- Narrator: [narration as John 'John Boy' Walton, Jr. reading from his journal] Waltons Mountain had been in our family since long before I was born. It was a mountain that gave of itself. We took trout from its swift streams, quail and venison from its high meadows and we took from it constantly the lumber and firewood which provided our family with income. My grandfather used to say that the land was alive, that, if you knew how to listen, you could hear its voice. But, at seventeen, I did more talking than listening. I remember one morning during the Depression hiking with Grandpa, searching for trees that were ready for harvesting.
- Yancy Tucker: Well a young man's gotta be careful, not get into trouble. For instance stay away from the New Yorker Inn.
- John-Boy Walton: The New Yorker Inn?
- Yancy Tucker: Yeah, lots of drummers and fast ankles, drinking' and carrying' on into all hours of the night. The most notorious, unsavory place I've ever, uh, heard. And don't even have so much as a cup of coffee in Palmer's Cafe. That's a real jazz garden.
- Surveyor Samuel Tinker: Maybe you'd better take a look at this map.
- The Grandfather: I don't need no map to tell me where I am at!
- John Walton, Sr.: Liv, aren't we being a little too frugal? Can't we have some eggs or something?
- Olivia Walton: I sold the last dozen and the butter. Here's a dollar.
- [hands John a dollar]
- John Walton, Sr.: [chagrined] Now we pray.
- [family joins hands]
- John Walton, Sr.: Lord help me to keep my foot out of my mouth.