Susan Dykes, LMT, CST, Writer, Speaker
June 2022
Tagline: It’s what we learn from the past that moves us forward.
I’ve always wanted to stop in this small town. I’ve simply never taken the time to stand still or wander the streets many used to call home. But today I’m in no hurry. I’ll stop, if only for a few moments before any locals recognize the stranger on the street.
This town represents “what happens when time changes everything.” And standing still in this quiet place, I recall time is precious. But it is the standing still in time that helps me see change is not always what we envision. Sometimes, it’s the places long forgotten that help me remember the true values of life. Times of togetherness, hard work, community, as well as dedication.
Sitting with the car running, I notice a place with boarded or broken windows. I feel what must have once been a thriving farm town, one rich with families raising kids the old fashion way.
I see what used to be a cotton gin or feed store. I notice the isolated railroad track that runs behind the now-empty buildings. I look around but no one is there.
Pushing the button that turns my engine off – silence fills the air. No longer is the satellite radio blaring, no longer in the air from the conditioner cooling me. It’s a hot smoldering day in this little town in Georgia, one an old farmer may have admired with a diligent “get it done attitude”; a day I’ve learned to detest as sweat rolls off and my clothes stick to me.
Slowly opening the door of my somewhat modern car, I feel the lostness of a past – a piece of land that once might have been a flowering place. The old sidewalk is crumbling. Ants and weeds take over an area once walked with pride and thoroughness for the needs of a hard day’s work.
As I meander along the one row of now unused buildings. I feel sad.
I’m standing in a place that time has forgotten. A town that today has only one occupied building with fast food snacks, a single-serve gas pump near its door, and the offering of microwave pizza on a Friday night.
The caution light blinks but traffic is minimal. If anything is moving, it’s only the humidity that hangs in the air with heat strong enough to take my breath away. Even the humidity moves slowly in this now-defunct town.
In the distance, I hear cows mooing, and a single tractor humming, other than that there isn’t much to see. I know where the cows are because I saw the pasture as I arrived just before town. It too was once a rich farm worked possibly by a generation of family members raised on country sunshine.
But few people today stop in this town. They are simply passing through, without regard to what once might have been. Time changed this town, yet standing still, I feel its presence.
Always In A Hurry – Never Slowing Down Comes To Mind.
Everyone is in a hurry to get somewhere else. The only ones who do stop in this run down place are probably the ones who believe speed can get them to their destination faster. Little do they know, this quiet town has a cop who often patrols the 25, 35, and 45mph signs. I’ve met this man before.
As I stand idle on the now worn sidewalk, I wonder what this place must have been years ago. I wonder what happened to small communities that banded together and provided social as well as solitude for so many?
Slowing my pace to match the intention of something seldom, if ever used today, my mind imagines people parking in parallel spaces. It imagines farmers in John Deere, maybe Massey Ferguson hats, or women in summer dresses visiting these now run-down buildings. It imagines the laughter, maybe even tears so many shed when someone shared a joke or passed away.
As I look through the large window of what must have been a general store, the ceiling is falling in. Certainly rats and other rodents have chewed the wires that once dimly lit the place on cool foggy mornings.
This run-down general store was possibly a place where farmers gathered for morning coffee as they discussed the day’s events, and the need for rain for crops planted. I smile with the idea of how those old farmers had faith in something bigger than themselves, someone who could make the sky darken with clouds in a matter of minutes.
Those old people, now departed, knew how to read the heavens so they could get in from the fields long before water wet their souls. They knew to watch animal life for signs of impending danger. They were present in their daily steps, the grind of all that was required. There were no electronic gadgets to tell them anything, there was hardly a phone on the wall, much less a hand-held device that tied to another world.
More Simple Than Today?
Forty years ago people, as well as time, seemed more simple than today. Maybe back then, old farmers drank coffee at the back of this store as their wives shopped for the basic necessities of life, i.e. flour, sugar, or canned goods for the noon and evening meals. In my mind, I see folding chairs sat out by the owner to invite people to sit and converse, to smoke and discuss everything at once, but nothing in particular.
I can imagine these old families, asking in a simple and humble manner if they could put their purchase on a tab, one paid at the end of each month or when crops were gathered and stored.
The owner, as well as anyone in the community, had trust amongst themselves. If tabs got too lengthy, too long for a single charge sheet, the owner would politely ask for payment.
And people held true to their words. They paid those tabs, faithfully, honestly, without argument because they believed it was the right thing to do. Credit cards were unheard of, word of mouth and connection was what kept them together.
There was probably little need to return items because they bought what was needed, not everything desired. Well, maybe at Christmas time or on birthdays they splurged, but only to the extent to see the happiness on another face – happiness from simple things like model cars, or puzzles. Something to occupy time when night came early, or clouds kept them from the fields.
I can hope people back then shared the load of what they carried on their backs, in their hearts. I can envision them embracing ideas for each new day, pausing for a few moments to listen, not fix, but pray.
One guy might need some help with fence posts, or a young lad might have picked up discarded coke bottles in exchange for penny candy. Now that peanut butter and molasses filled Mary Jane cost a dime, maybe even a quarter. And exchanging coke bottles for candy is long gone – my how things have changed. I do believe things were more simple back then.
If These Walls Could Talk
Oh if these walls could talk, the lessons of life we might learn, the gossip we might hear. Gossip about who was or was not in church on Sunday and why.
Their stories could fill the soul from times of old. If only we would listen. We might encounter stories of women who shared recipes for how they would use fresh vegetables to feed large masses at the church grounds next Sunday. Stories of when Johnny might have lost his first tooth. Stories of how they cleared, by hand, lands for houses. Stories of how an impromptu gathering on Saturday night made way for next week. Stories of how children didn’t like the hard work, but they understood the need for it.
Whatever the old people who once lived in this town discussed, I’m sure they did so with pride and joy for the land and life God had given them. Sure they had their problems, but I wonder if they had the diversification, the division we see today. Oh, if these walls could talk.
Moseying along the uneven sidewalk, I approached what used to be another storefront. Maybe it was a hardware store, with nails and hammers, old coke machines, and furniture. It was here one might pick out a sturdy bed frame that would last for generations to come. Certainly, they didn’t have snap-together furniture that would blow away in a strong wind.
No, furniture years ago was made just like the people who once lived among this land – people with strong roots for whatever might come, yet capable of bending without breaking. These people had backbone, the attitude of ideas for using things till they no longer worked. The ethics and creativity to build something to outlast their lifetime.
Knowing it was time to head back to my car, I felt stares from people who still lived here. I felt the ghosts of times gone by. I also felt rejuvenated with the idea that if we choose, “we the people” could bring some of this old trust, fortitude, thankfulness, and gratitude back. I’d love to hear these people talk of things that were, and how today is different. I’d love to see if times could once again change our views.
Can We Change Time?
But can time change? Will time ever return to a point where people trust each other with everything they had or didn’t have? Could “we the people” work with the land again, rather than turning a blind eye to believing it owed us something?
Starting my car, putting it in reverse to leave this place, I thought about these people now buried in the large cemetery at the end of town. They knew something we didn’t.
They lived a life filled with hard work and dedication to where the Lord had placed them.
Passing the “leaving town” sign, I thought back to how much life has changed. Back then, the old store owners marked up the cost of goods in order to make a living. They were not farmers, carpenters, or tailors – they were the someone who provided something so everyone might have food, clothes, or shelter-the only basics of life back then.
Any mark-up of goods was not for greed, or for fortune. I wonder if in their mind they even thought along the lines of how much they could get for an item that might be in short supply.
There were no stockholders they were beholden to, no shares for their single store. The only markup on goods back then was so everyone could survive, maybe even thrive just a little. But those words take on different meanings today.
Being from a town like this, I remember the price of chicken delivered to the local meat counters. I recall bread at three loaves for a dollar. I am aware of canned items labeled with a small sticker from an ink stamp when deliveries to the store were made each week. I used one of those stamps long before bar codes, Wall Street, and stockholders were thought of.
Rolling down this country road, I think of the differences between those local store owners and today’s CEO. The old guys didn’t use statistical databases. There were only people who had an outlook and mindset that today we can’t imagine. Time has changed our way of life, but standing still, I wonder if it is for the better.
What Was It All About?
Back then it was not about profit, it was about community. It was about people, it was about a heart with love, patience, faith, fortitude, and responsibility without question for anyone. It was about everyone trying their best to be all they could be with each other.
Yes, I believe old towns such as this had unity. Even with the remaining Baptist and Methodist churches sitting on the edge of town, sitting with their back door to each other, these people relished their differences but also celebrated their sameness.
Yep, it is a town that time has forgotten. Life and dreams that escape a forlorn field share the emptiness of what once was. Any kid born here today possibly looks for a way out – farming is a job that requires long hours, lots of faith, dedication, and belief in something bigger than self, and it doesn’t pay.
Anyone born into this town long ago left. They left in search of a dream society said would be better. They moved away in search of something preferable to their mind, without remembering all that could be good for the soul.
They moved away for a change for the good. I’m not sure if that is truly listening to world news today. As John Dutton in the television show, Yellowstone reminds us – progress has a price.
Memories stirred by standing still in this once thriving town shows the price.
Time, dreams, as well as progress, took the life of this little town. Farms may be worked by a few, but help for gathering the peas, butterbeans, or other crops is long gone. No one sits on the corner waiting for work on Saturday. They sit on the corner only to pass time.
No one wants to be in the heat, in the field, in the dirt. They exchange their creativity for sitting behind a desk, listening to a podcast to tell them life could be simple. They seek solitude as their nervous systems run out of control. They visit doctors who help them find calm from the mental stress or loneliness each day. Maybe they visit old mountain towns on weekend get-aways in search of general stores now turned tourist attractions.
Today few understand how good a shower can feel after bailing hay in the dry dusty field. Few of us understand how restful sleep can be after a physical day of working the land. Some will never grasp the idea of being on a tractor, or in a garden with nothing but the noise of nature surrounding you.
Our hands now hold GPS, video games, and movies to entertain us in hopes of finding a relaxing moment. Funny how people who lived long ago soothed the weariness and worry that comes with life with only a single station radio. Funny how they sat on the porch each evening watching the grass grow.
Today we don’t want any grass growing under our feet, it is too slow for our sped-up world.
The train may no longer stop in this little town I visited. Few may even consider taking a pause from the soon-to-be self-driving car to take a stroll down the worn sidewalks of main street. Will anyone passing through in today’s modern vehicle, one with movies for the ride, even notice this patch of earth?
Generations come and go.
They pass with time. Ideas certainly change for what time and value truly are. But kids only know what we teach them, and how we groom them. As the Native Americans and generations of old once said, “time and people only remain until the last one who remembers is gone.”
Call me old fashion or someone simply getting old. I miss what once I might have despised, i.e. early morning chores, dinner table discussions, working hard for a few dollars in order to put gas in the car for Friday night ballgames. Box stores don’t have gathering places like this. Wi-fi, not chairs, keeps us connected.
While it’s true I enjoy some of what makes life easier today, I can remember what used to be. Old towns like this are scattered everywhere, but we pass them by in exchange for more. We cut the trees, develop houses on the land, and move along our way. We build by-passes so we don’t get stopped in stand still towns like this one. Oh, the sentiments of the time. If only time would slow, if only we could hear – if only we could listen.
We Can’t Go Back
We can’t go back, I’m aware of that. But we can bring some of the old values forward – trust, respect, living within our means, working with the land rather than expecting it to simply give us what we believe we are entitled to – more simplicity.
It’s not that easy though. Division in politics, race, economy – these are the power players that only we can change by re-establishing person to person community. We can only bring forward the values from the past by not playing their game. But that’s another story all together, another article for another day.
Maybe Don Miguel Ruiz was on to something back in 1997 when he reminded us of The 4 Agreements.
- Be impeccable with your word (trust and honesty)
- Don’t take anything personally (it’s not always about you, quit playing the role of victim)
- Don’t make assumptions (these get you in trouble, ask when unsure and be ready for the answer – research the question for additional information)
- Always do your best. (I believe those who lived before us adhered to this advice – ask not what your country can do for you, or anyone else for that matter – how can you do your best and become part of the change necessary to help restore balance.)
Yes, time is precious, memories are important. And I’m a firm believer in carrying forward values that sustain rather than divide. Standing still in time, change doesn’t always look its best.
Susan is a personal writer who studies historical and generational differences. It is her quest to link some of the past with our upcoming future, one where heart rather than head becomes a norm. If you liked this article you might also enjoy “Looking Back, I see Now What’s Important”
