Peter Grubb's Upper Hopewell Iron Forge
Elizabeth Township, Lancaster County, Pennsylvania
Marker Inscription
SITE OF PETER GRUBB'S UPPER HOPEWELL IRON FORGE ERECTED 1742 OPERATED UNTIL 1803 THIS GROUND IS SET ASIDE AS A WILDLIFE SANCTUARY AND A PLACE OF REST BY ELSIE W. BRADLEY IN MEMORY OF RICHARD (DICK) EUGENE CONNELLY 1931-1972 THIS TABLET ERECTED BY THE LAN… transcription continues on the marker
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The Story
In the wooded hills of Lancaster County, ironmaster Peter Grubb raised this forge in 1742, part of the network of charcoal-fired "iron plantations" that made colonial Pennsylvania one of the largest iron producers in the British Empire. At an upper forge like this one, workers refined brittle pig iron under water-powered hammers into tough, malleable wrought iron — the bar stock a young country needed for tools, hardware, and horseshoes. The Grubb family's ironworks grew into one of the region's great iron dynasties, and this forge kept its hammers ringing until 1803, through the Revolution and into the early Republic. Long after the fires went cold, the ground was set aside as a wildlife sanctuary and place of rest in memory of Richard "Dick" Eugene Connelly.
Why it matters
Colonial Pennsylvania's rural iron forges quietly forged the raw material of American independence and industry, arming and equipping a growing nation decades before the great mills of the industrial age.
The story behind this marker
AI contextThe era
In the middle decades of the 1700s, the wooded hills of what is now Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, were part of one of the great industrial secrets of colonial America: iron. Britain's American colonies, rich in ore, timber for charcoal, and fast-running streams to turn water wheels, quietly grew into one of the largest iron-producing regions in the entire British Empire.
The engine of that industry was the "iron plantation" — a self-contained rural community built around a furnace or forge, surrounded by the woodlots that fed it charcoal and the farms that fed its workers. When this forge was raised in 1742, it belonged to that world: a landscape of fire and water and hard labor tucked into the Pennsylvania countryside, far from any city.
By the time its hammers finally fell silent in 1803, the site had worked straight through the American Revolution and into the years of the young republic — six decades that carried the country from British colony to independent nation.
People & events
The forge bears the name of Peter Grubb, the ironmaster who established the works. In colonial iron country, the ironmaster was a figure of real local weight — part industrialist, part landlord, presiding over furnaces, forges, woodcutters, teamsters, and the skilled hammermen who did the exacting work of refining iron. The Grubb name would become one of the enduring iron families of the region.
At an upper forge like this one, the work was refinement. Brittle "pig iron" from a furnace was reheated and beaten under heavy, water-powered hammers to drive out impurities, transforming it into tough, workable wrought iron — the bar stock from which a growing country made its tools, hardware, nails, and horseshoes. It was hot, skilled, relentless labor, tied to the rhythm of the water that powered the hammers.
The marker also carries a much later and more personal story. Long after the fires went cold, this ground was set aside as a wildlife sanctuary and a place of rest by Elsie W. Bradley in memory of Richard "Dick" Eugene Connelly, who lived from 1931 to 1972 — a quiet act of remembrance layered over an old industrial site.
Its place in the American story
It is easy to picture the American story of iron and steel as a tale of towering nineteenth-century mills, but its foundations were laid generations earlier in rural forges exactly like this one. Colonial Pennsylvania's ironworks supplied the raw material for everyday life and, when the break with Britain came, for a nation that suddenly had to arm and equip itself.
That these hammers kept ringing from 1742 to 1803 means the forge spanned the very birth of the country. The iron worked here belongs to the same broad effort that made American independence materially possible — the unglamorous business of producing the metal a society runs on, decades before the age of great industry.
There is a second, gentler kind of significance in what the ground became. The choice to turn an old place of fire and toil into a sanctuary and a memorial reflects a very American habit: letting worked-out industrial land return to quiet, and using it to honor a life.
If you visit
Come expecting peace rather than spectacle. This is a place where a hard industrial past has softened into a wildlife sanctuary, so the pleasure is in the contrast — standing in calm woods and water while knowing that the same setting once rang with hammers and glowed with forge fire.
Listen for the water. Forges like this depended on a reliable stream to turn the wheels that drove their hammers, so the streams and low ground around you are part of the historical machinery, not just scenery. Let the sound stand in for the vanished works.
For a road trip, this fits beautifully into a slow ramble through Pennsylvania's old iron country in Lancaster County, where the region's industrial heritage hides in green hills. Treat it as a walking-and-reflection stop rather than a museum visit, tread gently as you would in any sanctuary, and take a moment to read the memorial dedication — it turns a page of industrial history into something quietly human.
Written by AI to add context, grounded in the marker’s inscription and the historical record. The inscription above is the original, unaltered text.
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Related people
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