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wardly toward the Pig Nut, we drew nearer.
Had it not been for the vinca or periwinkle, I'm not too sure we would have found the graveyard. With lots of the larger trees having been blown down by Hurricane Fran a few years back the small brush and undergrowth was, as the old cliche goes, "thicker than the hair on a dog's back." Both inside and outside the wall surrounding the graves, in fact we had to cut away this mess before we could even see the gate or any of the gravestones.
Three years previous to this excursion, my first cousin, Linda Beahm Slusser, and I had come here with our other cousin, Sally Keyser, and had cleared all the dense growth away. Today, we cleaned about half the cemetery, stopping quite often to light up another smoke so as to prevent the gnats from carrying us off someplace. When enough had been cleared to afford my companions filming and photographing room and light, we rested on the wall.
I was asked if I knew any old stories about the Beahms and happily I related to them several, among which was the story of "Cricket" and his accident has told by our late cousin Mick Beam Watkins.
After spending sometime here, we concluded that the labor involved in trying to hack our way over to tfye house site would be too great and therefore" planned a later trip. We descended from the Pig Nut by following k the old road. This time with more haste and
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