If you travel north on Route 100 from Dublin, after you cross Cloyd's Mountain it is only a few more miles to Pearisburg. Walker's Creek tumbles out of the mountains, rocky and clear, to run beside the road for the last few miles. My family moved away from Pearisburg when I was 5 years old, but once or twice a year we traveled back to visit. Cloyd's Mountain was the last obstacle at the end of a long day's journey. Almost there.
Pearisburg was a special place for me. My parent's met in Pearisburg and were married in a small house behind the bank by my grandfather Fuller. My favorite aunt and uncle owned a store in town. I was born there. And best of all, the mountains all around. It was my favorite place in the whole world.
Earlier this year, I drove once again on Route 100 toward Pearisburg. It was early spring and the trees were just beginning to leaf out. Cloyd's Mountain has been tamed; the steep, two-lane switchbacks have been straightened out and guided through a deep cut in the mountain. But on the other side of the mountain, Walker's Creek still runs along the road, and I felt a twinge of the old excitement. Almost there.
My grandparents are dead, someone else lives in their house. The house behind the bank has been torn down. My favorite aunt and uncle are buried on a hillside above Route 100 a few miles from town. There is nothing left for me in Pearisburg but the memories. And the mountains all around. I still love this old place.
Tomorrow: Wenonah Avenue
There is a lot I like about this image, very nice.
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