Narrator: [narration as John 'John Boy' Walton, Jr. reading from his journal] For as long as any of us could remember our house had stood in the shadow of Waltons Mountain. We counted time by its seasons, growing up and growing old, and even those of us who went away never really left it. It was a fitting place for my grandfather to be buried, and in the six months since his death we had learned to live with our grief. We never looked up at the mountain without feeling his strength. We were to need it. The year was 1941 and there was a tension in the air that threatened to pull us apart.