Today, I watched the first and last episodes of the Waltons. It was an accident. I didn’t plan it that way. I have a bunch of them on tape, and those were the ones that appeared on my screen. Most of the ones I’ve watched lately have been from the later seasons, so, when I saw the first one, I really had to adjust to the kids being so young. Elizabeth and Jim-Bob were so tiny.
Most people prefer the earlier seasons, but I like the later ones better. I’m not continually watching the clock when the later ones are on. Plus, I like Aunt Rose. She reminds me of my own Grandma: hospitable, a good cook, a giver. I always thought that Grandma Walton was somewhat of a grouch, even though I agree with her on politics.
The first episode of the Waltons has Miss Beadle from Little House on the Prairie, only she plays a teenage mother, not a schoolteacher. And I really identified with the last one, in which John-boy goes to New York, learns his novel won’t be published, gets evicted from his apartment, unsuccessfully looks for work in the Big Apple, and returns to Waltons Mountain–to write a new book in the comfort of his home.