Peach Creek 2010 – Another Mountain To Climb

By Dodie (Smith) Browning

PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT

Logan County means different things to different people. It holds special memories for most of us who were born there.  What stands out to most folks are memories of the wonderful people from our hometown.  The beautiful lady in the picture below has never lived in Logan County, but her roots run deep in those West Virginia Mountains.  Even a Logan County “Elvis” knew she was special recently when he performed at her mom’s 55 year class reunion at the Logan Country Club at the end of October 2010.
Like the mountains of Logan County, Sheryl Hampson Whitwam is truly one of God’s miracles. When she was 28 years old, she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The statistics were very poor and her life expectancy was no different.  She was a school teacher and even though she had no children of her own, she loved her students and had hopes of someday becoming a mother. Sheryl was determined to beat the cruel odds that fate had handed her. She was determined to ignore the statistics, even when her doctors thought her chances of survival would probably be no more than five years at best. According to statistics, At least 15,000 women still die each year from ovarian cancer. Sheryl fought the cancer with aggression and a positive attitude and most of all, prayer.  Her students had a roll model that they will probably never forget.  Her faith, determination and the love of family and friends helped her through the horrible ordeal, but Sheryl credits God and the love and prayers of Christian people for her being able to beat the odds. She has been cancer free for over fifteen years now. She and her husband Bob adopted two beautiful little girls, one of them all the way from China. Sheryl later returned to college and obtained her Masters Degree and is now a School Guidance Counselor.

Sheryl’s dad was John Hampson (deceased), a West Logan boy who was Captain of the Logan Wildcats football team.  Her mom is Frances Pierce Hampson, a beloved Peach Creek “Brat.”

Frances and Sheryl shared a very special mother-daughter weekend in Logan recently when they traveled several hundred miles to attend the LHS Class Of ’55  reunion.
After all the discussion on the Internet about the location of the only cemetery actually located at Peach Creek, they went to Peach Creek and took the following pictures for me to share with you.  I should not have been surprised at Sheryl’s determination to climb yet another mountain, but I surely didn’t expect it.  Viewing the following pictures was a very emotional experience for me and once my eyes were dry, I wanted to share these wonderful pictures with you. Thank you, my dear friends Frances and Sheryl for sharing. To Sheryl:  a special thank you for climbing that dangerous hill and conquering those dangerous steps.  Climbing mountains, one step at a time is certainly nothing new for you.

Sheryl contemplating another mountain.

The former home of Dodie (Smith) Browning hasn’t changed a lot, but the old steps are crumbling. These look like the same wooden garage doors that were there nearly sixty years ago. My mother kept boarders (2 coal miners) when we lived here.  Mother had an herb garden (also tomatoes & onions) in back of the house where it is overgrown now.

The Peach Creek Cemetery is on top of this hill.  Thanks to Jane McDonald Jamison we know for certain that her great grandparents, Astynax McDonald and his wife Jane (Dingess) McDonald are buried there.  It is not known for certain at this time how many others (if any) are buried there.

A woman who lives on the hill said it would probably be easier to climb up to the old cemetery behind the post office.  Frances said, “I’m not sure she would let anyone have access to her property. She said that there was too much debris and was afraid someone would get hurt.”   According to Frank Thompson, “By denying access to the cemetery, she is breaking the law.” Frank went on to say “ I was so glad when that law was passed.  There are so many old cemeteries whereby the only way to access them is through somebody’s yard.  I am hoping that the word will soon get out to these property owners. However, the law is very cumbersome because you have to get permission and they have five days to respond.”

In the opinion of this writer, some folks are afraid of lawsuits if someone gets hurt on their property. Perhaps when you want to visit an old cemetery and have to cross someone’s property to get there, you might want to have notarized Letters of Release to present to property owners, stating that property owner will not be held liable for any injuries you might sustain on their property.

Three well known Peach Creek “Brats”- Mary Elizabeth, Frances & Connie. Mary Elizabeth still lives in the family home on the “Back Street”. Connie just happened to be “home” for a visit when Fran and Sheryl were there.

Photo From the Barbara (Jeffrey) Robison Collection.

Since Fran and Sheryl ran out of time before they could get current pictures of the Front Street, here are a couple of old ones taken on the “Front Street”.

Three “Brats” on the way to school in 1953.
Dodie, Loretta & Butchie
(I was showing off because I was wearing my boyfriend’s jacket).

Lois Freeman (about 1955) next to the old Peach Creek Theatre on the “Front Street”. Look closely and you can see the church steeple at the end of the street.

The Guyandotte River from the Peach Creek Bridge.

I have always wondered if Peach Creek was the orchard “where the peach-trees grew” in the poem by Thomas Dunn English who was a close friend of Edgar Allen Poe. The poem Rafting On The Guyandotte was about the Guyandotte River by the famous poet and would fit nicely here also, but that is another story……

THE IDYL OF THE PEACH
By Thomas Dunn English,
The first Mayor of Logan West Virginia

The golden Melacatoon is here;
Its downy cheek has a ruddy flush,
And brings to mind my buried dear,
With gipsy skin and sunset blush,
The depths of her lustrous, liquid eyes
Filled to the brim with shy surprise,
When, standing there the leaves among,
I whispered love with faltering tongue,
And earnest strove the maid to woo
In the orchard where the peach-trees grew.

And I was young, and she was young,
And I was fond, and she was fair;
The sunlight fondly stooped and flung
A flood of glory on her there;
Sweeter than woodland minstrelsy
The tremulous tone of her voice to me,
As, drooping on my fluttering breast,
Her love she timidly confessed.
And earth seemed past and heaven in view
In the orchard where the peach-trees grew.

Beneath us there the meadows spread;
Beyond the woodland waved its boughs;
Some bird passed singing overhead,
Tuning its wild notes to our vows;
But charms that nature there displayed
Drew no regard from youth and maid;
Such rapture had the moment brought,
All things around to them were naught;
Each all-in-all to each, the two,
In the orchard where the peach-trees grew.

And there we planned our future life,
When I should win a name and fold,
And back return to claim a wife
From her grim father, stern and old,
And she, till toil should conquer fate,
Would at the hearth-stone patient wait.
And so, with many a vow of truth,
Parted that day the maid and youth;
And never met again those two
In the orchard where the peach-trees grew.

I won the name I strove to win,
I gained me wealth with toil, and then
I left behind the city’s din
And sought the scenes of youth again.
Naught stood around that I had known;
I found the air and sky alone.
Gone was the meadow, gone the wood;
A mansion where the farmhouse stood;
And they had built a village new
In the orchard where the peach-trees grew.

They show me her neglected tomb—
A grave in the valley brier-grown,
A hollow where the bluets bloom,
Some remnants of a shattered stone,
Whereon the comer scarcely reads
A name among the moss and weeds;
That only brings the past to me,
And with the eyes of my heart I see
A loving pair unseen by you
In the orchard where the peach-trees grew.

Here in this Melacatoon you see
Only a luscious peach—no more;
It has a talisman’s power for me
The early rapture to restore.
Returns with this the love that lies
Within my darling’s dove-like eyes;
Her timid fingers touch my own;
Fills ear and soul that silvern tone;
She meets me, loving, fond, and true,
In the orchard where the peaches grew.
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