A staple of rural living

There was a time in the south when country stores were almost everywhere. They were located out on county roads in every county you could name. Granted, there were some stores in town, but folks in the country depended on these stores that were in close proximity to their homes. These days they have become almost nonexistent.

Fortunately, for me, there were still a few around in my younger years that I frequented with regularity. I loved going to these old stores. I can hear the sound of that old screen door as I write these words. I was not going to them out of necessity, but out of a great desire to be connected to days gone by.

Those old country stores were so deeply connected to our southern heritage. They were a reminder of the way things used to be and a pure delight to visit. For me, the biggest draw was not a Coke and a pack of cheese crackers, but the people who ran these stores. I have fond memories of these beloved storekeepers.

A lot of these old stores were free standing, built from bricks or blocks with absolutely no added frills. Then there were the ones that were built on one end of a house, those folks lived and worked right there. If you were to go in around dinner to buy something, you most likely would be met with the wonderful smell of southern cooking coming from the kitchen.

Quite often, these stores were operated by an older married couple. The husband usually farmed some and the wife was left to tend the store and the younguns. It was a good life. It was a place to go and visit, catch up on the local gossip or get a few gallons of gas.

My grandparents operated a store in Herndon, Georgia. They had closed it long before I was born, but the “store building” as they called it, still remains today. It was built on the far end of their house with the store front facing the road. There were two sets of double screen doors and the benches where people once sat still maintaining their place on either side of those old doors.

This old store afforded me many hours of entertainment and enjoyment in the days of my youth. When I went to visit my grandparents, my time was always spent in that old store building. Most of the contents had been left, still in place on those wooden shelves. There was not any type of food left, but what was left captivated my attention.

There was old fishing tackle still in the boxes. There was a level wind reel, red and chrome, brand new in the box, that I spent countless hours playing with. There were lures, unused, that hung from “cards” on the wall. They were mostly “shysters”, painted in the various colors of the rainbow. When granny wanted to find me, she knew where to look.

A stone’s throw across that well-worn county road sat another store. It was owned and operated by my great aunt and uncle. It was open for a long time after I came along. I remember vividly when it was in full swing. I also remember, with great clarity, the day my great-uncle, Math Johnson died. I was very young, but boy did I love Uncle Math. One evening, at home with my parents, the phone rang and a short, but very serious conversation ensued. Uncle Math had died. I cried an ocean of tears.

Later on, Aunt Sarah put up a wall inside the store, which effectively reduced the square footage of that simple, but in my eyes, grandiose block building. Aunt Sarah didn’t stock a lot of inventory in those later years, but she still had what I considered the necessities. There were Coca-Colas in the little glass bottles that were almost too cold to hold in your hand. They were kept in the “ice box” which was aptly named. There were big glass jars with red lids that held johnny cakes and ginger snaps. In the old freezer was my first love, push-ups, frozen sherbet on a stick – a wonderful treat on a hot, summer day.

Granny always had loose change in the cabinets where she kept her plates. On those days when the stars lined up, she would give us enough money, from her stash of coins, to go across the road to Aunt Sarah’s. If we didn’t have quite enough money, Aunt Sarah would make up the difference. Quite often, I still ride by these old stores, and think back to those days. I can see a little boy with push-up in his hand and a smile on his face.

As we like to say around here, “over there across the river”, which means in Emanuel County, there were also stores that were still in operation. Mr.Cardell Taylor and his wife had one in Steven’s Crossing. I would go there to buy my hunting license or my fishing license. This was in the days before automation. There was no internet – there was a big notebook that held little stickers. Those stickers were color-coded, and the date was handwritten in ink when the license was purchased. The sticker would then be affixed to my license. Other times I would be sent to get some fresh eggs for a cake my Bigma was planning to bake.

Mr.Cardell was a deer hunter. He loved to hear those hounds run and in his later years, he wasn’t able to hunt like he once did. On a wooden shelf behind the counter, sat a CB radio. That old radio was his lifeline. He was able to hear the dogs and talk to his former hunting partners. It always put a smile on my face when I walked in and I could hear that old CB sounding off. You could never hear such a thing in a store these days.

These old country stores provided so much, for so many, for years. They were truly a staple of rural living for folks needing provisions or for a young boy needing a cool treat.