Foster's Mill

A small wood framed structure surrounded by dirt and gravel. Tin signs nailed to the board and batten siding advertise soft drinks, bologna and fishing bait. A rusty pickup truck is parked out on the lawn.

Sounds like a picture of yesteryear.

But this was a scene I walked into last week.

Sitting at the intersection where Blacks Bluff Rd meets GA Highway 100 between Coosa and Cave Spring sits a local landmark. The Foster's Mill Store was an old place on my first visit back in my early childhood. Over the few decades since it has changed, including sitting empty as well as suffering damage in a fire around the turn of this century.

But a recent reopening afforded me an opportunity to test out the new incarnation. I walked in the front door, opened the top on an antique drink cooler, grabbed a glass bottle of Coca-Cola and opened it with the bottle opener mounted on the front of the box. This is not the first time I have done such a thing. But with the advent of the convenience store, the high-volume wall cooler and the plastic bottle with the twist off top it is becoming more and more rare.

Considering just such a store sits across the highway peddling energy drinks, gasoline, lottery tickets and glow-in-the-dark birth control options, this jewel of antiquity had to opt for a change. The proximity of popular fishing holes kept them in the bait business. The old store also sells local honey, BBQ sauce, coffee and such items as one might expect in an old country store. However, much of the space that would be devoted to the sundries that can be found in the new store across the highway has been devoted to preparing some delicious wares for breakfast and lunch.

A highly-trained special research task force investigated the location and therefore I can report as follows:

Photo courtesy Sarah Kibble, Charis Images

The Coke is imported from Mexico. Sounds bad at first, especially in Georgia.  However, The imported beverage contains no corn syrup. It is sweetened with real sugar and I think that makes the drink taste a lot less...well...syrupy, if you can believe that. Until you drink a Coke from a glass bottle you haven't had a real bottle of Coca-Cola. And yes, I expressed my concern to Coke's PR department about having to import real Coke into Georgia from Mexico but I was unable to get more than a robot response.

So it goes.

So there is a bacon egg and cheese biscuit. They make it with the hoop cheese that they sell. (Take that, peddlers of glow-in-the-dark birth control!) The biscuit is pretty standard. I could probably find a better one around these parts  if I looked hard enough but there's nothing wrong with it by any means. The bacon was good as was the egg and the cheese was...yes...you must try it.

 

Then there is the bologna. Not that Oscar Meyer stuff, the good bologna they sell along with the hoop cheese. And yes, they'll fry it for you and slap a slice of cheesy goodness on it inside a bun and serve it up. Reportedly goes great with the Coke.

And then there is a cast iron skillet that sits on the counter covered by a cloth (this is rural Georgia, not NYC). Underneath the cloth I found pecan skillet cake and chess pie. It was  a tough choice but the tie always goes to the pecan so that was what I tried. I was pretty impressed.

The atmosphere is made complete with rocking chairs, a covered porch with outdoor seating complete with bottle cap checkers. There are crickets and minnows available for purchase and the staff members on hand were very friendly. The outhouse is of the portable variety and is not true to the period of the store's heyday...but then again...maybe that's today.




Today's Coca-Cola photos are provided courtesy of Sarah Kibble of Charis Images. Special thanks to her for sharing her talents as a Georgia photographer.

A few memories.

I thought it might be funny to share some of the things I remember from previous trips around the sun. I'll try not to incriminate too many of my old companions just in case the statute of limitations hasn't passed on some of these.

I've ridden the oldest platform carousel in the United States. I even caught the brass ring. Catching the brass ring won me a free ride...which meant Grandpa didn't have to pay for the second ride, not that he would have minded. For anyone curious in trying this one out, the Flying Horses Carousel is located in Oak Bluffs, MA.

I've seen a manatee in it's natural environment. It swam right past our fishing boat while we were trying to cover the need for the family fish fry. Paw Paw always invited the family first, then sent us to get the fish. Lots of company coming...no fish, no eat...no pressure? Right? Cane poles in hand, we got it done. Every time. On a separate occasion, an alligator decided to swim under our boat, adding a serious competitor to our goal. He didn't go hungry. Neither did we.

I met THE Larry Munson, a feat that is probably impressive to a Tech fan and maybe even the alligator I mentioned above.

In the same category, I met THE Bobby Bowden. One of the most personable and gracious people you'd ever care to meet.

I was wounded on board the USS Alabama. Yep, spilled my blood on the teak decks of the mighty battleship that was decommissioned 28 years before I was born. How could such a thing be true? Because I'm an intense (and remarkably clumsy) tourist. I recommend a visit to anyone that loves history, grand views of the open water, ships or anything and everything pertaining to the second world war.  The open-head-wound is purely optional and can be declined by carefully negotiating the forward main gun turrets. The Battleship Memorial Park is located just off I-10 on the east end of Mobile. If you can find the interstate, the rest is easy. The park will be the place with the big gray boat. You can't miss it.

Alright, lets talk about the not so innocent.

Ever been to a rock concert and have the lead singer scold you from the stage? I didn't think so. It may or may not have been my friend's fault. We're not sure. We weren't really in a condition to remember fine details of the events but we know that the Black Crowes don't enjoy nonsense "back there". Yep, all the way in the back. Apparently, he could see us better than we could see him. Sheesh.

I went bar hopping with a bald headed man who insisted we call him "Fuzzy". We knew the guy pretty well. We went anyway. Ok, so we went because it was Fuzzy. A bar can be a hilarious place to go with a magician. The look on the faces of fellow patrons when Fuzzy made a stuffed bulldog shoot fire from its butt across the pool table....yeah. Human decency, personal humility and the aforementioned statute of limitations restrict me from sharing much more about the evening but we wound up eating pancake sandwiches in a place called "Restaurant" at 3 a.m. We spent the next morning riding a city bus to Steak n' Shake. Two hours on a bus for a Steakburger and a chocolate shake. Totally worth it. (This is a non-compensated message by an actual customer and not a scripted advertisement by a paid actor or attorney.)

I still love the Black Crowes, scolding and all. I've been in touch with all my fellow bus riders, except ol' Fuzzy. I hope he's still out there somewhere doing tricks with stuffed bulldogs, dollar bills and colorful handkerchiefs.

Alright, that's enough for now. I'm hoping to be writing about some happy news very soon. So stay tuned.

Oh, and I've added links to Twitter and Instagram in the links to the right, in case you want to follow all this rambling beyond just what is written here. Now you can see impromptu photographs and thoughts restricted to 140 characters. There's a Google+ button as well, in case one of the 11 or 12 people over there find their way here and want to find me there.

Until next time...

Change of Detergent

So I have this friend. He moved to a new home a few months back. He told me the other day that he received a change of address form from his bank. It came in the mail. To his new address. It had the new address on the envelope,

How did they know where to send it?

How am i supposed to do an entire article on something that silly yet so simple? Never mind. Change topics.

We ran out of dishwasher detergent a week or so back. So I go to the nearby "discount" store. Remember? The one that keeps their box fans in the women's undergarments section? Yeah, that's the place. I was looking through the options and pondering the "deals" and thinking that somehow spending a few more dimes for "the same" product might somehow mean less money for books, Disney trips, exploration of distant cemeteries, National Geographic magazines (I read them for the articles), Robert Toombs trading cards (I've never seen any before but you gotta be ready just in case you do stumble across something like that) or, of course, a 12-pound Napoleon field cannon for the front yard. So I got a bargain. A pack of the little pre-measured pouches that dissolve in water.

Those little pouches that are supposed to dissolve in water. The engineering marvel of our time, the magic packages made of cellulose or whatever that know the magic time to release their payload and overwhelm the forces of spaghetti sauce, coffee and bread crumbs leaving your dishes sparkling clean and spot-free. 

Those aren't the the pouches on special in the land of breezy lingerie. When you check the dishwasher and find the little pouch looking up from its designated bomb bay and seemingly laughing hysterically as you hope that the dry cycle didn't eternally bake the spaghetti sauce onto the wine glasses - because dishwasher collateral damage is a very real first-world problem.

So I'm looking back at the maniacal pouch while the terrible visions of toddlers in Southeast Asian sweatshops packing washing powders into those little ziplock baggies that cocaine dealers use and shrink wrapping them closed dance in my head. 

Poor kids. And I'm at fault for their misery all because I want a period-authentic artillery piece next to the holly bush when I could settle for a garden gnome like a normal person. Wait...do they make fair-trade garden gnomes?

And there is still spaghetti sauce on my coffee mugs.

Lesson learned. The sweatshop variety pouches are not that great of a bargain.

So your homework is to find fair-trade garden gnomes. I'm going to run the dishwasher again and see if I can figure out how that change of address form made it to my friend's mailbox. Well, that and track down some Robert Toombs trading cards.