Small Town

During the summer a friend and I took an overnight trip to Nashville. It was long overdue. We needed the time spent talking and laughing and moving slowly through wherever we were.

We stopped in a few small towns on our way to Nashville. One of them was here in Elkmont, Alabama. My friend was very excited about me seeing this place called Belle Chèvre. She treated me to lunch and it was splendid.

I just couldn’t get over this quaint little town. It isn’t too far from my own small town but it had a different feel.

The day we were there the town was hosting its annual tractor parade. An old gentleman we met at one of the small town shops beamed with pride as he told us about the festivities that surrounded the event. 

We saw part of the parade of tractors as we drove on country roads to get back to the interstate. There were big green tractors, old red ones, shiny black and brown ones. We even saw a yellow tractor. They were in no rush to get where they were going.

I felt at home in that small town with my friend and goat cheese and tractors.

In response to the Weekly Photo Challenge Local and the Daily Prompt Rube.

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“Educated in a small town
Taught the fear of Jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another boring romantic, that’s me

No I cannot forget where it is that I came from
I cannot forget the people who love me
Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be.”

Small Town by John Mellencamp

High Cotton

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The corn has been harvested. The hay has been baled. The dried up corn stalks are tied to lamp posts downtown on Main Street and the square hay bales line the sides of a trailer for a hayride. Scarecrows and Jack-o-lanterns greet the shoppers as they stroll along the brick sidewalks.

But the cotton hasn’t been harvested. Not all of it anyway. It’s snowy white in the fields on my country roads. Before it’s harvested I pull to the side of the road, walk into the field and get a stalk of cotton to place in an old milk jar for a fall decoration in my living room. But I’d better hurry.

IMG_2720The plants are bursting with the fluffy white stuff so the big machines are getting ready to do their work. After the machines roll over the fields all that will be left will be acres and acres of flattened brown stalks which will fade into the landscape. The cotton will be baled into huge rectangles and sit there until trucks pick them up.

I drive past these fields every ordinary day unaware of all that happens there. A family’s livelihood and hard work. Not thinking about what comes from those fields will be made into tee shirts and blankets and warm cozy socks.

We were walkin’ in high cotton,

Old times there are not forgotten,

Those fertile fields are never far away.

    From High Cotton by Alabama

In response to the Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge Nostalgia.

 

Rube