Closer to Mobile than Montgomery, wedged between woods and water, is a place nobody goes. A few homes, a church and cemetery scattered along a road leading somewhere else. Parents hope opportunity. They remember before it was paved. Now broken white and yellow lines on gray stretch up, down, around, away. Maps show a thread, Highway 59, emerging into a rope, Interstate 65. Travelers blurring through at night or without reading the church sign don’t know they’re seeing what’s left of a town. Those that do think they see a peaceful solitary country community, an actual Gone with the Wind Grandma Moses’ Hallmark card where everyday life like nostalgia takes time.
The air is clear, the water pure, longleaf pines scrape the sky. Birds tweet. Crickets chirp at night. Seasons change from green to dead without an in-between. Winters are pleasant and summers tolerable because of the Gulf Stream…
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