkeley Springs with a plan. In 1983, she and her husband Larry found a 90-acre tree farm for sale in a nurseryman’s magazine and thought, why not? The farm sat tucked among the rolling hills outside town, and soon it was alive with rows of pines and families searching for their Christmas trees each December.
From there came a landscaping business, long days, heavy work, and the slow satisfaction of watching something grow. But more than the land, it was the people who drew Laura in. Two years after moving, she joined the Chamber of Commerce, nudged along by a friend, Beth Curtin, who was the Executive Director at the time.
That small decision to sign up to help would weave Laura into the fabric of the community for the next forty years.
The Chamber Years
By 2000, Laura had traded soil and seedlings for spreadsheets and festival maps, joining Travel Berkeley Springs full-time. “It felt natural,” she says. “Our family was always involved in community things. It’s how we were raised.”
The Chamber and Travel Berkeley Springs shared an office that wasn’t just an office; it was the town’s pulse. It organized parades, welcomed new businesses, and kept alive the events that made Berkeley Springs more than a dot on a map. But nothing compared to the Apple Butter Festival.
When the Air Turns Sweet
The festival began in 1974 as a simple autumn gathering, meant to celebrate the harvest and the art of making apple butter the old-fashioned way, with wooden paddles and open fire. Over the years, it’s become a full-blown celebration that draws thousands.
“When I started,” Laura recalls, “besides the two vendors making apple butter at the festival, there were several other vendors selling apple butter they had made at home or with an organization. Returning festivalgoers would have their favorites to buy from. It was all about the spices, which added cloves; was it heavy on the allspice or cinnamon? These were important questions.”
Those small distinctions—spice ratios, stirring techniques, the angle of a paddle—matter in a town like this. They turn cooking into craft and community into continuity. Every jar of apple butter tells a story about patience, persistence, and people who still believe in doing things the long way.
Many of the original vendors have retired, their children moving on to other things. The Lions Club used to press fresh cider on-site until health regulations required pasteurization, and some of the original artists stopped coming once online sales took off.
Yet somehow, the festival hasn’t lost its soul. It’s still apple butter on fresh bread, music echoing down Fairfax Street, and the kind of contests that could only make sense here, egg toss, hog calling, beard judging, and laughter that carries long after dark.
“It’s changed,” Laura admits, “but the heart of it hasn’t. It’s still about community.”
The Year Without Apples
When the pandemic arrived, the kettles went cold for the first time in nearly half a century. For a town where the festival anchors the year, the absence felt personal.
Businesses downtown stayed afloat thanks to weekend visitors chasing fall color, but community groups took the hardest hit. The Boy Scouts, the 4-H, and the Humane Society all relied on the festival for fundraising. “It was quiet,” Laura says. “Too quiet.”
When the event returned, it wasn’t just a festival. It was a reunion—the kind where hugs lasted longer and even the cider tasted sweeter.
Two names still come up whenever people talk about “real” apple butter: Mr. Westbrook and another vendor whose booth used to sit near the courthouse. Their recipes were simple but fiercely guarded, one heavy on nutmeg, the other on cinnamon.
“They’d never tell you what was in it,” Laura grins. “But everyone had their favorite.”
Those small distinctions—spice ratios, stirring techniques, the angle of a paddle—matter in a town like this. They turn cooking into craft and community into continuity. Every jar of apple butter tells a story about patience, persistence, and people who still believe in doing things the long way.
A Town That Keeps Giving Back
The Apple Butter Festival might be Berkeley Springs’ marquee event, but it’s just one note in a year-long melody of local gatherings. There’s the duck race that raises money for the Boys & Girls Club, the community theater, the summer concerts at Berkeley Springs State Park, and the yearly Studio Tour, where local artists open their doors to visitors.
“It’s funny,” Laura says. “We moved here for the land, but we stayed for the people. The arts, the outdoors, and the sense of belonging sneak up on you.”
Even visitors who arrive with no intention of staying often find themselves looking at real estate brochures by Sunday afternoon. Something about the mountains, maybe, or the way the town slows time without losing its spark.
The Next Chapter
After 25 years in the Chamber office, Travel Berkeley Springs moved to the train depot north of town. Laura was no longer involved in the festival planning last year. “It’s nice to have a little breathing room,” she admits, though there’s a wistful note in her voice. “I miss the chaos. The weeks before the festival, the phone was ringing off the hook, vendors calling, volunteers dropping by. It was like a living organism. But it’s in good hands now.”
She still volunteers during the main event weekend by helping to mark off vendor booths, working the merchandise booth, all the while watching the new organizers take their turn at the helm.
“Things change,” she says, looking down Main Street, “but what matters stays. That’s what I love about this place.”
A Festival, A Legacy, A Community
If you stand on the corner of Fairfax and Washington during the festival, you’ll see what she means. A swirl of locals and travelers, live bluegrass spilling from the stage, apple butter jars catching sunlight like amber glass. Behind all the planning, the coordination, and the invisible scaffolding, there’s the quiet imprint of the chamber staff and volunteers.
Her story is one of roots: literal ones in the soil of a tree farm, and deeper ones in a community that thrives because someone cared enough to keep stirring the pot.
And that’s the real secret to Berkeley Springs. It’s not the festival, or even the springs, it’s the people who show up year after year, keeping the flame steady so others can feel at home.
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