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By Wayne Baldwin
Rappahannock News Writer
When the call from the mountain comes, it's answered, and not with much hesitation.
There's something that hastens on that soul that it must answer...often times not knowing why. That longing to see, to feel, to experience those precious places almost forgotten.
That inward buring desire...from some faint memory that pulls us, compels us to venture there. Is it a passion? Is it lifethreatening? No, but it eats at one's very fiber until we lay to rest that; constant gnawing.
This is why, despite venomous reptiles, stinging and biting insects, wounding plants, so thick it makes maneuvering through the forest all but impossible. Again and again descendants of the old families of the Blue Ridge return to where once dwelled our fore-fathers.
Sad to say, not very much remains of our stout-hearted ancients places of abode. Here and there, still are fragments and traces of the past.
Such was the day of July 22 when Sharon Sparks and her husband, Michael Osborne and myself undertook this midsummer trek to the old George Washington Beahm cemetery on Pig Nut Mountain. Sharon had called
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