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hills become a part of the Shenandoah National Park.
Until then, these people had lead a simple rural existence which had remained unchanged for generations. For example, Wayne told us that in 1949 a university professor used a tape recorder to capture the oral history and linguistic heritage of the area for his research.
He recorded one of Wayne’s relatives singing an old song called “A Jew’s Garden.” It was discovered that the story line of that song described an event that had actually occurred in England in the thirteenth century.
When the time came to say goodbye to our hosts and newfound friends, we realized that, in a very short time, we had developed a bond with this place and its people. Attending worship in a Primitive Baptist Church, with its simple but powerful hymns sung by an amateur choir of six; listening to an upbeat preacher who spoke from the heart without notes; seeing the rural farm life style in this quiet, remote setting; experiencing the genuineness of these people, their hospitality, and their sense of community; and visiting these Wooded hills of my ancestors guided by a host who knew the area and its history and who pointed out the houses, farms, businesses, and resting places for those named in my genealogy charts, I could almost recapture the spirit of those pioneer farmers and feel their presence. ' ' When I shared my impressions with Wayne, he said, “You just came home.” In a sense, he was right.
It felt like coming home.
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