I have the photos from Flashback Weekend, but I think I'll stay away from jovial posts for a day or so. Yesterday I mentioned that many readers may not be aware of the amount of stories I've written that are set in Shelbyville. "High Moon" and "I Said Nothing As The Horse Flew Away" in FIENDS BY TORCHLIGHT and "Things We Do At Night" in WITH WOUNDS STILL WET, plus several more in various small press magazines. The photos are of my grandmother's farm, I saw it last the weekend Katrina hit New Orleans. 88 acres of tobacco at one time, now a cul-de-sac full of people who think they are rich living around a man-made lake. My cousin Danny drove me there and snapped photos in black & white with me lurking in certain places. The color shots are mine. I swiped a brick from the chimney, its about my most prized possession, and I had sincerely hoped that after I pulled out the brick, the farmhouse would have imploded. Better than being razed for a two-dimensional subdivision...Wayne
2 comments:
I've posted a few similar pics on my blog of the house I grew up in in Arkansas. Wooden frame, farm house. Now mostly collapsed. I'd hate to see it all developed there.
I take it you guys don't actually own the farm anymore? If so, who sold it and who got the dough? Or was it sold long ago for a song?
Alas.
My siblings forced the sale of my parents' 120-acre place in the mountains of north Georgia after my mom died. We each got a few thousand apiece which was quickly spent. Now land in that area is selling for about $15K per acre. I didn't want to sell it, at all, but I was the lone voice against seven short-sighted greedy shitheads. My family. All but two of them sicken me. Haven't seen most of them in well over 20 years. Having brothers and sisters is overrated. Better to be an only child.
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