Finally, finally, finally...I can respond to other's posts, seemingly, and can post photos in my blog. Thank you blogger folks for your help. Now....where was I? Ah yes. Meandering to the lake house on a glorious breezy sunny bodacious clouds scudding by kind of autumnal day. On a whim I drove through several small villages that have been in my heart since childhood. First stop - Bell Mina, Alabama, where people normally drive through without stopping and trains rumble by blowing their horns on their way elsewhere. There's not much there except quaint homes, dishevelled store fronts facing the railroad lines, boarded up buildings and the scent of antiquity. It is beautiful to me, in its uniqueness and authenticity.
This is the Bell Mina Methodist Church. There's no date on the sign but it's really old. Probably late 1800's, early 1900's. Every Christmas the church members decorate the doors with greenery, fruits and berries. I mean to get photos but never have.
I was a small child when my mom and her best friend dragged me here. At that time it was a store of some sort, bustling with business. The roads were dirt roads. Our car was one of only few; the rest being mule wagons and farmers. There was dust hanging in the air. The mules fascinated me, and I remember romanticizing those visions with something akin to Little House on the Prarie and Laura Ingalls. Most wagons were carrying crops in the back, occasionally added to by whatever the Missus picked up at the store. It was a different, foreign place to me. This vision, this visit has stayed with me all this time. I return to Bell Mina from time to time just to feel that feeling and remember. My mom bought a chandelier at this very store that hung above our dining table. I don't know what happened to it but it's been long gone.
While I was skipping down memory lane my eye caught this amazing, old firetruck off to the right. Well, I had to see it! Don't you love it's face?
Parked here so long ago that weeds are growing around its tires, this firetruck has great personality. It fits this place! While I was photographing it a fireman, who was nearly as old as the truck itself, walked (slowly) over from the fire station to ask if I was interested in buying it. Well, no, but it sure is pretty, isn't it? He didn't think so, but he wasn't romanticizing this place in his mind like I was. He lives there and that sorta says it all.
The old firetruck and old building, recently painted in glorious red, compliment each other perfectly. It was a fine day for meandering and reliving past memories. By the way, the building is for sale and the firemen would love to sell the antique firetruck. Any takers out there?