The William Patton Peters House

Instinct is a curious thing. The very first time Tom and I walked up into Peters Hollow we passed this old house and I felt compelled to go in it. It was surrounded by brush and saplings and we quite literally had to hack our way in. At that time we thought it was the Estepp house and had no special interest for our family, apart from housing the near neighbors of our near kin.

But a short time ago we found out that it was in fact built by our Great-Grandfather William Patton Peters. We were told this by Roy Peters and Zella Peters Collins, son and daughter of Uncle John, and by Cecil Estepp, the son of Hiram Estepp who bought the house from the heirs of Bill Peters. So when we walked tentatively into this old house, we were in fact entering the place where my grandfather, Noble B. Peters, spent his youth. Where his mother, Nancy A. Stallard Peters, tended to his young brother and sisters, where she herself likely drew her last breath. The census record shows the family here in 1900, Bill and Nancy, and their children, Lucian, 15; Noble, 13; Carrie, 10; Valera, 8; Kyle, 7; and Lizzie, 3. Their oldest son, Charles, was missing from this record, and it is possible he had died of a copperhead bite to his neck. There is a story, vaguely remembered by the old folks, that one of Bill's children did indeed die in this terrible way.

By 1910 Nancy herself had died, Bill had remarried and was living in Big Cut, Brothers Noble and Lucian were living side by side in Peters Hollow, Lucian with his second wife, Mary Jane, and Noble with his wife, Maggie, and twin sons, Will and Abe, eight months old.

We learned, too, from Cecil that the original house burnt down and a second house was built in its place. There is a family story that our Grandfather Noble never knew his age for certain, as the family Bible had been lost in a fire. And so a little snatch of information becomes more certain.The house is in poor shape now, the porches rotting away, old wallpaper peeling, chimney stones falling, and floors sagging. But it is still a wondrous thing to stand inside and listen for the echoes of voices long gone.

It is amazing to stand quietly and imagine all the life that happened here - Nancy tending the babies, Lucian fetching water, Noble milking the house cow, Bill seeing to his corn crop, and then in the evening all of them gathering 'round the fire to talk, to plan the next day's chores, to read from the Bible. We haven't found a picture of Great-Grandfather William Patton Peters, but I can very nearly see him, leaning forward in the dim light to drop a few more coals on the fire.

I am constantly surprised how the past reaches out to us, here in these mountains. Perhaps those who have lived here their whole lives are used to it, but to me it is beyond understanding. I have come to look for it, to wait for it, to welcome it, and sometimes even to trust it. But still it is a wondrous thing, that fills me with awe and gratitude. I hope that it always will, that I will not get used to it, or take it for granted. I hope I will always be able to hear that distant voice that tells me to ask more questions, to come again, to walk a different path.....to listen to that which my own heart tells me is true. I hope - and believe - that I will.