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Wednesday, November 14, 2018

Day 259 / 106 Pictures of Plains

Plains, Georgia  52 Degrees - Drizzle

[caption id="attachment_1224" align="alignright" width="300"] The Iconic Smiling Peanut[/caption]

Saturday the sun came out and made for a good day to drive around taking pictures of the area. The famous Smiling Peanut graces the entryway to the RV Park where we are stationed during our 90-day tenure here. I remember seeing it on television after he was elected. His big smile quickly became the subject of much caricature for the cartoonists and still lives on here.

Like our time in Texas last winter, we arrived in an area recently stricken by a hurricane.  Michael was still a Category 3 when it crossed this area of Georgia last month. Sustained winds over 115 MPH ravaged the trees here. Clean up is underway and most public properties have been cleared. Many private residences are still awaiting clean up efforts. Common sites are giant uprooted trees lying across and entire yard or whole tress cut up, often with trunks approaching 3’ in diameter. It is quite a site. The storm ruined the Pecan crop for the season, stripping the trees of their nuts before they were mature enough to pick and be good quality. I’m sure it will be reflected in the grocery store over the next months.

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The dirt is very red here. Meaning if you have a white car, it will look orange most of the time. I have read about how a century of cotton farming depleted the soil in much of the area. The absence of top soil make the roads a slimy red mess when it rains, which apparently is about every other day. I asked for directions to a car wash upon arrival. The first two people said they never wash their cars. My car was covered in road grime after three days being towed behind the motor home in the rain. We eventually found a car wash in the next town over but have yet to wash it since the roads have been wet all but two days so far. I’m starting to understand the “I never wash my car” attitude.

[caption id="attachment_1227" align="alignleft" width="225"] 1/2' of rain turns our site into more of a pond.[/caption]

The name Plains is an apt title for this area.  Soon after we arrived someone in town said, “It’s so flat here the rain don’t know what way to run!”  They weren’t kidding!  A mere half-inch of rain will result in water standing everywhere a half-inch deep. It doesn’t really run off but rather soaks in eventually. Being in the crosshairs of 2 major hurricanes this season Georgia is pretty water-logged and rain takes its sweet time seeping in.

 

 

[caption id="attachment_1233" align="alignright" width="300"] Abandon Tenant Farm Houses[/caption]

The sad legacy of economic disparity along racial lines is still evident in the many old tenant farm and share cropper houses still standing along the road ways. In his book “An Hour Before Daylight” Mr. Carter writes in detail,  about his experience growing up as a farm kid in the segregated deep south during the Depression and WWII periods. It has been a good read and given this Yankee an insightful glimpse into how different the experience was growing up here compared to the experience of my parents and other family members of his generation in the north.  I have another 10 weeks to absorb as much as I can from the area and take many memories with me when I leave.

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With the exception of sugar cane the fields are short here. Peanuts, cotton and sorghum mostly. Crops are short. Not the 7' tall corn we see at home. The cotton fields intrigue me as they do most northerners. I remember many years ago a man came to our acreage with his son, who was around 6 years old. They were from the New Jersey and were fascinated with the combine that was harvesting corn from the field that abutted our property. They asked if they could watch. They sat on our back fence for nearly an hour waving at the farmer when he passed near the fence.  Just an ordinary thing to us, but the source of memories to take from their trip to Iowa for them.  I am almost that enchanted by the cotton fields. From the highway, they look like heavy wet snow that has fallen on green grass. I've read about the perils of picking cotton by hand and sharp the barbs are that hold the cotton bulb in place. I carefully pulled a small blob of cotton from a plant to see how it felt and despite my efforts still managed to get cut. They are razor sharp! I can't imagine the job of slaves harvesting cotton let alone picking out all the tiny seeds after it was picked.  Still today many people here acknowledge the cotton fields are a living symbol of the human atrocity that was slave labor in the south.

This weekend the Arts In Archery Festival will be held at the Boyhood Farm. It is the biggest event of the years. A period harvest festival. There will be a blacksmith, basket weaver, broom maker demonstrating throughout the day. The highlight will be the mule driven cane press as they make cane syrup. The weather is supposed to straighten out by the weekend, so we are hoping for a well attended, fun and sun-filled day at the farm.

Until next time...

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