The trees are brown instead of grey. Look at how blue the sky is too. The church bells are ringing. The birds are chirpin’. It’s still day light at 7. The red flowers in the graveyard are so bright they could wake up the dead. Over yonder in a pasture I see a horses mane glimmerin’ gold. The green grass below my feet. The church’s brown bricks and white paint welcome me too. Across the street I see a big yellow house with old glory yappin’ high in the wind. The red white and the blue. Two kids laughing on their bicycles. One red. One blue. I even smell charcoal. Could it be barbecue? A car drives past me and the feller with the green hat waves. I wave back too. I crank my truck up. I call ‘er Betty Blue. I play ‘sweet southern comfort’ by Buddy Jewell. That song rings true. The ball fields are back in shape and ready to be played on. The country club is packed with golfers. Husbands and Wives out on the porch. Youngins in the yard. Grills being lit. I drive slower going home. It isn’t too far. Look at the side of the road. Instead of littered garbage I see God’s green. All the colors I see. Spring is here. Nobody is blue. Not even me. Not even you.
Used to pop in here for a hog head cheese sandwich before headin’ up to Carson’s Farm & Garden to chew the fat during hunting season. It was there on Christmas Eve when W.C. who ran the Cotton Gin over behind the old library pulled up in his F150 with the biggest 10 point buck I’d ever seen. I believe he still owns the state record. Even ‘Field & Stream’ put his picture in the next month’s issue. W.C always smelled like potted meat, cigars and gasoline from the chainsaw he always seemed to have in his truck bed. Besides black coffee, sweet tea and the occasional hooch..I believe that potted meat was about all he consumed. Used to run into him occasionally at the Turkey Shoot over off Highway 78 back behind the Steak & Ale before his health deteriorated. W.C was a War Veteran and a pillar of the community and even dressed up as Santy Claus down at the First Baptist Church during Christmas. Last I heard he sold the Cotton Gin and all the land on it before he retired and moved out to live on the Edisto River. They sure don’t make Hog Head Cheese sandwiches like they used to and for damn sure don’t make men like W.C. anymore.
Ole Cecil Miller just pulled up to the local pharmacy to pick up his Dixafix pills. Him and his brother Claude used to run card games every Tuesday night after supper club out at the pond house. Claude was always a hustler and the only bookie in town. Used to run numbers out the ABC store shaped like an igloo he got off a Dairy Queen back in ‘79. Although I believe it was Cecil who used to win all them chili cook off competitions at the fall festival here in town. I sure could go for a bowl of it right now. Between Cecil’s homemade chili and Claude’s homemade wine I don’t think they ever got as much as a speeding ticket in town. Sure wish the Fall festival was up and going like it used to be cause ‘boy oh boy’ I’m starting to get hungry just thinking’ about it. I reckon I’m gon enjoy this beautiful day outside as I mosey on down to the Piggly Wiggly and guess the weight of the big Charlie Brown pumpkin they got on display.
God paints his most beautiful art in the country. I was leavin’ Healing Springs to fill up a couple jugs of holy water to cure my ailments when I strolled up the hill in my ‘78 ford pickup. That’s when I glanced up to see this picture perfect scenery of a storm rollin’ in beyond the country side. I hit the brakes and hopped out the truck to take this picture fast as I could. I had to make sure I snapped the photo with the same view I had when it darn near took my breath away. Maybe it’s moving away and living in a man made city all these years and moving back to the country that makes me appreciate the rural scenery much more than before. Or maybe I just romanticize things more so than others but I’m sure some folks will understand. I think I will call this picture ‘I smell rain’.
Mr. Fred would always say “Lemme get a half gallon of Early Times” as he gave me a crisp 20 dollar bill. He was an ole gimp as the folks would say. Fred Barwick lost his leg in ‘Nam as a young man. Ya see he would take me fishin’ with em just about every Saturday when I was out for school during the summer. We’d always stop at this here store that had red dots all over it. The place was ran by Roscoe Merriweather. Like clockwork we’d pull in before we turned off the highway to head to the boat ramp across the rail road tracks. Mr. Roscoe was a husky fella with red cheeks who always wore suspenders. His freight train voice was deep and sounded like he’d been hollerin all his life or done smoked a million cigarettes. His hands was the size of a baseball mitt. His funky cologne always stung the air as soon as I entered his red dot building. He’d always make sure to give me some nickels and dimes so I could get myself some bubble gum out the candy machine before I left cause Mr. Fred always was expectin’ his exact change back so he could use that on bait. Mr. Roscoe would always poke his head out and say hello or tell a dirty joke to Mr. Fred before we took off. He eventually sold me my first bottle of whiskey when I became old enough. The look on his face that came with a wink as he said “damn boy I’m gettin old” reminded me of just how time passes. Him and Mr. Fred still see eachother on the weekends. I hear Mr. Fred became a grandfather and takes his grand boy fishin every summer just like he did with me when I was a kid. And yep.. he still stops by the same ole red dot building on Saturdays. Sometimes I’ll pass by and see Mr. Fred’s old dodge truck outside and I’ll honk the horn. Even though I was a shy little feller..those two men were important and had an impact on my upbringing. And hell.. even if not a positive influence as my mother would sometimes say but atleast I became good at swappin pleasantries and how to cast a line. And maybe how to sip a little whiskey.
The Carlisle General Store. Used to pop in here for a road soda and a pack of nabs on the way home from the lumber yard. The Carlisle family who ran this place is long and gone but not forgotten. Mr. William ‘Bill’ Carlisle used to sit out front and would always greet ya at the door with a smile or a joke while his wife Ruby Jean pretty much ran the place. Bill was a big barrel chested feller who was built like a Buick. I always wondered how that folded chair never collapsed as he musta weighed 300 pounds and stood atleast 6 feet tall. Never saw him without wearin’ overalls or his signature ball cap that was part near faded black from all the oil and grease. Ya see, Mr. Bill was supposedly a millionaire but you’d never guess it from the look of ‘em. He was quite the cotton farmer. Bill and his wife and their 2 boys, Emory and Ned, lived in a small 2 bedroom house behind this here general store. They attended the First Baptist church and raised those boys to become fine gentleman. I believe both of em was all state in every sport they played. Makes sense cause you never caught them without a ball in their hands playin outside the store on any day that ended with ‘Y’. Well, except for Sunday cause Ruby Jean made sure those boys got their studyin’ done after church service. Both Carlisle boys ended up as pilots in the Air Force. Every Friday night they’d keep the store open late and invite anybody and everybody to join them for some pickin’. Miss Ruby Jean and her sisters had a blue brass band and played up until the ripe age of about 65 until they called it quits and sold the place. Last I heard Mr. Bill and Ruby Jean moved down to the sunshine state to be closer to the boys. This ole building still stands of a memory of all the folks who stopped in to try some of Mrs. Ruby Jeans homemade pies. I thinks between them pies and all them leftover barbecue sandwiches they served every Saturday was the reason Mr. Bill got to be such a big fella. Strong as an ox too. I once seen him carry a whole entire refrigerator by him self. Maybe I’ll take a trip down to Florida soon to see Mr. Bill and the boys. And for sure get some of Mrs. Ruby Jeans homemade pie!
This is where Marvin Thurgood Sr lived. He moved here from Alabama with his wife Claudia. Ole Marve could fix about anything you brought to ‘em. The man smelt like a bucket of oil on the back church pew every Sundee but he never missed a service. Not only did he serve in the war but served his community by runnin’ the best mechanic shop in town. One time he caught me stealin’ candy but instead of callin’ momma & daddy he taught me a lesson by making me earn the candy by sweepin up the floors in his shop. He ended up letting me get free candy every week long as I helped out around the shop. Wasn’t long after that when Mr. Thurgood gave me my first job. Worked there all the way up until I graduated from high school in ‘82. When I went off to college he loaned me the money to buy my first car. It was a 69 Chevelle SS L-78 with 375hp. Mr. Marvin sadly passed away while I was off at college when he saved a family from a burnin’ house fire. His wife and kids moved back to Alabama. After all these years the house still remains just the way they left it. Ole Marv was a good man. Taught me a lot about life and I’m sure he’s smiling down from Heaven whistlin’ a favorite tune of his. The man couldn’t stop from whistlin’ when he was at work and he was-a always workin’. Until we meet again ole Marv. Rest in peace to a true American.
Used-ta-could swing by here for a roadie on my way to the coast back when I was drivin’ a ‘92 GMC Sierra 1500 with Sawyer Brown turnt up to max volume. Had a feller outside sellin’ watermelon & cantaloupe. Had the best boiled peanuts too. Fresh live bait. Shoot I could stop in here and shoot a game of pool and fill up the tank. Wouldn’t nothin’ like it. Now half these gas stations look like Walmarts. I miss the old America.
My attempt at photography today. Might start a new page for it. Maybe call it Cornbread County or Cornbread Country idk but the theme will be rural scenery and small town old buildings and neat stuff
