Southern Exposure—Places

Growing up, all seemed solid and secure. Wind would blow down a tree. A barn might burn but nothing changed otherwise. The people I lived among never moved; they just died. I thought that uncomplicated land would last forever. How wrong I was.

—From Georgialina, A Southland As We Knew It, University of South Carolina Press

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Lonely Lone Star

Near the old gas pump’s base you’ll see bottle caps.

Moved a ways from the tracks the depot makes its last stand..

I’ve long felt that two South Carolina community names ascend to prettiest—Silverstreet and Lone Star. Those names, evocative and wistful, charm the ear. One conjures up biblical streets of gold; the other brings to mind the Alamo, Davy Crockett, and that independent state, Texas.

At long last I saw Lone Star. It’s a spot in the road that awakens feelings and memories. The bottle caps pressed into earth in front of an old store’s vanished gas pump? That I had seen at my Granddad Walker’s country store in Georgia. Best I figure it was an effort to create a hard surface. Coca Cola asphalt. A faded sign spoke of a gas station. Couldn’t make out the Brothers name.

“Bros. Gas” … Just can’t make out the old sign’s complete name.

A long-time resided said this building was a courthouse for a while.

Then I saw a brick building whose purpose evaded me. Too big to be a bank, it looked like a store with living quarters above. Its sturdy red bricks were weathering time’s passage quite well. (When planet Earth dies, among civilization’s wreckage will be bricks. You can break a brick but you can’t kill it.) A man walking by said it had been a courthouse. The thwack of a gavel sounded.

Then I saw the old depot and train tracks. What happened here? Well, the Atlantic Coast Line folded in as part of another line. As I looked over the forlorn buildings, it occurred to me, surely there had to be more to this place once upon a time as fables begin?

Of course, there was.