tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6746879685862131062024-03-05T01:11:54.288-05:00carry me homea photographic essay of southern sentimentality.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-75756759637577976292013-03-03T13:21:00.002-05:002013-03-05T16:24:59.151-05:00Please check out my web site, <a href="http://www.garygeboyphotography.com/">www.garygeboyphotography.com</a>, or just google me, also all photos in this blog can be purchased, just email me at <a href="mailto:garygeboy@gmail.com">garygeboy@gmail.com</a> for details.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-36894513698170798162011-04-09T12:32:00.006-04:002011-09-29T14:26:40.460-04:0044<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://www.garygeboyphotography.com/">www.garygeboyphotography.com</a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8YPRZoCNA0iQptuJKIF48k7qacTCdm8BJJfWv9CS21q1EG-fB8bdh9aN3EQmmYqqJviLRdk5w5w77yPcrLtoKF-yky7-i5XvirMIgE2V57J9wG_gL-h_TqS3NALmJWrqr0JEsXNpuxSQ/s1600/44+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="636" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8YPRZoCNA0iQptuJKIF48k7qacTCdm8BJJfWv9CS21q1EG-fB8bdh9aN3EQmmYqqJviLRdk5w5w77yPcrLtoKF-yky7-i5XvirMIgE2V57J9wG_gL-h_TqS3NALmJWrqr0JEsXNpuxSQ/s640/44+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Davis and Riley were friends for life, from a pact they made in grade school. The friends decided to marry their high school sweet hearts on the same day in the same place. Entering the church office to discuss the particulars, both were in a jubilant mood. "We need a marriage license," Riley said. Pastor Odell, misinterpreting their intentions, advised the pair, "only in Duval county, would they accept such a union."</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-25424517326360159582011-03-24T14:33:00.002-04:002011-09-29T14:28:53.171-04:0043<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFahgOTcDwjz0NFaOBGtrnL1QJywTsKu0RQDgWqI8oCD3uvZ1axR5g5lKaAtOtckvhmwa5_nzuoHQzHSims5fSdHxsK9DimI5c5IYhwL2aEZdeA59eh2nefwkhBtiWkDsmPOZFTxKa2A/s640/bed572+copy.jpg" width="640" /></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Claretta Sank spent most of her life in this bed. She had no real illness to speak of, except for the general mental instability practiced by her entire family.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-48953677099224651942011-03-15T10:26:00.000-04:002011-03-15T10:26:06.856-04:0042<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_ixzLHWaayETCupB90RrBEODr5btDBKNdvuEmORPTMQZkLgXdYjetfWlcBIKgJjsztfqV0Z02tsiPjZt_8hZVLSla29gLeE7shNBQZ2lw6lklU3bFjGn5SkN6leIDXwGsxCJf6DBT-k/s1600/school+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_ixzLHWaayETCupB90RrBEODr5btDBKNdvuEmORPTMQZkLgXdYjetfWlcBIKgJjsztfqV0Z02tsiPjZt_8hZVLSla29gLeE7shNBQZ2lw6lklU3bFjGn5SkN6leIDXwGsxCJf6DBT-k/s640/school+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Erliss Way spent 8 years of his life in this building, but only made it to the 5th grade.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-72066132636151597882011-01-10T12:20:00.004-05:002011-05-26T10:33:51.566-04:0041<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xEQeCwIMC9qaqEnZzP9YW7N9_5rjHJJ9RhvAOs9oUWiFdD_ZkMnZvE9AvGBxejF_W9MJzq31Miz958NYSx49AiuJJXc1HknacrqxjrHjrEILX8oe0v_74nMOb_A6ZhdRVDED0i5yYVE/s1600/marsh457+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xEQeCwIMC9qaqEnZzP9YW7N9_5rjHJJ9RhvAOs9oUWiFdD_ZkMnZvE9AvGBxejF_W9MJzq31Miz958NYSx49AiuJJXc1HknacrqxjrHjrEILX8oe0v_74nMOb_A6ZhdRVDED0i5yYVE/s640/marsh457+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We seem to have been abandoned by time." With those words Alton Treaddwell, lost among the reeds, was never seen again.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-70431390063564925512011-01-05T16:48:00.004-05:002011-05-26T10:35:03.318-04:0040<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawwGlOPxNSeyvren8xgDlwo-l_9wk__agmkvw6CWBUeSFuLWABrBADja2viRkBkpnTqwqpBHLqr5IQtduamnuJ0nD-cyoxa_0lH_H7p6hphI5f79K7dFixAsLh4u0rIxYHqOfGRULwNs/s1600/treehouse421+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawwGlOPxNSeyvren8xgDlwo-l_9wk__agmkvw6CWBUeSFuLWABrBADja2viRkBkpnTqwqpBHLqr5IQtduamnuJ0nD-cyoxa_0lH_H7p6hphI5f79K7dFixAsLh4u0rIxYHqOfGRULwNs/s640/treehouse421+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> "This place is full of a past I wish to set free." -- Colton Larue</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-14426760053013400342011-01-04T17:42:00.001-05:002011-01-04T17:56:20.587-05:0039<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgRnDTOg5e2XFv_ZRZjuvl3iiPVN1l4Y-ew6Yca9yiduwaQ7I7mU0rYKjVyNcfsF6uZXwodI5Z5FgGRA72gYlxX2nNPzRSlsNWbfzcFYpRPHofxgijYK6O7enrWm2RpqZ5zk0VoeaIs7I/s1600/shack422+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgRnDTOg5e2XFv_ZRZjuvl3iiPVN1l4Y-ew6Yca9yiduwaQ7I7mU0rYKjVyNcfsF6uZXwodI5Z5FgGRA72gYlxX2nNPzRSlsNWbfzcFYpRPHofxgijYK6O7enrWm2RpqZ5zk0VoeaIs7I/s640/shack422+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"The sun shines down from the heavens." Only Elliot, with his funny ways, ever had anything worthwhile to say.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-87478386651455555812010-12-30T16:05:00.001-05:002011-01-07T17:31:06.557-05:0038<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtejCVCeqRsN1XnZW-tP8Z0cwcIw47CX1PyAd5FnKR9_HKE-itNc3LPyIn-vtnEjF6xfJpJyXSZblq9lcXdHYGjE0uEFQrS6JN30VCj6ils6LQ1abqrAX19MqmAfZq5HpfksgUtnIlePQ/s1600/pic440+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtejCVCeqRsN1XnZW-tP8Z0cwcIw47CX1PyAd5FnKR9_HKE-itNc3LPyIn-vtnEjF6xfJpJyXSZblq9lcXdHYGjE0uEFQrS6JN30VCj6ils6LQ1abqrAX19MqmAfZq5HpfksgUtnIlePQ/s640/pic440+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Last night I felt a tap on my shoulder, but you weren't there. Then I felt a little tug on my hand. It was a beautiful evening." Cade Willis , a seer, always seemed to have his daughter by his side.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-75079431301296736212010-12-27T13:50:00.002-05:002011-01-07T17:32:19.925-05:0037<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJjT6FzO-RhVZFD13fwi7njgtqmsdHmi3ztBfUxeU5ziLYDefn8ZUHJgSNbuO_FAJnb6-J2XWfZ2b4WWVUvF05yq4KIA2V_BkTZpzLD5BihjbtwPddACmt6jnBo40NxmWC0hFaV1XA5HI/s1600/sign435+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJjT6FzO-RhVZFD13fwi7njgtqmsdHmi3ztBfUxeU5ziLYDefn8ZUHJgSNbuO_FAJnb6-J2XWfZ2b4WWVUvF05yq4KIA2V_BkTZpzLD5BihjbtwPddACmt6jnBo40NxmWC0hFaV1XA5HI/s1600/sign435+copy.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This was Reds place, the front facade at least, the rest fell in years ago. The sheer force of Red's spirit keeps it standing. Some time ago, someone asked Red how he got the name and he just laughed. Then they asked what his real name was. "That is my real name! The other one was who someone else wanted me to be." </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> His pals Kingfish and Watermelon Slim looked on. Dingo, who got his name from a boot, was there too. Razorblade, 'cause he dressed so sharp, Toots, Son and of course Rat, stood off to the side not saying a word. Nobody dared ask what their real names were.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-77033212120387789882010-12-24T11:44:00.001-05:002010-12-24T11:44:45.535-05:0036<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTvc3045LTBbTvib4gitkrv9jlU2J-yiP5-n6pyK1-y0X1ZQwAYABBEZYtYlwo_RAlG-oaUmWTt56b0sMYjTz4oMxkKt6uTfjDjJAbbpCyFOIn5-aYMKFW-PEPWPBLKeEhMs_vtp7u90/s1600/sign433+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTvc3045LTBbTvib4gitkrv9jlU2J-yiP5-n6pyK1-y0X1ZQwAYABBEZYtYlwo_RAlG-oaUmWTt56b0sMYjTz4oMxkKt6uTfjDjJAbbpCyFOIn5-aYMKFW-PEPWPBLKeEhMs_vtp7u90/s640/sign433+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">An early attempt by the Barksdale Chamber of Commerce to keep their town,"pure."</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-70237285334084419912010-12-23T10:58:00.003-05:002010-12-23T15:43:21.951-05:0035<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySnW84Xn6C6JsTexXgS3mRUZFxkkWvbKftotnKO_DbBXwZjyzmuAvU0r-sZmOtXnDb-GGIoEuyOSLsKdIwdis3jpk97uSuQnazFv4dNIUH2crB1K-ihp3xaxzLTFCugN0wNzf5o4dQv4/s1600/miss424+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySnW84Xn6C6JsTexXgS3mRUZFxkkWvbKftotnKO_DbBXwZjyzmuAvU0r-sZmOtXnDb-GGIoEuyOSLsKdIwdis3jpk97uSuQnazFv4dNIUH2crB1K-ihp3xaxzLTFCugN0wNzf5o4dQv4/s640/miss424+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Water rushing through them trees sounds like whispers." Slater says it's just the ghosts of convicts talking. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Mississippi River is one big graveyard, those trees are like markers to me. Bodies got carried down river, but there ain't no amount of water on earth gonna wash their souls away."</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-70486981186613426012010-12-21T11:01:00.003-05:002011-01-06T15:01:30.200-05:0034<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqL2o48YN7wa82IsyPuWc1rHddUZRjM1IpoZ2acX8znZjVcRGgQM2t5aVQ1_Y0cSHryZ3_TOsFV45TpYq6ieXW1pTPaLzNwB9Fv9mdpbLO7dD9crUTNWomtsMCuxqsTr1wozf1_hnuBA/s1600/horizon423+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqL2o48YN7wa82IsyPuWc1rHddUZRjM1IpoZ2acX8znZjVcRGgQM2t5aVQ1_Y0cSHryZ3_TOsFV45TpYq6ieXW1pTPaLzNwB9Fv9mdpbLO7dD9crUTNWomtsMCuxqsTr1wozf1_hnuBA/s640/horizon423+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> "You don't need a crossroads to find the devil around here. You stare down these endless roads long enough and soon you'll come face to face." -- Colton Larue.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-1698888100355662322010-12-16T16:57:00.002-05:002010-12-17T16:54:49.653-05:0033<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbij1e2fJmokGjDYzVrdsay0m8Mvt20oPkMcLDaO-k0jnlZVsCIw1muqAi0jDM15T9Cr6ufVxK738NBwujrFWXBDjShbyIV1euBUKNMKtg4RFNX1Wdvm9ThkbE6I6_ioNgHZTjh3GtEAU/s1600/tree420+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbij1e2fJmokGjDYzVrdsay0m8Mvt20oPkMcLDaO-k0jnlZVsCIw1muqAi0jDM15T9Cr6ufVxK738NBwujrFWXBDjShbyIV1euBUKNMKtg4RFNX1Wdvm9ThkbE6I6_ioNgHZTjh3GtEAU/s640/tree420+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At the end of this road lived Halcyone Le Faye. The house burned down shortly after he died but it's still considered hallowed ground by the folks who live around here. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Halcyone had the ability to pass judgement on any poor soul. Not second hand, like a priest casting judgement upon a sinner or from a book written by the hand of man. But divine judgement, not handed down from above.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Most have never seen the spot where Halcyone lived, although it has become a pilgrimage. They say they only get as far as this tree and can't go any farther. They say the power still lies in the ground and I guess it's a fear of seeing the future that keeps folks from going on.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> They also say the tree never changes, it's always been the same size. But I'm not sure, it could have been that when they were small, the tree was small too and they have just grown with the tree. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-67527253544348928012010-12-15T19:15:00.005-05:002011-01-07T17:36:03.832-05:0032<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA5ypwcn0-QpfYnkTSp-I8lv2b2qne_kZgaYxrMjtua0Fyx-uxPRzFxcjY5s2XqiAYh4Nyl0930MCISn9x9lggV5UGb-IBWZpjIz1DfAT0SoJXkSAxdEXABf0g-gvpZm3YpN1brAHqxuE/s1600/doll419+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA5ypwcn0-QpfYnkTSp-I8lv2b2qne_kZgaYxrMjtua0Fyx-uxPRzFxcjY5s2XqiAYh4Nyl0930MCISn9x9lggV5UGb-IBWZpjIz1DfAT0SoJXkSAxdEXABf0g-gvpZm3YpN1brAHqxuE/s640/doll419+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> </span>Emmett de la Hou was a man child. He started out as a normal kid, or about as normal as any kid could be. Emmett and his little sister Lila, called baby doll because she always carried her doll with her, were inseparable. Lila would follow Emmett around like a puppy. Emmett didn't mind, he liked the company.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"> One hot Tuesday, Emmett and Lila got into a little fight, over probably nothing and Emmett went outside to help his mother hang the days wash.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"> Smoke began to bellow from the windows and in a flash, before the two could even think, the little house burst into flames. Emmett tried to run inside for Lila, but his mother held him tight and they watched in silence as the house burned to the ground.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"> From that day forward eleven year old Emmett never grew up. Years later people would spot Emmett wandering, carrying the burnt head of his sisters doll and mumbling," it's too darn hot Lila, don't get so close." </span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-70504526319614478672010-12-06T17:04:00.004-05:002010-12-23T11:23:59.593-05:0031<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEc4pBFoQaGubEt0aaHjAT3VNUCHqdNW-1xOgqPnjaHH1D2wBRTt_wbMV7zIURupipxsjRHjIk1EC6idvOQ-UDQUKu2EJCAse5dBIBHQmrYPTQN2JDsEqQV7oLUV0JG-ah_cjNdSm0Kok/s1600/house418+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEc4pBFoQaGubEt0aaHjAT3VNUCHqdNW-1xOgqPnjaHH1D2wBRTt_wbMV7zIURupipxsjRHjIk1EC6idvOQ-UDQUKu2EJCAse5dBIBHQmrYPTQN2JDsEqQV7oLUV0JG-ah_cjNdSm0Kok/s640/house418+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> </span>Norben Peck thought he was protected by an angel, or something he wasn't quite sure of, "but I knew it was good." He lived in this small house, only two rooms, but it provided a solid roof over his head.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> The first time he noticed this protective force, Norben, always at odds with the law, was cooking his usual dinner of greens and rice. A knock of considerable force shuddered his tiny home. The sheriff had come to pay a visit and ask his whereabouts the other night, which happened to coincide with a robbery of the local pharmacy. Norben thought, "this is it, I'm goin' down." As the sheriff walked in, Norben felt a big hand on his shoulder. "It lifted me right out of my chair, took me through the roof and I got to watch the sheriff and his deputies scratch their heads and wonder where I had got to." Norben was truly amazed. When they left, he was back in his chair looking at the table and touching the stolen goods.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> The second time occurred during a terrible hurricane which blew through the sea islands. The wind was so fierce, it tore at the roots of trees and swept them away. "I could tell the house was movin', but it was peaceful inside, peaceful as Christmas Eve. And I could feel the hand there on my house keepin' me safe and I knew it was good."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> </span> Rayford Byrd, a Baptist, got bored with the usual Sunday meetings and the Tuesday and Thursday gatherings as well. So after he heard about these Pentecostals tucked away in the hollers of Kentucky using snakes and strychnine to call out the devil he thought, "my my, that sounds like a real good way to liven things up a bit." Birdie, a nickname his grandma gave Rayford because he had a squeaky voice as a kid, didn't have much use for the snakes since they were already a featured player in his dreams, but the strychnine, "now how can that be so much different then the local whiskey?" All the men thought what a fine idea, but all the women figured it would make these gatherings not all that much different from life at home.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> So a standoff occurred between the men and women, with the preacher in the middle trying to calm things, because he could see the benefits of both arguments. During a particularly heated exchange, Birdie took a huge gulp of the strychnine and proceeded to spray the vile liquid at a candle burning innocently on the alter. The place ignited with 42 panicked individuals. It wasn't a big fire, but large enough to put a bad taste in the minds of the congregation.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> They soon abandoned the building, which they felt was now occupied by its new tenant, the devil himself. </span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-13039688287978023912010-11-15T13:41:00.003-05:002010-12-28T11:37:28.867-05:0029<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8QhzgeuKhHYs9IR-laGtr3bn2cYdKus2NyJjENRJDodCnugF4HFjYaMses-M6wlj8mhqeJAL4E6qLqKxgae-6er9thpznydD-6RFu0iyiOHvBjJiWWQcQOlPxPzAcJ1QweE9JydgS9g/s1600/trees393+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8QhzgeuKhHYs9IR-laGtr3bn2cYdKus2NyJjENRJDodCnugF4HFjYaMses-M6wlj8mhqeJAL4E6qLqKxgae-6er9thpznydD-6RFu0iyiOHvBjJiWWQcQOlPxPzAcJ1QweE9JydgS9g/s640/trees393+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Everyone knew a Boo-hag walked the woods of Lady's Island, looking for a husband. All the eligible men stayed far clear of this particular patch of Live Oaks and all those already spoken for were never allowed outside after dark. All but Estus Fallon, who has never fallen to feminine ways. Estus would march right in, enjoying the solitude of the haunted woods.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-15191369341791475522010-11-11T15:38:00.004-05:002010-11-11T15:46:38.038-05:0028<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg63CMR4U6ysffkh1mgULLMNRwvtUs2l8GpTTJtNZM3D69O0uoFxmSb6iakTsMOnaDNBCYAWmLilZ3rjK60h2HnIEyMhL8cZM-yfTVZe1NnVt-wwEzZ4R4V9GtAncEMJi_dY1-uk9bhp_0/s1600/steps391+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg63CMR4U6ysffkh1mgULLMNRwvtUs2l8GpTTJtNZM3D69O0uoFxmSb6iakTsMOnaDNBCYAWmLilZ3rjK60h2HnIEyMhL8cZM-yfTVZe1NnVt-wwEzZ4R4V9GtAncEMJi_dY1-uk9bhp_0/s640/steps391+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> After a tornado blew away his home, Hollis Wert wasn't sure where to look for it. A recounting of the event in the Loval Telegraph mentioned its general whereabouts, but Hollis had to contact his brother Harlen, for its exact location. </span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-19441176790048347682010-11-11T13:21:00.002-05:002010-11-11T13:23:37.088-05:0027<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3GnANz5Beirzzy0ETQ6_LSB6rMqGJ3I52n9SRZ6yiBXClztltROr9apYxGB1v9Ffo0M3fBkbldLNeHQPQNerQdPVt74iJ_rnPMziSyuziAeVgA425JhWQRFqmNkt0fgArgfsQ0sgRvc/s1600/house389+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3GnANz5Beirzzy0ETQ6_LSB6rMqGJ3I52n9SRZ6yiBXClztltROr9apYxGB1v9Ffo0M3fBkbldLNeHQPQNerQdPVt74iJ_rnPMziSyuziAeVgA425JhWQRFqmNkt0fgArgfsQ0sgRvc/s640/house389+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> "Mind you stay away from that place, it's got the sickness. If you get too close it will pull you in and ain't nobody on the face of this earth gonna pull you back." That's what the adult population of Millet warned, not that we needed reminding. We all knew if we got too close, bad things would happen. Any family that took up residence in that place wound up losing their children to something, something that would drain the life right out of them.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Truman from the city spent his summers down here. Thought he was tough, thought it was all made up stories. On his last day before going north, Truman figured it was high time somebody had the guts to toss a rock through one of them windows, just begging to be broken. He shouted, "see I'm still here you ignorant country people," and walked away.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Truman didn't come back the next summer. We never did find out what happened to him. His family here in Millett kept to themselves.</span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihX8fbJouFwv4XllK7C1yu4OOcQGLwV70SHdirSHQJ2AvqbpG8WxST9j2R0Vm3h4J-_XVu_5f1l6NJl3-QgIxIYO2IjLin3TKCeCRXA2TQhN4wkbvsNAXOY2olvwnUoODY2rSXJ_5NSJM/s1600/shack386+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihX8fbJouFwv4XllK7C1yu4OOcQGLwV70SHdirSHQJ2AvqbpG8WxST9j2R0Vm3h4J-_XVu_5f1l6NJl3-QgIxIYO2IjLin3TKCeCRXA2TQhN4wkbvsNAXOY2olvwnUoODY2rSXJ_5NSJM/s640/shack386+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Barton Juris, the local ladies man, had quite a reputation of conquests throughout Anderson and Abbeville counties. His shack in Stonewall Woods was "about as busy as a sheik in his harem," Barton would boast to all his pals at Jinx's tap.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Funny thing was, Barton probably slept with half the wives of the guys he drank with, but they didn't know or care all that much.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> The older folks would speculate as to why Barton got away with it. Some said it was because Stonewall Woods had an unusually large number of wounded veterans. Others thought it was just that life here was exceptionally hard and there wasn't much time left at the end of the day.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Whatever the reason, Stonewall Woods was a peaceful place and most felt it was best to leave things alone.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-32189409773679011822010-11-01T11:34:00.001-04:002010-11-11T13:27:11.131-05:0025<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFnYXpAYHOGAkjd8D7wbuzxRGE9zwPHhGvMQgpfNEC91rN9k7yAc0n0enZ0cuEw92B5a559IUNdG7iGmv8rVXJ9xITKmzbrve3MbvMaLhM-cvnIeTlvetVl8oxFaH3zTFPxkRVIoIjC1A/s1600/scarecrow357+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFnYXpAYHOGAkjd8D7wbuzxRGE9zwPHhGvMQgpfNEC91rN9k7yAc0n0enZ0cuEw92B5a559IUNdG7iGmv8rVXJ9xITKmzbrve3MbvMaLhM-cvnIeTlvetVl8oxFaH3zTFPxkRVIoIjC1A/s640/scarecrow357+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> After the mysterious disappearance of Emory Wilty from the Beaufort County road crew, his gloves and vest turned up as a scarecrow in Mrs. Powhites garden. Mrs. Powhite, who never had a good thing to say about anybody, admitted to murdering Emory. She said, "he came to my door asking for water but I knew what he was up to. He was the devils apprentice sent to retrieve my soul from this earth and his costume is very good at scaring away the birds."</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-6843827885411387802010-11-01T11:32:00.000-04:002010-11-01T11:32:47.817-04:0024<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTdCxHuXBVoac1aBR4PH-UQb5PlMsZphvQKNyqILfmqlbtK-FpvhUOJ0-PrTfeKmUKPXjs0FYdq_NASkMCez4Ckhph8Q1rdX3Hav2ZlXx0fRPyhI3i8Lg1U0VieAYUzdRtUAiis-vvakk/s1600/24+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTdCxHuXBVoac1aBR4PH-UQb5PlMsZphvQKNyqILfmqlbtK-FpvhUOJ0-PrTfeKmUKPXjs0FYdq_NASkMCez4Ckhph8Q1rdX3Hav2ZlXx0fRPyhI3i8Lg1U0VieAYUzdRtUAiis-vvakk/s640/24+copy.jpg" width="638" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After multiple attempts to escape earth's gravitational pull, Alton Treaddwell fell into bad health and his dreams of liberation were put on permanent hold.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-71736702776691769502010-11-01T11:31:00.003-04:002011-05-11T15:37:56.875-04:0023<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBdSDTTDl7Lc5KUWKiEm9cXV6da_v6lErtpN9rNiiavE4oL5Jm7n23h0cC80AaIdgKDaNbVxk5kztH3AT4w27ZY1INKok26We6UdG3hGAMOkC99NDmMDbu-CtXRhZ_3gp6-WY7XoWluzY/s1600/23+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBdSDTTDl7Lc5KUWKiEm9cXV6da_v6lErtpN9rNiiavE4oL5Jm7n23h0cC80AaIdgKDaNbVxk5kztH3AT4w27ZY1INKok26We6UdG3hGAMOkC99NDmMDbu-CtXRhZ_3gp6-WY7XoWluzY/s640/23+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"> Hester Tullis claimed to be a witch</span></span></span>. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Her son Porter, was a lazy no good who threatened</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> to have his mother conjure up restless Haints and cast spells of vicious evil over the little town of Catholic Hills. He tormented the young Mrs. Heber -- "All your children will be stillborn" and threatened old Mr. Quinn with "tumors on the brain." After years of abuse it was more than this superstitious little place could handle. So the town, with renewed courage and help from the recently elected Sheriff, decided it was time to drive the Tullises from Catholic Hills. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> First they went after Porter, they figured he was the easiest. Things got out of hand and a noose ended up around his neck. Fearing a plague of spells from Hester over the brutal death of her son, a torch was promptly put to her ramshackle house.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> A blanket of Kudzu quickly covered what was left, but Catholic Hills never recovered. </span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-49332244196373084312010-10-19T16:56:00.005-04:002011-05-11T14:58:17.328-04:0022<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJDiSz48rUCe8O62ly72IG7TflYkrQUQ9tfRSnb3xnHH9STGCGJNXZIuriq79SBDYXbiKrr_fxSWfov1XfCZ2ZOcj20Lt0p8umQ-5rP2kS0aFmsY3UwhPrUdiE3olkqQnXwlAtsCJhkc/s1600/pond343+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJDiSz48rUCe8O62ly72IG7TflYkrQUQ9tfRSnb3xnHH9STGCGJNXZIuriq79SBDYXbiKrr_fxSWfov1XfCZ2ZOcj20Lt0p8umQ-5rP2kS0aFmsY3UwhPrUdiE3olkqQnXwlAtsCJhkc/s640/pond343+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Omer Pratt used to fish this pond. He said it was somehow connected to the Saluda River. "Catfish as big as gators get swept in and trapped, makin' it awful easy to catch them things," Omer said. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> The last time he fished this place he thought he caught a big one. "Just about bent my pole in two, but my hook got snagged on a rope that bound up the body of a man. He was tied up real good, it was a terrible site, cause the fish had gotten to his eyes." Omer just sighed.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Turned out that man, in the local jail on a charge of rape, somehow escaped. Made the papers and everything. Omer lost his taste for fishing after that.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-674687968586213106.post-28959920869612283022010-10-19T14:44:00.001-04:002010-11-11T13:27:54.478-05:0021<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHFa1GKdiS2Ua0WSEeEd9fwk1GYEHehnVJN6o4dBdJZiq9vfmfMKXq8OvZiCdH7A79WffuAWjmovt2sMriPzr2eYKtmgEdjNcqhBrS5BDyJn18cj696fUp87En6KoNMjn3YqVB2GaqZM/s1600/yard339+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHFa1GKdiS2Ua0WSEeEd9fwk1GYEHehnVJN6o4dBdJZiq9vfmfMKXq8OvZiCdH7A79WffuAWjmovt2sMriPzr2eYKtmgEdjNcqhBrS5BDyJn18cj696fUp87En6KoNMjn3YqVB2GaqZM/s640/yard339+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Arlen Wardell was a bit slow. He made his way in life by taking little things from his neighbors. A broom, hose, a pair of socks, just about anything, wound up for sale in his "Treasury Yard." Sooner or later whatever went missing needed finding and everyone knew exactly where to look. Arlen didn't bargain too hard and after a little bit of money changed hands, everybody got what they needed and life went back to normal. Most of the town didn't mind, everybody knew Arlen was useless for just about anything and after all, he needed a roof over his head and something to eat. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> It was partly their fault, the way he was. Arlen's father was a man so full of hate and anger, there was a black cloud hanging low over the whole town. For the first six years of Arlen's life, that black cloud swallowed him up and those who weren't afraid to get involved just didn't want to.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Eventually that black cloud lifted, Arlen made his Treasury Yard and life went back to normal.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0