After breakfast burritos, we set out to see new things. I get it from my Dad- the desire to not be on the interstate. The back roads have more to see and friendlier people.
First stop was The Deercreek Gun Shop to get information on build kits for match lock pistols and rifles for our Elizabethan Trayed Band recreation. These guys have a large Civil War re-enactor clientele, with all the black powder supplies they need. Since that means percussions cap, Pat Rabun advised us to explore The National Muzzle Loading Rifle Association website . I found myself admiring the craftsmanship of the filigree work of the trigger plates and the carving of the stocks.
While on Fairground, I spied an estate sale sign. At the end of a dead end, we were greeted by a 3 month old guard dog named Daisy who’s preferred plan of attack was looking up at you and asking “Why are you not petting me?” and you just had to, so you wouldn’t break her little puppy heart. Once we made it past Daisy, we met Clay and Eric McNeil of Certified Asset Removal and Liquidations. The unusually big house and ware house were peppered with furniture, books, and renovation supplies. This was the first of their big shop sale and they hope to make a regular thing of it.
Back on the road north- We pealed off onto Old Highway 41 just after Kennesaw University. Hooters was hosting a “Mud for Blood” event. Georgia Bounty Runners were holding a blood drive while showing off their off road mud running vehicles tricked out to the extreme. Arin’s favorite was red, with a black exterior roll cage, 5 point harnesses in the bucket seats- and pink knitting on the floor boards.
Every week, we pass a shop on South Main Street in Kennesaw. We finally stopped and visited Holly Jones at The Painted Butterfly . Her huge collection of colorful folk art is watched over by Sylvester – a loving Hemmingway Cat. With careful reading of the painted quote plaques in the gallery, you can find a few from Holly herself. One room has wonderful hand knitted Christmas stockings.
Turning right again, we stayed on Old 41 to see where it went. At the intersection of Old 41 and Hwy 293, we saw the sign for The Dixie Highway and we just had to turn. The drive was beautiful curvy green. We didn’t see very many cars until we got to Acworth. I had been to Acworth a couple years ago for an architectural restoration workshop. It was lunchtime, so our first stop was Henry’s Louisiana Grill . The back of the menu told a story about Henry learning to make “the best cornbread in the world” from his Nanny. And yes he did! It’s sweet, thick, cake like consistency, and bits of peppers mixed in. Jesus would have more followers if Henry’s cornbread were the bread of life. We ate crawfish etoufee’ and seafood po’boys with battered fries. I wasn’t that full even after the all you could eat buffet. We needed a walk around. Randy Shaw at Bars and Pubs LLC had custom made the skylight in The Oak Barrel Wine Shop where Cookie Thorpe knows her stuff. She also consigns bottle art by Bonny and James Tillman from the Vino- Eco Candle Company We spent the majority of our time in the Acworth Bookstore and Library in Southern Expressions We sipped coffee browsing the shelves. Arin found a wonderful repro copy of an Ames Sword Company catalog in the Military History section.
Back on the Dixie Highway, we tried to find the Etowah Indian Burial Grounds, but the signage was poor. Instead, we found an 1800’s cemetery that shared a parking lot with an elementary school. The town of Emerson is very pretty. Families adopted the highway in from of their homes. Eventually, the Dixie Highway fed us to Cartersville. Arin caught sight of the City Hall dome through the busier 4 lane. When you want to go downtown, turn on Main Street. The list of shops we stopped in is huge- Psycho Sisters, Blue Sky Outfitters, Pawn and Shop, and so many more I can’t remember. Spring Place Pottery sells local artists’ work including Dry Creek Naturals raw and hand dyed wools from her very own goats. Tina said she will let folks come out to her farm to help and learn.
For the ride home more than 6 hours later, we ended up heading south on Highway 5. through Holly Springs, Woodstock, Canton, and Marietta. It is strange that on a Memorial Day weekend, Marietta was the only town with flags on display for our Honored Dead. Kind of odd-
Monday, May 30, 2011
Up my street now-
I went for an evening bike ride.
The neighborhood is full of kids on their bikes and folks walking this evening.
When I am riding:
Little boys on bikes peddle faster to pass me, and look at me out of the corner of their eyes.
Women look down or away, but react thrilled when I say hello.
Men stop what they are doing to watch me bike past.
Little girls yell HI and wave.
HI Lady!
HI child!
There is a forgotten side street called Airport Drive. It’s a lollipop loop with a one lane escape to the main road. The Y has a treed island in it. Every kid on this street was out playing. They took turns on each others’ bikes. Their laughter was so loud, it was like screaming bloody murder. The parents puttered in the yards. A man was changing his oil. A couple was washing their car. Old dogs lounged tied up to some porches, stretchy cats made half hearted attempts at bugs on others. On those same porches were chattering conversations, in their own or across to others. And the laughter echoed off the train’s noise. Everyone looked out for everybody. Every child was cared for and chided by whomever was closest.
The houses have warped plywood for make shift patches. Tarps replace windows. Driveways are broken up, screens slashed, planters chipped and empty, mailboxes eschew. To listen- just to listen- to this isolated little street, it is the best neighborhood in Georgia.
The neighborhood is full of kids on their bikes and folks walking this evening.
When I am riding:
Little boys on bikes peddle faster to pass me, and look at me out of the corner of their eyes.
Women look down or away, but react thrilled when I say hello.
Men stop what they are doing to watch me bike past.
Little girls yell HI and wave.
HI Lady!
HI child!
There is a forgotten side street called Airport Drive. It’s a lollipop loop with a one lane escape to the main road. The Y has a treed island in it. Every kid on this street was out playing. They took turns on each others’ bikes. Their laughter was so loud, it was like screaming bloody murder. The parents puttered in the yards. A man was changing his oil. A couple was washing their car. Old dogs lounged tied up to some porches, stretchy cats made half hearted attempts at bugs on others. On those same porches were chattering conversations, in their own or across to others. And the laughter echoed off the train’s noise. Everyone looked out for everybody. Every child was cared for and chided by whomever was closest.
The houses have warped plywood for make shift patches. Tarps replace windows. Driveways are broken up, screens slashed, planters chipped and empty, mailboxes eschew. To listen- just to listen- to this isolated little street, it is the best neighborhood in Georgia.
The Street I Grew Up On
Upstate NY is beautiful. I compare everywhere I go with places I've seen there. Glaciers cut and sliced there way through. I never knew until very recently the finding fossils was an uncommon thing. The creek we played in was so full of rocks decorated with leaves and shells.
Everything is all colors at some point during the year. The trees are a warm gray in winter, yellowy and white and pink in spring opening into deep green leaves. The fall leaves are no one color, each leaf detailed and highlighted with several shades of red and orange and yellow, and finally the warm satisfied gray. I always saw the sunlight filtered through the gobos of tress. Springs and waterfalls are everywhere: so commonplace, that we all forget how pretty they are. What an amazing thing to be part of everyday.
I remember the sky - clear country sky so very blue, you could see how deep it is, see it's layers and moods. Clouds cast their shadows, and I pretended they were islands, and if I stepped off the side, I would fall in the sky ocean and fall forever. Maybe that’s why I call kite flying "sky fishing".
Even more so was the sky at night. With no street lights anywhere, the stars cast a light that could be seen. In summer, especially when the moon was new, I could see a white hazy crescent across the sky. The Milky Way. I could see across the galaxy. Is it any wonder I so wanted to travel there, to touch those stars so numerous, nobody would miss it if I took just one? Years later when Dan got back from Alaska, he showed me where to see the Northern Lights in the fall and winter. They were not as bright as what he had seen, but fascinating just the same. Dad always woke us up in the dead of night to see eclipses and meteor showers, stellar phenomenon. And that moon, bright as any flashlight. It would keep me up at night shinning on the snow. I was never afraid of the night there.
The street I grew up on was Scenic Drive. I have ended up on the other end of the country. I still miss upstate New York. Luckily, that doesn't stop me from taking in where I am now.
Everything is all colors at some point during the year. The trees are a warm gray in winter, yellowy and white and pink in spring opening into deep green leaves. The fall leaves are no one color, each leaf detailed and highlighted with several shades of red and orange and yellow, and finally the warm satisfied gray. I always saw the sunlight filtered through the gobos of tress. Springs and waterfalls are everywhere: so commonplace, that we all forget how pretty they are. What an amazing thing to be part of everyday.
I remember the sky - clear country sky so very blue, you could see how deep it is, see it's layers and moods. Clouds cast their shadows, and I pretended they were islands, and if I stepped off the side, I would fall in the sky ocean and fall forever. Maybe that’s why I call kite flying "sky fishing".
Even more so was the sky at night. With no street lights anywhere, the stars cast a light that could be seen. In summer, especially when the moon was new, I could see a white hazy crescent across the sky. The Milky Way. I could see across the galaxy. Is it any wonder I so wanted to travel there, to touch those stars so numerous, nobody would miss it if I took just one? Years later when Dan got back from Alaska, he showed me where to see the Northern Lights in the fall and winter. They were not as bright as what he had seen, but fascinating just the same. Dad always woke us up in the dead of night to see eclipses and meteor showers, stellar phenomenon. And that moon, bright as any flashlight. It would keep me up at night shinning on the snow. I was never afraid of the night there.
The street I grew up on was Scenic Drive. I have ended up on the other end of the country. I still miss upstate New York. Luckily, that doesn't stop me from taking in where I am now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)