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By David Irick
“I’m the Walnut Mountain Cemetery, and this year I’m 145 years old. This doesn’t make me the oldest in the region, but I do tell a great deal about the history of an area that is now but a shadow of what once was a thriving community. In almost a century and a half, so many things have changed.

Years ago, I was one of the first to know about a death in our community. I saw their family members and other men from the community gather with picks and shovels to dig the grave. Depending on the season, it might be raining or even snowing. Sometimes, my ground was frozen. But they worked side by side until the task was done. There was no money exchanged for the work because every man knew his family would one day need this same kindness. I also anticipated the day the loved one would arrive. I listened for the sound of the horse’s shoes grinding the gravel as it labored, pulling the wagon up the narrow mountain road. The wagon wheels were at first a faint sound. But soon, their destination became clear as it carried another community member to his place, the “graveyard,” as some called me.

The caskets I saw in those early days were made from wood. Some were just rough sawmill lumber. Other caskets had a surprising amount of craftsmanship on display. But in the end, they all served the same purpose.

Today, things are much different! Money has changed everything. Strangers are hired to bring machinery to dig and cover the grave. I miss seeing the family and men of the community dig the grave. I always thought it brought people closer. Now, it all seems so cold and impersonal. Men who don’t know the family are paid to put in a vault, then set up a tent and wait for the family to come. The body is delivered to me in a shiny, $100,000 hearse! Caskets are now finely crafted with polished wood, painted metal, with plush materials on the inside. Yet, with all the money spent, the end is the same as those buried over a hundred years ago. No amount of money spent can remove the sorrow and loss felt. The drops of tears that fall on me are the same through the ages; both come with pain. For mankind, death is the way of all the Earth.

My care since the beginning has been somewhat of a roller-coaster ride! There were times when I received loving attention. Then, there have been decades when it seemed as if I’d been forgotten when it came to my upkeep. But about 45 years ago, a group began calling themselves the Walnut Mountain Cemetery Association. They raised money and organized a regular mowing schedule throughout the summer. They met here once or twice a year to straighten stones and fill in places that have sunk down a bit. At my age, I need a little attention from time to time.

However, I’m a bit concerned. All those who started the cemetery association are now residents on these grounds. I recognize the current members of the association because they were the children of the men and women who became members of the association. Sadly, most of them are now the next generation to join me. Who will take care of me then? Would you help? I need younger men and women to become members of the association and donate a little of their time to see that I’m cared for in the years to come.

The association (the Walnut Mountain Cemetery Association) has only one meeting in the spring. They have a workday or two and plan an annual memorial covered-dish meal here on the grounds. Would you see that I have a future? The community and family and friends who have friends interred here are invited to this year’s meal on Saturday, May 24, at 4 p.m. It’s at my place here at the Walnut Mountain Cemetery. Persons who would like to make a donation to help care for me can send their checks to: Walnut Mountain Cemetery Association, Donna Heaton, 104 Pritchard Street, Roan Mountain, TN 37687.

(This article was written by David Irick of Garrison Hollow Road, Elizabethton, who has family members buried in the Walnut Mountain Cemetery. The Walnut Mountain Church was abandoned in the 1970s, but the cemetery is maintained and in use.)

In December 1880, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Banner buried their 6-year-old son on that peaceful land. For the next 140 years, the small piece of land has continued to absorb the tears of the living with the bodies of the mountainous people who found their roots on Walnut Mountain.

Surprising to some, during its peak, Walnut Mountain inhabited some 100 families. The growth came in the late 1800s to the early 1900s. The boom came after the Pittsburgh Lumber Company purchased 1,200 acres of virgin timber in the Laurel Fork area of Carter Co. in 1909. The call for labor and the dream of land and the opportunities it promised brought families with strong backs and calloused hands to call these rugged mountains home. Within 15 to 20 years, the virgin timber was gone, as was the lumber company. Without work, some families left the area completely. But others set down roots, continuing to live off what the mountain could yield. After WWII, America was rebuilding and growing its wealth. By the ’50s and ’60s, the call for workers in faraway places like Ohio, New York and elsewhere, promising unheard-of wages, began to siphon off the families of Walnut Mountain with hopes of better, easier living. Gradually, these rugged people moved away, leaving the land idle. However, even to this day, families who found their origins on Walnut Mountain carry back their loved ones to be buried on the land they once called home.

Some of the markers in the cemetery include the names Banner, Heaton, Birchfield, Irick, Trivette, Miller, Henson and Church.